Updates, Interviews and More - J.C. Hutchins

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I’m presently rereading The Fellowship of the Ring. I mentioned this to my Facebook peeps earlier in the week, mostly because I wanted to slag on the Tom Bombadil section of the story. (In my defense, I feel it's a narrative momentum killer; it just goes on and on, and doesn’t seem to contribute much to the greater story.)

But as I read the book this time—including the Bombadil stuff—I've realized that I've personally never read books set in a fictional world that are as convincingly “real” as Middle-earth.

Most writers (and I’m one of these) usually create fictional settings that stand up to what I call the “3 or 4 Rule” of reader scrutiny. Meaning, the book asserts something unique about its setting that’s notably different from the world as we know it, and then savvily provides answers—either explicitly on-page, or implied—that can satisfactorily survive about three or four levels of “But if that’s true, then what about…?” questioning that readers may have about that unique element.

(I reckon that for most readers, this all happens under the hood; they may not even be aware that they're asking these questions or reading their answers. Generally, once the story survives this sniff test, readers go along for the ride. Smart authors understand this and—when things are really popping—proactively address those questions along the way, often on the sly. Like a magic trick.)

But Tolkien’s world doesn’t satisfy just a few levels of interrogation. It’s got an answer for everything, and it all goes hundreds of miles down. Every-damned-thing has a history (often implied more than outright stated), every culture is authentically different from each other, and the foundations for so many of the big set pieces in the story (such as the fellowship’s trek into Khazad-dûm, which is where I am right now in the book) are exquisitely foreshadowed in plain sight far earlier in the story.

The in-world songs and poetry, as much as I fuss about them, are wonderful examples of this. Lore is everywhere in these books. You can’t help but breathe it in.

When I read Fellowship, I’m not reading a story. I am truly visiting a place … a place so brilliantly invented and presented, I’d swear it as real as my backyard.

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Here's a spur-of-the-moment pitch, just for fun: MARION is an animated series and comic book series that document the adventures of Marion Ravenwood in two different times in her life:

As a child, traveling the world with her archeaologist father Abner and her friends (this is the animated series)
And after the events of Raiders of the Lost Ark with some of those same friends—and with the odd cameo by Indy, Sallah, etc. (this is the comic series)

Occasionally, the events of the kids show and the comic book intersect:

Artifacts might become "lost" in the cartoon and resurface decades later in the comic for adult Marion to pursue...
Nascent villainous forces in the cartoon become full-fledged global cults years later in the comic...
Family mysteries hinted at in Marion's childhood are finally unearthed in the comic…

The show and the comic series easily stand on their own, but watchful audience members will see the connective tissue and learn more about Marion's amazing life—which at many times had moments even more awe-inspiring and death-defying than Indiana Jones' adventures—along the way.

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What if you realized one day, like a thunderclap, that a major failure you’d experienced a decade ago—one that had broken your heart for nearly every day of those ten years—had never been a failure at all? What if you realized one day that the shame that had haunted you—that had fed off you, that you yourself had fed, and that you’d allowed to define a decade’s worth of self-doubt, inaction and countless missed opportunities—hadn’t needed to be experienced at all?

I recently realized that I'd spent nearly a quarter of my life sifting through smoking ruins that had been created back in 2009. In the decade leading up to that year, I’d written a few books, had dedicated nearly all my free time to podcasting and evangelizing them, and wound up making lifelong, life-changing friends along the way.

What began as a lark evolved into a mission, and eventually became an obsession: publication. I desperately wanted my books to be published. I needed them to be published. I needed that because I needed my talents to be validated in a way that I was emotionally incapable of doing myself. This is never a wise reason to pursue a goal, but I’m not the first person to pin the fate of my self-worth on the approval of others (rather than responsibly forging that love and confidence within myself), so there you go.

If publication had been the sole motive fueling my obsession, perhaps the past decade would’ve unfolded differently. But it wasn’t enough to see the book on a Barnes & Noble shelf. It needed to be a success. It needed to startle the world with its cleverness and become the kind of financial success story that could enable me to write books full-time for a living. That’s the dream of most writers, and it became my obsession.

In the publishing industry, this dream is rarely achieved. I knew that then. It hardly mattered.

2009 came. Two of my novels—both the first books in planned series—were published. I wept in disbelief when I saw them on bookstore shelves. Neither achieved the kind of success needed to greenlight the publication of the sequels, much less enable me to solely write books for a living.

I was heartbroken. Furious. Isolated. Lost. The novels hadn’t failed; I had failed. I was an unmitigated failure.

