An Unruly Start

Everything starts with something.

For industrialists, it could be a business exchange over that 3rd beer with your ex-o. Architects, engineers and the numerous publish-or-perish professors, it’s a worn down pencil you refuse to pitch across the office. Designers, web managers, scientists, comics, or that particular heroic lobbyist, it’s a blank page. But for writers–authors, journalists, script writers and the like–it’s a very special insanity.

We try to think of it as a dream. I started there and it gradually glittered itself into “the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow”. It is our blank printer page, our mechanical pencil, our faded enter button on the keyboard. But to our peers and polite friends and family, when we say dream, they hear delusion.  Many believe our end game is that we want our thoughts to be heard, argued, criticized and bantered about, but in fact, we simply want to be read. For us, the dream lives happily in knowing our words are read and from there, they will take on a whole new meaning to the eyes of the eager. We cannot predict how they will respond, but any response is a strobe-lighting lottery sign giving us just a little bit of our sanity back.

You should see the faces of those I talk to when they ask me what I want to do with my life. There’s always this slight glint of optimism in the favorism of those that take the time to ask me. And I never mean to shred that look of hope and faith when I respond “to write about video games”. An unfortunate side effect, but a necessary one. There will always be critics and skeptics rabbling about why I don’t focus on some higher path… “You have such great manners! You could be a wonderful doctor”…”You’ve got a good way with words, there needs to be more politicians like you”…”But you were such a good bartender at that gay club we went to!”

Do what you love, love what you do. Since reaching that age of awareness to the rest of the world, I have seen what happens to those who do not dare bark in the face of adversity or scowling relatives. My father, a history professor no less, still exhibits the same school-boy giddiness when going to his next lecture. My mother, loving and wise beyond anything I will ever compare to, has developed a jaded grimace as she puts on that power jacket and trudges off to her job as some…financialassistantcubicle…thing. It wasn’t long until I began to witness the same disparity between everyone. Friends, classmates, ex-girlfriends, and worse, myself. I know there are exceptions to just about every facet of life, and my mother is no different. Her sacrifice of happiness so that she and my father could provide for me becomes more glorious and boastful every damn day I struggle toward my own goal. And, someday, I hope to pay it forward.

I could be a doctor. I could be a politican. But I don’t want to. And if I don’t want it, how could I ever truly achieve something I’d be proud of? My dreams and aspirations may not be something as high and mighty for society like curing Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s. My dream is to work at a magazine reviewing video games and writing about the gaming industry. Will I ever get there?–“ask again later” my orbed prophet seems to tell me, so I will. But for now, as a writer, it is my dream. And I will follow it, for that is all I can hope to do.

This blog, like countless others on this website, is a step to that dream, allbeit a rather meager one. As I continue to grow as a person, a writer and gamer, I will step again. I do not intend for these words to inspire or insult, but I do intend for them to be read. Not by many, I know, but some is enough. Onward from this declaration, I will write as effectively and as often as I can about my beloved gaming industry and what it has come to mean to me over these years. I cannot guarantee they will all be good, or even readable for that matter. Most writers will attest to writing copious amounts of shitty streams of consciousness before something of quality is produced, and journalism is no stranger to that philosophy. To you who has stumbled into my neck of the woods, you’re welcome to hang around as much or as little as you prefer. My only condition, however, is that you respond to what you read. Whether it’s as simple as a grunt of anger to yourself or a full-blown slew of written and delivered counter-arguements, all I ask is to respond.

Because, in the end, everything starts with something.

See you in the next level,



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