Republic Of Tamriel: Things I think computer games need to do differently.

When I’m taking a break from writing another book, I like to play console-based role play games. I do this for perhaps no more than two or three hours a week, but over several years that was enough time to finish Elder Scrolls Oblivion, and Skyrim, multiple times. I’ve also played all of Dragon Age (I just finished Inquisition last week!), Mass Effect 2 and 3 (twice), all of Fable (gorgeous scenery, but very short story!), Dragon’s Dogma (lovely scenery, completely stupid story), and Child of Light (which I count as the most beautiful game I’ve ever played.)

The game I play most often is still Skyrim. But even Skyrim has things which annoy me to the point of either not wanting to play the game ever again, or to the point of wanting to make a better game on my own. Here’s a short list of them. Most of my comments will be about Skyrim, but they’re applicable to other games, too.

- The politics.

In all the games mentioned above, the government is some kind of monarchy. Tamriel has an empire; Albion has a king; Dragons Dogma and even Child of Light has a duke. It’s as if we modern people have a secret love affair for aristocracy. But it’s also a fantasy about being at the top of that aristocracy. And I get that an RPG is fantasy– really I do. But I’d like to see a fantasy world that is not just simple escapism. Let’s remember that real-world aristocracies were brutally oppressive to the majority of their members: no freedom of speech, or of movement, or of religion, or of association, and the like. Most Western-world aristocracies were overthrown centuries ago for that reason. Or, is the message of the game that aristocracies are always benevolent and benign, and that working class people should accept their position, and grow to like it? Because that’s the message being sent by all the salt-of-the-earth working class NPCs in the game. Some NPCs complain about their lives, but not one of them utters anything like a statement of serious rebellion. Why is no one talking about a Republic of Tamriel? Or, if the game’s writers really want to commit to portraying an aristocratic society, why not show more of the turbulence in that kind of society? The faction infighting, the competition for prestige, the private armies, the oppression of the poor?

Related to that: in too many RPGs, the player takes down a criminal organization by killing its leader. Politics in the real world is never like that. When you kill the evil dictator, or the crime boss, or the cult prophet, or whatever, the organization does not disband. Rather, it immediately breaks up into factions, who immediately start fighting each other– or, if the organization is very well organized, a new leader is installed instantly and it’s back to business as usual. Politics in the real world is about who is loyal to whom, and why; it’s about who wields power and who is the target of that power; it’s about whether power is shared or whether it is seized; it’s about who gives the orders and who obeys them; and it’s about whose model of social organization is to be preferred. I’d like to see an RPG which reflects that reality.

What if there was:

– A way to investigate the leader of the world, or one of the world’s guilds and organizations. What if that leader could be blackmailed, or ousted, by some damaging piece of info which the investigation reveals?
– A way to become the leader of some faction through some means other than killing and replacing the previous leader? For instance, what if the organization is subject to periodic elections, which the PC could influence, or in which the PC could stand as a candidate herself.

- The economy.

Every game I listed above, even the ones with the most artistically satisfying UX such as Child of Light and the Fable series, has basically the same economy: “kill the monster, steal the treasure.” Of all the features of computer RPGs, that’s the one that pisses me off the most. Characters become more powerful, either in terms of treasure gained, or in terms of improving stats like hit-points, almost entirely by means of breaking things: things like the bodies of enemies. There simply isn’t a computer-based RPG about anything else. Why are there no 1st person RPGs primarily about building things? Why is it that PCs in games don’t have to consume anything? I suppose Minecraft could count as a game about building things, but I found myself still unsatisfied with it; the player only gathers and re-purposes resources; she doesn’t need to consume anything. There’s no through-put. And there’s still monsters to kill. Economics in the real world is about things (like money) flowing through a system; it’s not just things accumulated and stored for later, and it doesn’t always reward people for breaking things.

What if there was:
– A fast-travel system in which players have to go to a travel point, like an inn, to fast-travel; and then they have to pay to hire a carriage. Skyrim already has this; but it’s toothless since players can fast-travel to any point they’ve already visited, for free.
– A fatigue system in which the PC has to eat and sleep fairly regularly, and may suffer minor penalties for going without for too long. This suggestion, together with the one above, could add a dramatic “survival horror” element, without making it too horrible.
– A merchant’s guild quest line, which involves securing rare resources, or productive facilities, or trade routes? This could be no less exciting than the usual four guild quest plots (fighter’s guild, thieves’ guild, etc.) It could open for players the possibility of buying any house or business in the game, for use as a source of income, so that they’re not just killing monsters for a living.

- The relationships.