I have spent the past 10 years standing in the long shadow of that year. I hated myself. If I’d actually been a talented storyteller, I reckoned, things would’ve been different. Hack. Fraud. It was obvious I was a no-talent fraud, and it was obvious I would always be a no-talent fraud. The world saw me for what I was, and was laughing. I had it coming.

I immediately permitted myself to be enslaved by this thinking. I listened to the voice (in great part because I’d heard a variation of this voice for as long as I could remember), and believed what it said, and fed it my fear, my fear of failure, my creative energy, my optimism, my motivation, my goodness. I became ossified, immovable and unwilling to change. Failure. Fraud. You goddamned fool. You broken bulb. You unremarkable thing. You deserved this.

I haven’t invested a consistent effort in writing fiction ever since.

I’ve spent the past few years trying to unlisten to this sly voice in my ear and unwrap its familiar arms from my chest. I’ve made pockets of progress here and there—and have created a handful of beautiful things along the way—and I’m proud of that. But the darkling lover is persuasive. It knows how I think. It knows precisely what to say. It purrs.

It tells me that it is far easier to sit here—right here in the dark, right here where the surroundings are known, though terrible—than to stand up and walk out the door into sunlit uncharted territory. It’s the Devil you know, after all.

But then the thunderclap came last week, as I meditated. My perspective shifted entirely. I had not failed in 2009, I suddenly saw. I had never, ever failed. I had succeeded. I had soared.

It is the dream of practically every writer to craft a story that seizes the imaginations of readers and pulls them into a place where they—if only for a few hours—no longer think about their own lives, or their own seductive anxieties, or their responsibilities. I realized, perhaps for the first time in a thoughtful and contented way, that my books have unequivocally done that very thing.

I realized, perhaps for the first time in a thoughtful and contented way, that my books have been enjoyed by many tens of thousands of people—real actual flesh-and-blood people with families and jobs and friends. True lives, across the globe, impacted in some small way by my words.

I realized, perhaps for the first time in a thoughtful and contented way, that the chances of a novel being published by a major publisher are infinitesimally small … and that the chances of seeing that book in a brick-and-mortar bookstore are smaller still. As I meditated, I cried in disbelief all over again. My books had beaten the odds.

Writers write. They write the very best tale their talents and time will allow. The luckiest ones have the great (greatest?) honor of having their work purchased by a publisher and sent out into the world, for all to see.

What the world does then has little, if anything, to do with the author. The tale is as good as it can be. It finds a home in a great many minds and hearts, or it doesn’t. But its purpose for being—to be excavated from the mind, to become, to be set free—has been achieved in the most glorious of ways. It exists.

I see the world more clearly now, but ache for my missteps. I regret spending most of my life not having the emotional ability to appropriately see my talents for what they are. I regret falling prey to a lifelong all-or-nothing mindset that equated realistic outcomes and learning experiences with outright failure. I regret cozying up to the ravenous, nihilistic snake-self within me that insisted that indecision was always the best-possible decision, and that Staying Right Here was always better than Going Out There.

All of which is a longwinded way of saying that I was born to write books, and to entertain people, and to provide a brief respite from an ever-hostile world, and that’s it. Success isn’t publication. Success isn’t making a full-time wage from writing fiction. Success is found in the doing of the thing, in its becoming, in the process of blossoming into a thing that rightly and truly exists.

Success is the journey, friends.

I am going to write books again.

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I learned one of the most important lessons about writing dialogue and character by watching The Golden Girls.

The lesson: A character should be so clearly realized that when they say something in a scene, the dialogue should map exclusively, and exquisitely, to them. Someone else could deliver the same narrative information, but never in the same unique way this character would.

Case in point, which I remember seeing when I was a youngster: No one but Blanche could've said this.

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“You never studied.”

More than a week ago, I received a strange package from Los Angeles.

The return address label declared the box was shipped from “Ray Stanz” (a misspelled nod to a character in Ghostbusters, played by Dan Aykroyd) with a return address of 7708 Woodrow Wilson Drive (which is a former home of Aykroyd, which he claimed was haunted by ghosts).

I immediately suspected that the box was a trailhead for an Alternate Reality Game, and contained goodies that would provide a “rabbit hole” gateway into the game’s narrative. I’ve received several packages like this in the past, and always use the opportunity to document and share my unboxing of the package.

I do this to celebrate the awesome artistry of what’s inside … and also to provide folks on the internet with whatever information, puzzles and other mindbenders that might be required to advance the narrative.