In Skyrim, your PC can get married. Once the relationship is established, however, it’s basically “over”. Your partner gives you gifts once in a while, but there’s nothing you need to do for the partner any more: you don’t need to bring gifts of your own, or even say “I love you”. Real world relationships require constant involvement. What if your Skyrim spouse was not just another achievement to unlock, but instead was a regular quest-giver? And what if your spouse left you if you turned down too many quests? Related to the point about economics above, what if your “household” had a regular daily or weekly maintenance cost, influenced by whether you are married, whether you adopted children, how big the house is, and so on? And if players want to think of the relationship as an investment, there might be additional benefits besides occasional gifts of money or homecooked meals.

- The religious culture.

Ever notice how the gods in the Elder Scrolls are a bit like ATM machines? You touch their shrine and “withdraw” a blessing that stays with you for a while. You don’t have to do anything else for the gods in return. But religious communities in the real world do make demands of their members. Suppose there was a game feature in which a player could commit to a certain deity, and thereby gain a certain benefit, but must act in certain ways in order to preserve the benefit, such as always killing certain kinds of monsters, or always leaving certain monsters alone, or always using a certain kind of weapon, or always visit shrines regularly, or vote a certain way, or the like.

What if there was:
– side quests which put those commitments to the test?
– Religious groups are also often political groups as well: they may require their members to live in certain ways, vote (or not vote) in certain ways, favour certain models of social order above others, and so on. This could intersect with the political dynamic described above.

- The intellectual culture.

The mage’s guild quest line in the Elder Scrolls games represents the only serious appearance of educated people. But they, too, are involved in the same ridiculous cycle of “kill the monster, steal the treasure”. The only difference between the Mage’s Guild and the Fighter’s Guild / The Companions, is the type of weapon that the PC uses. There must be a way to make scientific research and discovery into something exciting and game-worthy.

What if there was:
– a quest line involving mages and/or other intellectuals (scholars? scientists?) which involves progress on a technology-tree, a bit like what we find in games like Sid Meyer’s Civilization?
– What if information, or access to information, could be a source of someone’s power- thus intersecting with the political dynamics that I described above?

- To play the game I want, I might have to make it myself.

Well, there’s more things that bug me about Skyrim and the genre, but I’ll leave you on a more constructive note. (At any rate, it seems likely to me that no one in the management of any big game studio will read this blog.) Here’s a screenshot of my second attempt to create a heightmap for a 1st person RPG, using Unity. Yes, it is deliberately designed to look like Ontario and Quebec, although with some details re-arranged to fit the space.

2nd terrain map

At 8000 meters by 3000 meters, it’s slightly larger than Skyrim. But so far, the main thing I’ve discovered while creating it is just how big an undertaking top-shelf game design really is. I know about the logic of game design; I regularly use games in my classroom as teaching tools, and I teach the math and logic of game theory. I’ve also published a tabletop political strategy game. But I don’t know how to write computer code. Anybody got ten million dollars to spare, so I can hire a team of programmers and designers, and turn this map into a real game?

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Christians, Pagans, and Doctor Assisted Suicide

The argument about doctor-assisted suicide (and its kin) is really, really old. Like, it’s around 1,600 years old. Maybe older.

Today, the Supreme Court of Canada ruled that doctor-assisted suicide should be legal in Canada. A report on the CBC website described the decision as follows:

The Supreme Court of Canada says a law that makes it illegal for anyone to help people end their own lives should be amended to allow doctors to help in specific situations.

The ruling only applies to competent adults with enduring, intolerable suffering who clearly consent to ending their lives.

The same link above includes the text of the court’s decision, where you can read it for yourself.

On reading some of the things said by people who disliked the court’s decision, I was struck by how often the discussion was framed in the terms defined by two very basic, and very ancient, worldviews of value.

One, the idea that human life is a thing of such special moral importance, that its existential moments of birth and death are not to be interfered with. To do so is to commit the moral wrong typically known as “playing God.” Let’s call this the “Sanctity of Life” worldview. Usually, although not always, it comes from religious arguments concerning how we are all “made in the image of God” (Genesis 1:27)

Two, the idea that the thing about human life which makes it so valuable is not the mere fact of membership in the human race, but rather the happiness, the joy, the flourishing, of each person’s experience of life; and whether that happiness outweighs whatever misery or suffering that person may also be experiencing. Let’s call this the “Quality of Life” worldview. It tends to appear in arguments grounded in the logic of utilitarianism, or humanism.

Today I just want to point out how old is the rivalry between these views. Here’s Augustine of Hippo, from the 4th century CE, author of The City of God, and Christianity’s most important early theologian, describing what annoys him the most about the Pagans of his time:

I am at a loss to understand how the Stoic philosophers can presume to say that there are no ills, though at the same time they allow the wise man to commit suicide and pass out of this life if they become so grievious that he cannot or ought not to endure them. But such is the stupid pride of these men who fancy that the supreme good can be found in this life, and that they can become happy by their own resources, that their wise man, or at least the man whom they fancifully depict as such, is always happy, even though he become blind, deaf, dumb, mutilated, racked with pains, or suffer any conceivable calamity such as may compel him to make away with himself; and they are not ashamed to call the life that is beset with these evils happy. O happy life, which seeks the aid of death to end it! If it is happy, let the wise man remain in it; but if these ills drive him out of it, in what sense is it happy?…

And therefore those who admit that these are evils, as the Peripatetics do, and the [philosophers of the] Old Academy, the sect which Varro advocates, express a more intelligible doctrine; but theirs also is a surprising mistake, for they contend that this is a happy life which is beset by these evils, even though they be so great that he who endures them should commit suicide to escape them. (book 5, part XIX, chapter 4.)

What you should see here is that Augustine thought that Christianity and Paganism (late Roman imperial Paganism, anyway) was separated by precisely those two aforementioned categories of moral value: Christians held to the Sanctity of Life worldview; the Quality of Life worldview was Pagan.

Augustine exaggerates for dramatic effect the idea, which he attributes to Stoic philosophers, that one could find happiness in the embodied world even while being tortured on the rack. The idea appears in Cicero’s Discussions at Tusculum, but other philosophers of the time criticized him for the obvious absurdity. It certainly wasn’t the universal opinion of the pagan philosophers, not even in Cicero’s own tradition.

Augustine’s bigger mistake is the way he attributes to the pagans a logical error that they do not commit. The meaning of the Pagan claim that “human life is happy” is certainly not the unqualified and childish thing Augustine says it is. Rather, the pagan claim is that we are all responsible for our own happiness; and that if happiness is to be found anywhere at all, it’s to be found in this life, in this world, here and now. Therefore if by some bad turn you are unable to find your happiness in this life, for instance if a disease were to make your life so unbearable that its continuation would only prolong your suffering, then it is right to end the prolongation of your suffering.

That long guiding theme, that human happiness is to be found in this world if it is to be found at all, appears in nearly all the early Pagan philosophy: from Socrates– it’s in the Apology he made when he stood on trial for his life, on charges of blasphemy– to Porphyry and Plotinus and the last Pagan philosophers before they were all put out of work by Emperor Justinian.

But that’s a red herring anyway. For suppose that Augustine admitted that he misrepresented the Pagan view. It wouldn’t alter his view that “the supreme good” isn’t to be found in the embodied world anyway. It’s up there in Heaven:

If, then, we be asked what the city of God has to say upon these points, and, in the first place, what its opinion regarding the supreme good and evil is, it will reply that life eternal is the supreme good, death eternal the supreme evil, and that to obtain the one and escape the other we must live rightly…

As for those who have supposed that the sovereign good and evil are to be found in this life, and have placed it either in the soul or the body, or in both, or to speak more explicitly, either in pleasure or in virtue, or in both… all these have, with a marvellous shallowness, sought to find their blessedness in this life and in themselves. Contempt has been poured upon such ideas by the Truth, saying by the prophet, “The Lord knoweth the thoughts of men” (or, as the Apostle Paul cites the passage, “The Lord knoweth the thoughts of the wise”) “that they are vain.” (cite: ibid.)

So there you have it: the oldest documented account (that I could find) of the debate between these two points of view concerning the meaning and value of human life and death.

It’s interesting, I think, that the Supreme Court has sided with the Pagan view– interesting, because the decision was unanimous among the nine judges, six of whom, a clear majority, were appointed by Stephen Harper, our conservative Christian prime minister.

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Think Outside the Clickbox: Storytelling, Facebook, and HyperReality

A popular slogan of freedom and individualism goes: “Think Outside The Box”. But what is the box? Where are its edges? What does it really mean to think outside it– and does anyone really know how?

I’ve been thinking about this slogan for a long time. It is, after all, one of the things philosophers claim to be able to do better than anyone else. Facebook’s “real name” policy, and how it affected friends of mine, prompted me to think about it in a new way.

The policy requires people to use their legal names, that is, the names on their birth certificates, with their FB profiles. The company says that they want people to use their real name for safety reasons. There is some sense to this: I don’t want anyone using the shield of anonymity to stalk, harass, bully, or threaten me, nor to try to pull a scam on me with multiple sock-puppet accounts and an ongoing campaign of manipulation. (This actually happened to me.) FB’s intention may be to reduce bullying by removing that shield. Therein bigger the problem is the bullying, not the naming, of course, but I do acknowledge FB’s general point.