The experience with this box from Los Angeles was very different … and I must admit, downright terrifying. If you want to see the unboxing in real-time (and my horrified reactions throughout), take a peek at the first video below. The second video was shot and edited after I’d composed myself a few days later.

Package From a Stranger, Part 1 Package From a Stranger, Part 2 Photos and More Info About the PackageIt’s been 10 days since I opened the package, and I’m no closer to solving the riddles within than I was when I received it.

For a few days, I suspected that the package’s spooky contents weren’t a trailhead for an ARG at all, but instead some kind of morbid joke played by a friend—or something worse, like a legit attempt to terrorize me. This dread eventually passed when, by pure happenstance, I spotted a critical clue in one of the package’s artifacts. This convinced me that the box is indeed an ARG trailhead.

Here’s a closer look at the package and its contents. These photos may help folks solve any puzzles lurking within, and propel this spooky story to its next stage.

The Package ItselfWe know a few things about the sender of the package:

They are one of my Facebook friends
We know this because they viewed a Friends-only post I made on Dec. 4
In that post, I had spotted and shared information about a spooky painted babydoll toy (named “Dotty”) that had been crafted by someone in the Denver area, where I live. Dotty the doll was for sale via a local Facebook Marketplace listing
They know my legal first name and used it on the address label
They know my home address

The list’s last two items don’t distress me much because I know how easy it is to find a person’s name and address online. The list’s first three items are very unusual in that the Facebook post I made about Dotty was published well over a month before I received the package.

Did Dotty herself provide the creative catalyst for the bizarre package I received? Was the ARG project already in the works, and whomever is involved saw my posting about Dotty and leveraged her as a key artifact for the package? I still don’t know.

I confirmed via the box’s USPS tracking code that it was shipped from Los Angeles.

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The “First Layer” of the PackageResting atop a larger item wrapped in newspaper was this strange item, a little smaller than a manilla envelope. Like all the other newspaper wrappings, this featured pages from the Minneapolis Star or the St. Paul Dispatch newspapers, published on Oct. 3, 1938. (The newspaper pages may be clever forgeries, but they certainly feel old, were very brittle, and tore very easily.)

Note the postage stamps used to seal the contents within this smaller package. They were released in 1938, as part of a U.S. President-themed series. Also note that Bruno Mussolini has been highlighted in red pencil.

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Here are the identities of the presidents seen in the stamps:

Top Side (with B. Mussolini):

Ben Franklin
James Monroe (5th president)
Grover Cleveland (22nd president)
William McKinley (25th president)
Chester Arthur (21st president)
Grover Cleveland (22nd president)
James Monroe (5th president)
John Quincy Adams (6th president)
James Monroe (5th president)

Bottom Side (from bottom to top):

James Monroe (5th president)
White House
Grover Cleveland (22nd president)
John Tyler (10th president)
John Tyler (10th president)
James Madison (4th president)
Ben Franklin
White House

Inside the wrapped mini-package were a series of family photos. “Halloween 1938,” its scrapbook page announced.

These eerie photos eventually provided me with the critical clue that this package was indeed an ARG trailhead of some sort. The spooky doll Dotty can be seen in a corner of one of the photos. Are there other visual clues hiding in plain sight in these photos?

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The “Second Layer” of the PackageBeneath the mini-package was a larger item, wrapped in more newspaper and surrounded by newspaper padding.

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The Crossword PuzzleOne of the newspaper pages contained a crossword puzzle with a distressing message written in red pencil. I’ve included it here, along with the puzzle’s clues. Is this a message simply designed to complement the horrific contents of the box … or is there more to it, and its crossword puzzle?

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Dotty’s WrappingsDotty the ghoulish doll was wrapped in what appeared to be a front page from The Minneapolis Star, published on Oct. 3, 1938. More noteworthy items were highlighted by the sender:

A headline documenting the deaths of two Minnesota residents: George Pickard and Warren Erickson. Pickard died in a car accident; Erickson died when a rifle he’d been traveling with went off accidentally. Pickard was 27. Erickson was 17.
Another story, mentioning a young woman who received medical treatment after “walking into a car.” Elsie Salter was 23 at the time.

When it comes to ARG trailheads and rabbit-holes, the story’s creators—sometimes called “puppet masters”—highlight noteworthy narrative details or clues. What role do these headlines and victims play in this story?

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“Look After This Child”On the underside of the page enshrouding Dotty was a message written in a ragged, frightening letters:

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Dotty HerselfAnd then there was the spooky doll Dotty herself, finally freed from the confines of the box. It’s unclear what kind of role Dotty plays in all of this. Her appearance is legit ghoulish, and produced a genuine fright from me when I saw her for the first time.