To which it may be objected: the intention might be sound, but the practical result is that Facebook has effectively claimed the right and the power to tell you who you are. There were people who people objected to the policy for that very reason. Some were artists who wanted to be known by their stage names, or writers who used a nom-de-plume. Some were transfolk who had already begun using their new gendered names although the legal process of changing their names was incomplete. Some wanted to be known by a chosen name for religious reasons, or personal reasons.

It may look as if I’m late to this party. Drag queens have already won the right to use their stage names on Facebook; they even gained an apology from the company. Similar concessions have been made for other groups.

Here I’d like to point out that even before the aforementioned controversy, Facebook has been telling you who you are from the moment you signed on to it: and even before the aforementioned “real name” policy, Facebook had been doing this to its users since its creation. So has every social network out there. All of them, without exception.

The nature of any computerized social network is that it requires users to describe themselves in ways that are mathematically quantifiable. A social network is not in the business of telling stories of people’s lives—however much they may make it appear otherwise, for instance with “year in review” features that create photo streams set to cheerful music and graphics. Rather, they are in the business of managing a database of information which they rent to advertisers—nothing more, nothing less, nothing else, for better or worse. This means the only kind of knowledge about you that interests them is mathematically quantifiable data. They want a fill-in-the-blank list with one’s age, hometown, employer, or school; they want a checklist of “interests” such as the movies, musicians, sports, and books one likes—literally, since there’s a button marked “like” attached to everything, with which you add data to the database. All of these things certainly are part of anyone’s identity: they are the elements with which we build the stories of our lives. Your social network, however, treats you as if this checklist of quantifiable facts is all that you are. You might be the one who decides what to check off the list, but they define the list. You are nothing more, and nothing else, than that which you fill into the blanks they provide. In other words, that checklist is your “box”: it’s what that aforementioned slogan invites you to “think outside of”.

Think being a geek makes you a healthy, nonconforming, unique individual? Think again– because you, too, have a checklist to fill.

Where once we used to say “You are not the car you drive“, we now need to say “You are not your Facebook profile.”

(Although, as an aside, I think it’s interesting that we use the word “profile” to describe this digitized identity. A profile, after all, is a two-dimensional image: it’s flat, and it doesn’t face you head-on. It’s a simulated person, not a “real” person. Tuck that away in your mind for later.)

I wonder if the trend among writers and artists and geeks to assert that human life is a story has emerged precisely as a rebellion against the mathematical quantification of identity by means of computer networks.

You find this proposition in pop culture. “The soul’s made of stories, not atoms,” says Doctor Smith to Clara in The Rings of Akhaten. Award-winning fantasy author Charles de Lint wrote, “We’re all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on. Not forever, perhaps, but for a time.” You find it in academia, too: the earliest instance of which that I have found appeared in phenomenologist Wilhelm Schapp’s In Geschichten Verstrickt (“Entangled in Stories”, 1953); then Barbara Hardy’s 1968 masterwork “Towards a Poetics of Fiction”, a chapter in Alistair MacIntyre’s “After Virtue”, and Paul Ricoeur’s 3-volume monstrosity “Time and Narrative”. Here’s Ricoeur on why stories matter:

Our own existence cannot be separated from the account we can give of ourselves. It is in telling our own stories that we give ourselves an identity. We recognize ourselves in the stories we tell about ourselves. It makes little difference whether these stories are true or false, fiction as well as verifiable history provides us with an identity.

“History as Narrative and Practice,” Philosophy Today 29 (1979).

Stories are what we ultimately care about, from the personal to the political. Stories are the foundation of that pagan form of immortality, apotheosis. They’re the foundation of justice and the proceedings of courtroom trials: it is why we demand victim’s impact statements for certain kinds of crimes. It is why we establish Truth and Reconciliation commissions, with senior court judges, to record the experiences of people under dictatorships or periods of state-sponsored injustice: South Africa’s Apartheid, Canada’s residential schools.

So when Facebook and other social networks turns your story into a mathematically quantifiable database entry, they decide what story to tell, and they decide how to tell it. Your story becomes nothing more than a mere variation of what is ultimately a banal and conformist consumer product: an arrangement of selections in a pre-defined checklist of pre-approved possibilities. In effect, again, they tell you who you are.

Let me “up the drama” in this argument– because for the problem as so far described is still only the easy version of the problem. There’s a harder version, which I think is far more serious, and it goes like this: people in general often prefer the mathematically quantified database-version of their stories, the profile, the simulation, the “avatar”. Further: the more we treat that database-avatar as the real person, the more we may become entirely unable to tell the difference between the profile, and the real person who stands somewhere behind it. Philosopher Eugene Beaudrillard’s idea of the HyperReal is appearing in our computer networks now. Beaudrillard saw the hyper-real in places like theme parks and shopping malls (especially Disneyland!)– places where we find the pre-packaged, available-on-demand, safely unthreatening simulation of things, instead of the messy, complicated, demanding, unpredictable, and labour-intensive reality. Think of the theme park safari ride, where the robot alligator jumps out of the swamp at just the right moment, every time: he scares the children, but never truly threatens them. Whereas a “real” alligator on a “real” safari ride might not jump out of the swamp at all– it’s asleep somewhere else– or it might overturn the boat and kill someone. Better to go to the theme park version. Then trick ourselves into thinking we’ve seen the real thing.

Now, with the social networks the hyperreal can simulate human persons with the consent and collaboration of the persons so simulated, and eventually take their places. You read someone’s “About” info, and peruse their checklist of “likes”, and then you think you know who he is. We no longer speak with people, but with the masks they wear. And people actually want this. They deliberately choose it. They become unable to distinguish their masks from their faces.

And we might still call them free, if only they design their own masks– but they don’t. The network does.

We now find ourselves in a society which celebrates itself as a “free”, yet is composed of people who lead profoundly conformist lives. We defend our freedom of expression with extraordinary gusto and desperation, but we have so little to actually express.

We tell our stories with pixels now. But pixels are sanitized, airbrushed, catalogued, unthreatening, unsurprising. Even someone whose FB profile is graphic design of the word “Fuck!” conforms to the basic pre-defined user-experience layout that the nature of the network provides. Stories told face to face are complicated, messy, demanding, full of ‘différance‘, and the weird. Better to deal with the hyperreal data-man, not with the reality, if there is such a thing anymore: the real person is somewhere out there, a tattered shadow of what he imagines himself to be, and he clings for dear life to his sharper-focused hologram, without which he fears he will cease to matter.

Thus we adapt to our “box”, become existentially identified with it, become cognitively unable to think outside it. The theme park and the shopping mall of Beaudrillard’s argument has moved to the internet, into the “cloud”, and from there into people’s minds.

This rant is taken from notes I’ve made over the last few months, in preparation for a nonfiction book I’m writing. I just thought I’d test the idea out on you. Please use the comments section below to reply.

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The Last Fence

The last time I visited Ireland, my other “my country”, was 2009. Yesterday I got this painting from my dear friend Corina Thornton, an artist based in Ireland; and as you can see, I’ve hung it just above my writer’s forge. It’s called “The Last Fence” and it gives me no end of joy: partly knowing it’s from a friend, and mostly from imagining what magical and philosophical discoveries might be made in the undiscovered country before me, just one hop over one last fence.

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Here is a closeup of the painting:

The Last Fence by Corina Thornton

I sometimes tell people that I live in a library, because one of the rooms in my apartment has a wall that’s nothing but books, over 800 of them, wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling. But over the last six months I’ve decked my white walls with a landscape (a lake-scape?) by local Ottawa artist Gordon Coulthart, and a water-scape by Elora artist Carolyn Sharp, and a special poem-painting by my dear friend Marie-Claude Dufour, and some reproductions of classics by The Group of Seven. I’ve also picked up from my parents some canvasses I painted back in high school. Maybe my library is turning into an art gallery.

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“A Trick Of The Light”: What I knew as a child, but as an adult forgot.

When I was a child, an empty and partially run-down house stood in my neighbourhood, just along the line where the century-houses ended and the postwar bungalows began. My sisters and I sometimes made up stories about ghosts who lived in it. The house was eventually refurbished and inhabited, so the house became no longer scary, so we stopped telling those stories. Some thirty years later, I found a similar old house near my apartment here in Gatineau, similarly surrounded by trees and by postwar bungalows. Then the story of that house in Elora returned to me.

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For my seventh or maybe eighth birthday, I can’t quite recall, my dad gave me a copy of Our Universe by Roy Gallant, and I read it so voraciously that the pages started falling out. I still have that book, more than thirty years later, although some of its pages are now missing. Back then I also had a telescope of my own, although I mostly used it to look at sunspots: an attachment projected the image of the sun on to a white metal plate. I liked to imagine that I was a scientist or an explorer, studying the sun from a spacecraft in high orbit. The idea of a story about a magic telescope, accompanied by a magic atlas, secretly delivered to a curious but not necessarily well-behaved child, had been on my mind for many years.