However, Dotty herself doesn’t seem to provide any additional details for our narrative—other than appearing in one of the “vintage” photos seen above. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything inside her other than stuffing, and there’s nothing written on her clothes or underneath them.

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What’s Next?Where do we go from here? I’m leaving that in the capable hands of you and others who want to pursue the clues and unlock the mystery. If you have any questions or requests for additional info, contact me. I’ll update this post as needed.

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“During my brief journalism career, I freelanced for Wizard, a magazine that covered the comics industry. I had the great fortune to interview influential folks in the business, such as Neil Gaiman, Warren Ellis and Will Eisner. But my most memorable conversation was with Alan Moore, who was then—and remains—one of my favorite fiction writers….”

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I finished listening to Missing Richard Simmons yesterday. It was pretty good. Check it out.

Back when I was a newspaper reporter, I interviewed Richard Simmons. Predictably, he was a hoot. During the interview, I asked him for, like, "5 tips for living healthy" or something like that for a sidebar. One of them stuck with me:

"Don't walk among your ruins," he warned. Meaning, don't ruminate over past failures. Experience them, acknowledge them, learn from them, and then move on. Don't stay there. Take the lesson and mosey. Don't stay trapped in the past.

The older I get, the more I find myself wanting to walk among my ruins. I often think of Simmons' advice.

You know what? It works.

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My new personal mantra when it comes to writing:

Potato chips, not pearls.

Meaning: Nearly everything I write will be consumed quickly and compulsively. It's disposable. I must move fast to keep pace. Be less precious. Make it peppy, hit my goal, drop the mic and GTFO. Do it all over again.

I'm realizing the greatest sin I've probably committed as a writer—for both my non-fiction and fiction work—is obsessing about craft. Only I (and wanker writers like me) see the seams, the stitch-marks, the misplaced commas.

Nearly everyone else just wants yummy potato chips.

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WOW! A special package was delivered to my home last night, sent from an ALTERNATE 1960s. In this alt-world, the fascists won the war, and America ain't what it oughta be. (Sound familiar?)

This is brilliant work from my dear friends at Campfire. It's a bona fide artifact from another world. It looks and feels absolutely authentic. And there's a story here—a "tangible narrative," as I call this stuff.

Take a peek at these unboxing pictures. See the story. On the surface, this looks like something sent from a governmental agency. But a member of the Resistance has slipped a subversive record into the sleeve of an "approved music" album. They've given instructions on how to play the record, should you not have an record player. And there's more, lurking in puzzles hiding in plain sight.

It's a meticulously, lovingly crafted piece of fiction. And it's a love letter to "The Man in the High Castle," the TV show it elegantly promotes. So is the incredible Resistance Radio website, also created by Campfire. It's a must-visit: http://resistanceradio.com .

What a terrific experience. In particular, the surprise and delight of finding a "banned" record inside a "legit" record sleeve was a wonderful moment I'll remember for a long time.

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So. Three paragraphs into this 2,500-word feature story about an icon in the video games biz, and the reporter injects himself into the story. A brief skimming of the piece suggests he will do this again and again and again.

Video game journalists—and indeed, many online writers who never went to J-school—do this all the time. It's like catnip. They can't help themselves. They cannot fathom the concept that the narrative is not, in fact, about them.

Yes, I'm grousing about this again. (I whine about this often on Facebook.) Maybe it's an age thing; a practice that undisciplined young writers, overseen by undisciplined editors, can't help but do. Maybe it's a generational narrative trend. Maybe it's a games-industry thing. Maybe it's a lack of formal editorial training. (Or alternately, a kind of formal editorial training that I deeply disapprove of.)

I'm totally get-off-my-lawning here, I know. I remind myself that my thinking must represent the ossified, arthritic perspective of someone who learned journalism before the Internet. (See? Right there. I capitalized Internet, per the AP Stylebook circa 1998.) I must be out of touch. I'm a tone-deaf geezer.

Unless I'm not. I flail and fail at most things I do. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed. But I know good storytelling—non-fiction narrative in particular. It's the only thing I've ever been really good at. I know how that house is built.

And where I come from, good journalists don't talk about themselves in their stories. They are observers. Facilitators. They are the radio through which the song is played. They are never the stars.

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Over on his blog today, Warren Ellis was talking about how Britain was going off British Summer Time and back on Greenwich Mean Time.