JB poem

I had other influences, of course. Readers of the first edition noted a similarity with Phillip Pullman’s His Dark Materials series. I had read The Golden Compass before writing Jillian Brighton, and it made me want to write a childhood wonder-tale with a hint of adult concern. (But I didn’t want to write ‘fanfic’; I wanted to stay in my own world.) By the way, Jillian’s theft of her mother’s nylons is a tip of the hat, of a sort, to a remark about Susan Pevensie in C.S. Lewis’ The Last Battle. But I leave it to the investigative reader to discover what that was all about.

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A Trick Of The Light” is a spinoff story from the world of Fellwater and The Hidden Houses, my urban fantasy series. I wanted to explore areas of the world not seen in the main series. I also wanted to write something that might bring together my two favourite interests from when I was the same age as my heroine: fairy tales, and astronomy. And after living in west Quebec for several years, I found myself feeling nostalgic for my home town, Elora Ontario, the village which serves as the model for my fictional town of Fellwater.

The real impetus to put pen to paper came in December of 2013, when my partner asked me to write her a story for Christmas, instead of buying her a regular gift. I wrote the first draft in two weeks. With her permission, I later self-published it under the title Jillian Brighton and the Wonderful Cosmographic Telescope. This edition in your hands is what happened to it after I ran a crowd-funding campaign to pay for a professional editor for my Hidden Houses series. The editor liked the main character and the story’s premise very much, but he felt that acts two and three needed a complete overhaul. So, during October and November of 2014, I overhauled them. Jillian’s teacher and parents became less prominent. A dark and perhaps dystopian ending was removed. (Perhaps I should say, ‘saved for later.’) Still, after the editor signed off on the text, the length of the story was about 1,600 words longer than the first edition. This is very unusual in an editing process. But I think the result is a much better story.

JB-quote-n

“A Trick Of The Light” is available in Kindle and in paperback.

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Is this what success looks like for an indie writer?

Suppose I took a narrow, economic view of what success looks like for a writer who, like me, doesn’t write full-time, but has a day-job (which, let it be stated for the record, I do enjoy). The advantage of an economic view of success is that it’s easy to measure: one need only ask how much money was made selling the books, minus the cost of producing them.

Well, here’s a rough and imprecise balance sheet for how much it cost me to make my Fellwater / Hidden Houses novels.

Incoming:
+ $4,700 netted from Kickstarter, after fees and deductions.
+ around $100 more from direct sales this summer.

Outgoing:
– $550 advertising the project while the fundraising campaign was underway.
– $4,000 for the editor
– $500 for the audiobook version of one of the spinoff novellas
– $900 (approximate) for the work of two artists who illustrated the characters and the heraldry used on the website and in the Kickstarter campaign
– $1000 for the cover designer and interior art designer.
– $1,700 (approximate) sending rewards to the Kickstarter backers.

Result: I lost $3,850. I can’t say I’m surprised by this; I’ve done almost nothing in the last few months to advertise the books, so direct sales have been low. (It’s still depressing and demoralizing, though.)

But that’s only one way to measure success. There are others. Now that the books have been in the reader’s hands for a few months, many of the Kickstarter backers have written to me privately to say how much they enjoyed them. The response has been overwhelmingly positive. For example: J. J. Colvin, a backer from England, wrote this review of Clan Fianna on the book’s Amazon UK page:

It is an ensemble cast piece, with a great sense of each of the major characters being at the centre of their own story, with all of these individual threads weaving a great and complex tapestry of plot. This immediately brings to mind comparisons with Robert Jordan and George R. R. Martin, but for my taste this book exceeds much of the work of both of these super-luminaries…

Robert Jordan – George RR Martin – wow! Reading this, I am overwhelmed, humbled, and excited, all at once. Thus I began to wonder if this is what success really looks like for independent writers.

Not only that: some of the Kickstarter backers offered to create art based on the characters and settings: I’m really looking forward to this, and if each artist permits, I’ll share what they make with everyone on the blog and in the project updates.

Interest in my nonfiction works is picking up, too. Here’s Sable Aradia’s review of “The Other Side of Virtue”: the book is from 2008, but the review is from a few days ago:

This book could be a modern manifesto for humanistic Paganism; but its theories can also be applied to most modern Pagan practice. And it could also be read and enjoyed by humanists and naturalists of any faith. It could possibly even be held up to Neil deGrasse Tyson and Stephen Hawking as an answer on the value of philosophy… I love Brendan’s way of articulating this concept in what I have previously described as “his liquid prose.” His education is apparent through his choice of phrasing; but unlike many other academics, he does not write in technicalities and field-specific terminology. It is easily (and enjoyably) accessible to the layperson…

Imagine someone recommending that Tyson and Hawking should read one of my books! Still, an academic with weird interests like mine, who writes for the general public, in addition to (or instead of) other academics, could hope for no higher praise.