"Greenwich Mean Time, which is Zulu Time and generally Coordinated Universal Time, which means that the British invented time across the universe," Ellis writes. "Don’t argue. The British invented time and you have to just sit there and like it. We also invented sleep. Previous to our invention of time, sleep in Britain was generally sectional."

And then I learned about segmented sleep. Some researchers believe sleep as we know it is a modern invention. Zounds.

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From Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, an exchange between protagonist Gil Pender (an unpublished writer) and Ernest Hemingway:

PENDER: Would you read it?

HEMINGWAY: Your novel?

PENDER: Yeah, it's about 400 pages long, and I'm just looking for an opinion.

HEMINGWAY: My opinion is I hate it.

PENDER: Well, you haven't even read it yet.

HEMINGWAY: If it's bad, I'll hate it because I hate bad writing, and if it's good, I'll be envious and hate all the more. You don't want the opinion of another writer.

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I've been mainlining news headlines / topics of the 2000s lately, for a freelance creative project. I'm reminded again and again by how violent and dangerous this world is, and how rotten people can be to one another.

I am so very grateful to live in a country where I can type this update onto a magic sheet of glass that talks to the sky (which you can then read on your own magic sheet of glass that talks to the sky), and not have to worry about being a victim of a car bomb. Or a famine. Or toxic water. Or radiation. Or mutilation. Or enslavement. Or...

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It's been around 10 years since I opened this guy; I think it's about time for a re-read. Do you own a copy? Want to dive back in with me?

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Ross Floate sez: "When we build things for people, I always ask, 'How could someone screw this up for shits and giggles?' People tend to think I’m joking, but I’m deadly serious because if your site, network, or product becomes a playground for a bunch of jerks, it turns off the people whose time and attention you’re really trying to obtain."

When I've worked on transmedia experiences that have interactive/user-gen content touchpoints (such as Byzantium and Deja View), our creative teams have always asked Floate's question, and then built systems to proactively address the behavior of such curious users.

I want to characterize these users as mischievous imps or destructive trolls, but that's usually an unfair assessment. Whenever people are invited to participate in a thing that has a formalized system—a thing with rules—there's a subculture of folks who'll naturally want to stretch the boundaries of its design, if only to see how elastic (or static) those boundaries are.

These are the same people who command their Mario to run to the "left" side of the screen in a Super Mario Bros. game, to see if the screen scrolls in that direction—even though every environmental cue tells players to run "right."

Truthfully, I admire that kind of creative, unexpected thinking—and when I embrace that impish curiosity as a user/player on my own and test the boundaries of others' systems, I grin when I discover my curious behavior was anticipated by the designers.

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Comics creator Wally Wood asked icon Jack Kirby for a self-portrait, for Wood's 1966 underground comic witzend #1. This is what Kirby sent.

Discovered via Tyler Weaver.

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I just finished reading Marvel Comics: The Untold Story, a finely-researched and -written book about the rise of The House of Ideas, and its fall, and its rise again, and its fall again, and its rise again, again. I suppose if you're already deeply knowledgeable about comics history, or have closely followed Marvel throughout the years, not much in its pages will surprise you. For a reader like me, however, it was a wonderful and revelatory ride. I recommend it.

The comics industry has experienced countless creative and business challenges, and encountered (and sometimes outright ignored) important matters regarding the ethical treatment of creators, their creations, and compensation for the merchandising and adaptation of those creations in other media. The decades-ago outspoken criticism of Marvel by industry icons like Steve Ditko and Jack Kirby remain some of the best-known examples, as does the en masse 1992 departure of superstar Marvel artists McFarlane, Lee, Liefeld and others to form the creator-owned Image Comics.

As a fierce advocate of creator rights, I'm deeply sympathetic to the plight of folks like Ditko and Kirby, and often agree with the scathing critiques creators like Frank Miller have leveled against mainstream comics publishers. But as a guy who's gotta eat and writes transmedia stories set in the worlds of existing fictional universes—including the X-Men cinematic universe—I'm also sympathetic to the media companies' position: It's work for hire, bub. You can't always own what you write.

For creators like me, that's just fine.

Marvel Comics: The Untold Story suggests that few, if any, creators were thinking much about royalties and reprint revenue and profit-sharing and merch and on-and-on, way back when Marvel (and other new comics publishers) were forging brand-new frontiers in the medium. Back in those days, comics weren't Comics. They were funny books, man. It was practically one big sweatshop. There were crushing artistic workloads to address and punishing deadlines to meet. The vibe one gets while reading The Untold Story is that the Merry Marvel Bullpen was in a state of perpetual "present tense"—now, now, now, get it done now, we've got fires to put out, fellas, move your asses, go go go.