Each book of mine represents thousands of hours of time in researching, thinking, writing, editing, and critical analysis. I’m not exaggerating that time commitment: I keep meticulous records of such things. My nonfiction work is backed by an excellent UK-based publisher, which covers the production costs; my fiction work is entirely in my hands, although with my editor and designer I now have a “team” of sorts. It’s a truly huge burden of labour, for everyone involved. Is all that effort “worth it”? Are we successful? With responses such as the two reviews noted above, I’d like to say “yes”. The books are intellectually and artistically successful, or so it seems right now.

Will they ever be commercially successful? I don’t know – and the business side of being a writer almost always depresses me. A good friend of mine once told me that he had a dream in which Fellwater became just as big as Harry Potter. If that dream doesn’t come true, which seems likely to me, then I can still be a writer and a professor at a small college in western Quebec, and I’ll still have something like an enjoyable life. If it does come true – well, let’s wait and see. (And look for a publicist and a literary agent, in the meanwhile.)

Although many of you, friends and family, have given me so much already this year, I’ve a small favour to ask: this holiday season, please tell someone about my books. Write about them on your social networks and blogs and on the bookseller pages; email them to friends; consider giving them as Christmas gifts to people who you think will enjoy them. As an independent writer and publisher, without the backing of a million-dollar marketing department, I remain dependent upon the goodwill of people like yourselves to help promote my work. And as always, you have my deep and abiding thanks.

So, there it is. I wish you and all your loved ones a happy solstice season (that’s my word for the holiday) and a prosperous and good new year.

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An Open Letter to College Textbook Publishers

When a textbook publisher sends me a review copy of one of their textbooks, in the hope that I will use it in a future class of mine, I usually send a reply like this one. I invite all professors everywhere to do likewise. Indeed, in my view, I think professors have something like a moral obligation to help prevent big textbook publishers from exploiting the nearly-captive market of students, especially in this time of economic instability and recession.

Good afternoon,

In my intro philosophy courses, I use a textbook written by me and some of my friends (professional philosophers all), and which I give to my students for free. I also use resources on the internet available for free.

You need to understand that a lot of my students are from working-class or poverty-class families, and they do not have money for textbooks. Some do not have money even for basic necessities such as nutritious food. Those who are from more affluent families are still provided with free or nearly-free resources for use in my classroom: their right to education is exactly the same, no more and no less, than that of their under-privileged peers. This is why I produce my own course content and I publish it personally, using various self-publishing tools, and I make it available to them for the lowest price possible: free, for PDFs (which they read or print in our college library), and there is a paperback copy that they can buy for no more than the cost of printing it. I make no profit on it.

If your company is willing to give textbooks to my students for free or nearly-free, I may consider using them. But otherwise, I will not use textbooks from your company.

Cheers,
Brendan Myers
Professor, Dept. of Philosophy and Humanities
CEGEP Heritage College, Gatineau Quebec Canada.

Postscript: I’m planning a second edition of that texbook of mine. Stay tuned to this blog, or subscribe to my mailing list, for news about it.

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A straw poll: What should I Kickstart next?

As long-time Bren-watchers may know, I rather like Kickstarter. I’ve launched three campaigns there in the last several years; one failed, but two were hugely successful. I’d like to do another one soon. There are three projects in particular that I’m interested in doing, and I welcome your opinions about which one(s) interest you.

- A tabletop RPG (think of Dungeons & Dragons) set in the world of The Hidden Houses, my fantasy series. This project probably has the most “momentum”, as it would be easily connected to my previous Kickstarter campaign. The text is already done; I just need to hire artists, beta-testers, and an editor.

- A second edition of “Clear and Present Thinking, my free college-level textbook on logic and critical reasoning. I’d like to expand it a little bit, and update the exercises and examples. I’ll need to hire contributors, and a designer, to do that. And, of course, I’d like to keep it free.

- A volume of “soft power” strategy games. A few years ago I published “Iron Age: Council of the Clans“, a tabletop strategy game that I invented to teach political science to my students at Heritage College. I’ve invented two more similar games since then, one that looks at economics, and one which involves proposition-logic and argumentation. I’d like to hire an artist or two, and publish them, possibly as an expansion of “Iron Age”.