Of course, this state of ever-present Now (and publishers' business practices of the era) discouraged long-term thinking about creator rights, adaptations, contracts, that sort of stuff. That led to a whole shitpile of problems down the road, problems that needed to—and continually need to—be discussed frankly, openly and fairly.

As I read about those effervescent times, however, I couldn't help but wonder if that ever-present state of Now also generated some unusually crazy-good stories, characters and experiences simply because creators were solely focused on creation. Is it possible that such a collective and concerted creative effort, with little regard given to "big picture" stuff like franchise development and cinematic adaptation (as undeniably important and necessary as that stuff was, and is), freed these creators' minds in ways they might not otherwise have been?

It's a romantic and deeply naive notion, I'm all but certain. But when I look back on my own career, and examine when I was at my most unabashedly energized, enthusiastic and optimistic about storytelling, my mind always turns to those early days of podcast fiction, from around 2006 to 2008, when a small collective of creators helped invent, iterate and innovate something that felt entirely new. There wasn't much, if any, money to be made—not yet, anyway. It was a fever-dream of like-minded artists and audiences merging into something organic, untamed, and certainly not fully understandable.

Taking cues from successful media that came before them, some podcast novelists shared characters amongst each other, crafted "crossover moments" between fictional universes, and more. Among some creators, there was even very-fleeting secret talk of creating a Crisis On Infinite Earths-like podcast experience in which numerous authors' characters teamed up to combat an impossible threat that feasted on Fiction itself.

I look back and marvel (ha!) at all that infectious energy, relentless creativity and good humor. The sources for some of this stuff hail from being young and hungry and industry outsiders, absolutely. But I also believe a great deal of it was fueled by a willful disregard for revenue, rights, profits, ROI. That stuff would come later, we supposed. And for many of us, it did.

When our once podcast-exclusive stories found homes in more static (and profitable) media, some of us had to untangle the threads between our works. Sadly, the tiny connections between the Siglerverse and the 7th Son universe and the Heaven universe (and others) had to be removed or revised. We did this because our works had to stand on their own, and make sense for new mainstream readers. We also did this because book/media contracts are weird things. We wanted to remove any doubt regarding "who" owned "what." We wanted to ensure everyone had proper ownership of their IP. It was a necessary, but strangely bittersweet, thing to do. At least for me.

I'm rambling now, I know that. But my point, as amorphous as it is, is that there was an unbridled energy and creativity in those adventurous early days that seemed to operate in a realm just beyond (or perhaps more appropriately, just before) contracts and film options and merch and all the things I now think about when I create stories. I can't speak for other podcast novelists from that time, but I regard those few years as the most unapologetically fun of my career. We were our own House of Ideas, in our own state of perpetual Now. Go, man, go go go.

Which brings me back to Marvel Comics: The Untold Story. The book's worth reading, if only to have a clearer understanding of how the most influential company in the comics business helped define, and damage, and redeem the medium's reputation. It's a wild story, filled with hundreds of remarkable—and remarkably creative—people. Like Grant Morrison's Supergods (which I also read recently and highly recommend), The Untold Story has me thinking about superhero comics, and the kind of stories they tell best, and the remarkable impact they've had on our culture ... and how creators (and their creations) should be valued and treated.

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My ladyfriend and I visited the Stanley Hotel recently, the historic Colorado resort that inspired Stephen King to write The Shining all those decades ago. It was a lovely place. In two wonderfully-conflicting stories from two different Stanley tour guides, King's one-night stay in the hotel was retold, as were the creepy experiences he had while roaming its halls.

King famously hated Stanley Kubrick's film adaptation of The Shining. His criticisms aren't unfair: Jack Torrence's descent into madness and murder is a slow, insidious burn in the book. His conflict about his alcoholism is also more pronounced, intense and sympathetic. His wife Wendy is sharper and more empowered in the novel, too. And the ending is different. The victim of many a lousy film adaptation, King has said, "Books and movies are like apples and oranges. They're both deeelicious, but taste completely different." Nevertheless, he loathed Kubrick's take on The Shining.

Our tour guides insisted that, back in the day, King wanted Kubrick to film The Shining at the Stanley Hotel—the very site that inspired his story. Kubrick pointed out that the hotel's location wasn't especially remote in real life, and certainly didn't appear remote in wide shots. Further, its (at the time) yellow interior decoration made the place look like "a birthday cake." It just wasn't scary enough.

Instead, Kubrick shot exteriors of the Timberline Lodge hotel in Oregon, and interiors on a soundstage.

Eventually, the film rights reverted to King. Determined to see a more faithful adaption happen, he personally wrote the teleplay for a three-part TV miniseries. He also exercised his influence as creator and Executive Producer to have the production film on location at the Stanley Hotel. Exteriors and interiors, the works. The story had finally come home—and that's a pretty cool thing, because it so rarely happens.

Upon returning from our trip to the Stanley, we rented the 1997 The Shining miniseries. We finished watching it last night. It was fun to see the hotel on-screen. We even got to see our very room's windows in exterior shots. Once the character dives into full-bore crazy, actor Steven Weber (from Wings) does a pretty great job of playing an unhinged Jack Torrence.

But.

Filmmaking is a difficult business, fraught with challenges the audience never knows about, or sees. I don't know if any of those challenges plagued the miniseries' production, but there's lots of problematic stuff in the six-hour experience. Ultimately, it's a too-long, could've-been-better-written, flatly-directed, low-budget snoozer. And the hotel didn't look scary. Or especially remote.

Kubrick had been right. Of course Kubrick had been right. And his is a way better movie.

But boy, the Stanley sure is a pretty—and pretty inspirational—place to stay.

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Here's a secret I've never shared with anybody. This isn't a big deal, so I don't mind spilling it. I just realized I've never articulated it to anyone other than myself.

The primary reason I so thoroughly embraced fast-paced blip-blip-blip social media instead of blogging is because I've convinced myself I'm not especially insightful, and don't think I have anything interesting to share with others. In my mind, a blog is a place for thoughtful communication—where Interesting Things are shared. Twitter and Facebook is for hang-wringing and absurdity. It's easy to make silly noises with your mouth when everyone else is. It's also kind of lonesome and unfulfilling, making silly noises with your mouth.

I also think the reptilian part of my brain is thoroughly addicted to these sites' engaging, gamified systems. Between the retweets, stars and red notifications badges, there's always something scratching your pleasure zone (validation!), and providing a perpetual reason for going back to those sites. Over the years, my brain has happily rewired itself to associate those notifications as personal triumphs—proof of self-worth, or cleverness, or something else. That's effed up.

Anyways, I'm making an effort to unconvince myself of some things, and embrace more thoughtfulness and quiet in my life. I think that would make a positive impact on my perception of the world, and of people.

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I think a lot about creative writing, guys. I love and live the craft, and want others to, too. The world needs great storytellers. The world is a better place when diverse perspectives are shared through story.

The trouble is, it's hard work.

There's so many challenges: It's tough for most folks to get into a persistent writing groove, invent and explore a cool fictional world, and tell great stories with memorable characters and plot twists. Some writers say this stuff is easy. Know this: These guys are no-good liars.

But here's the intriguing thing. Telling stories is actually super-easy in our everyday lives. When you answer the question How was your day at work?, you're telling a story. When you play make-believe with your child, you're telling stories. When you gab with your pals over drinks, you're telling stories. Storytelling is like Star Wars' the Force: It surrounds us and binds us. It hides in plain sight.

I'm convinced some of the world's best writers also hide in plain sight. They aren't yet writers. These folks simply don't have enough incentive or gumption or time to embrace the craft. I understand this all too well. Like I said, it ain't easy.

But what if there was a safe environment that actually could make it easy? An experience that made written storytelling fun and engaging — and fostered good habits of persistence, which lead to that all-important writing groove?

Storium might do that very thing. I'm very proud to say I've had a small hand in creating it.

Storium is an online storytelling platform. It merges the very best elements of storytelling with writing, and makes it a game you play with friends. It's an actual honest-to-goodness-fun-to-play experience. It presents folks with a safe, judgment-free environment that embraces fellowship, conversation, collaborative play and spontaneity. It works with any story genre, and it's for players of all ages, backgrounds and level of experience.

At its heart, Storium is a game, and all games have rules. But Storium's stay out of your way. They're there only to provide the ingredients for fun, creative, story-driven play.

It's the easiest way I know for you and your friends to tell a story together online. No joke.

Storium's been in the works for more than a year. I'm a proud advisor for Protagonist Labs (the startup company behind Storium), and have been gabbing with Protagonist Labs co-founder Stephen Hood for a year now. He, co-founder Josh Whiting and lead game designer Will Hindmarch — yes, THAT Will Hindmarch, of Vampire: The Requiem, the Dragon Age RPG and Lord of the Rings Online fame — have been building and iterating an online multiplayer experience that's easy to learn and effortless to play.