Naturally, I will make my own decision about which of these projects to run first. But I value your suggestions, and will certainly take them into account.

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Very short stories

I’ve invented a game we could all play on that newfangled social network, Ello. I think this will work on Ello better than on FB or Twitter.

The idea is to write a story, using only 21 words, and post it here as a jpeg image. Then, tag the person or people who inspired you to write that story.

This game is similar to Hemmingway’s challenge of writing a story with only six words. But the six word stories are not as good as the 21 word stories, I think. The six word stories always end up sounding like tabloid headlines. 21 word stories can build a bigger world. Also, by printing the story on a jpeg, writers can also use a little bit of graphic design to help tell their story.

I suppose a 21-word story printed on a jpeg might look like a homemade “meme”. But since Ello doesn’t allow advertising (and, by extension, one may hope, it doesn’t allow clickbait “memes” that serve only to harvest info to be sold by advertisers) maybe it will work there.

I’ll start with this one, which is something I wrote last night as part of a novel I’m working on. This afternoon I happened to notice it was only five lines, with no more than five words per line.

This might be an interesting way to help make Ello into the creative and fun place that FB can no longer be.

with books in his hands

Postscript: Follow me on Ello here.

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More cults, you say? Really?

About that NYT article, “The Cult Deficit” by Ross Douthat, which has been making its rounds on my social media feeds lately:

It’s a fun article; I quoted it on my own FB feed as well, along with a cheeky comment that I’d like to start my own cult because I’m tired of being poor.

Douthat’s thesis appears to be as follows:

The decline of cults, while good news for anxious parents of potential devotees, might actually be a worrying sign for Western culture, an indicator not only of religious stagnation but of declining creativity writ large.

And this is so because:

A wild fringe… is often a sign of a healthy, vital center, and a religious culture that lacks for charismatic weirdos may lack “a solid core of spiritual activism and inquiry” as well.

But the argument is really a load of flappery. The central problem of today is not “the decline in creativity writ large”, as Douthat thinks. Just browse through Kickstarter for ten minutes to see that the world is never at a loss for creative people.

The real problem is something like this. “Modernism”, the world view of capitalism, democracy, individualism, human rights, technological progress, and scientific rationality, promised us all a better life: a life of freedom, prosperity, scientific and cultural discovery, world peace, and social justice. But modernism delivered that better life only to some of us; the majority of modernism’s beneficiaries are the rich. Even the middle class hasn’t benefited overmuch from modernity, except that middle class people have bigger houses and more toys. Since the Great Depression, but perhaps most noticeably only now, the middle class has been disappearing. And as is now well known, most young people today cannot expect a material standard of life that’s better than what their parents had, for the first time since the industrial revolution. To most of us, modernity delivered the rat race, punctuated occasionally by bread and circuses. As well as wage slavery, middle-east warfare, religious extremism, global warming, misogyny, racism, you get the idea. These problems have always been with us, obviously; but the point is that modernism was supposed to eradicate them. Or seriously contain them. And it hasn’t. Not nearly as well as was promised.

I don’t think that starting a new cult is the answer. No one wants to go back to the days of guru “Osho” launching chemical weapons attacks on American towns. And I don’t think that re-writing the meaning of the word “cult” will help either. The public just won’t buy it.

The only point in Douthat’s nutty argument that seems sensible to me is the idea which he borrowed from Peter Thiel, founder of PayPal, that people should recover the belief that “there are major secrets left to be uncovered, insights that existing institutions have failed to unlock (or perhaps forgotten), better ways of living that a small group might successfully embrace.

This proposition, interesting as I find it, has a subtext. Thiel advances it because he wants to build a floating island city where he and his fellow Libertarians can live a government-free, regulation-free, moral-responsibility-free life. I don’t see how this is meaningfully different from any of the beard-and-sandals cults of the 1970’s, except maybe that his island will have corporate sponsorship. Perhaps this floating island techno-utopia is precisely the “cult” that Douthat has in mind. If Thiel succeeds, he’ll create another gated community for the rich, and more rat-race bread-and-circuses for the rest of us. It will certainly not be part of a creative “wild fringe” (Douthat’s words) because it will still presuppose important mainstream values of the “centre”: especially individualism, capitalism, and technological progress.

But we probably do need a radical re-thinking of what it means to be “modern”. We do need to take a serious look at why modernity hasn’t delivered the goods it promised, not to everyone. And we do need to imagine that there are new possibilities for human life that have not yet been explored, but which creative and thoughtful people might experiment with, and discover.

We don’t have to create new cults, nor build floating islands, to do that.

(Unless your cult will have me as its leader. Ha!)

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