Hundreds of people have played the Storium system as Alpha testers. They love it. And so Protagonist Labs is going to push for a real-deal public launch later this year. The company debuted a Kickstarter today to help fund the remaining costs of developing the Storium platform, and they've brought me — and more than 40 other novelists, game designers, game writers and transmedia storytellers — along for the ride.

We're creating playable worlds for Storium, see — fictional settings where you and your friends can tell your own adventures. These worlds provide just enough info to get your juices flowing, so you can create incredible collaborative story-game experiences, together.

If we achieve our fundraising goal, you'll get to play in the world of THE 33, my new supernatural/sci-fi/action thriller series. You'll join a secret team of badass misfits tasked with protecting humanity from ruthless ultra-criminals, malicious technologies and hostile supernatural beings. You won't be saving the world — you'll be saving my world. That'll be cool for both of us.

You'll also get to play in super-imaginative worlds created by profoundly-talented creators like Delilah S. Dawson (author of Wicked As They Come), Stephen Blackmoore (Dead Things), Mark Diaz Truman (lead developer of the Firefly RPG), Jason Morningstar (designer of the groundbreaking story game Fiasco (!!!)), and many more. We've got settings from the Harlem Renaissance to 1980s Soviet Invasion alt-history, and gobs of stuff in between. I'm absolutely honored to be in these folks' company.

And we've got dozens of other ultracreative storytellers waiting in the wings to create worlds, if stretch goals are met. Folks like podcaster & author Mur Lafferty (you'll get to play in her Afterlife storyworld, where Heaven was set), and brilliant fantasy novelist Saladin Ahmed, and award-winning transmedia writer Andrea Phillips, and Leonard Balsera (lead developer of the Fate RPG system (!!!)), and more. Like, more than 20 more. New York Times bestsellers. Multi-award winners. Rock-star names in game design and RPG writing. They want to create worlds for Storium, and they can, with your help.

Watch the video above. Learn more about Storium and the Kickstarter, and consider becoming a backer. If you've ever wanted to write stories but couldn't find the time or gumption ... or if you miss the days when you and your pals got together to play games, but now can't because of time and distance ... or if you're keen to monetarily support an entirely new way, and fun, way to tell stories, please kick in.

This is a game that gets out of your way, that wants you to have fun. It puts story and players first. It works for every genre, for players of all backgrounds and levels of experience.

It's the easiest way I know for you and your friends to tell a story together online. No joke. Take a peek. Become a backer. We'd love your support.

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John Swords III, field commander for THE 33, is kind of a badass. He's got some badass combat duds, too. You'll see 'em in Episode 2, on sale Feb. 28.

Aw, hell. Why wait until Feb. 28? I asked award-winning artist and costume designer Jared Axelrod to draw and paint Swords in his combat gear, based on my written descriptions from Episode 2. Jared has. The piece looks GREAT — and I want YOU to see it well before the story goes live.

It's a The 33 Newsletter exclusive. Just mosey on over to my The 33 page and sign up for the newsletter. You'll get the awesome in a few days. And a few days after that, you'll get another newsletter-exclusive treat. Pretty spiffy.

(And hey. If you're new to the newsletter, you'll also snag a 33% off coupon for Episode 1. Mmmm, tasty savings.)

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I'm delighted to announce that the premiere episode of The 33 — Pramantha, Part 1 — is now out in the wild, and ready to be consumed by your eyes and ears. Oh, happy day!

This represents a gale-force exhale for me. I've been thinking about, and creating, The 33 in one form or another since 2008. That's a helluva long walk, friends. But the project is finally here, and I'm proud of its first episode.

What is The 33? It's the A-Team meets The X-Files, a weird present-day world where science and sorcery coexist — along with gods, monsters, rogue AIs and anything else you could throw into the bizarre blender that is my brain. It's about thirty-three men and women — misfits, every one — who've been hired to protect the world from a cabal of baddies intent on jumpstarting armageddon.

In many ways, The 33 is my salute to 1980s TV adventure shows and comic books. It's my quirky take on team-based, save-the-world stories. It's also my spin on ebook publishing. The 33 isn't a novel. It's a series of short stories, told in season-long arcs — just like TV. Some adventures are multi-parters. Others are one-shots. Just like comics.

Episodes will be released monthly.

If you're diggin' what I'm transmittin', head over to The 33's page. There, you'll learn a little more about the The 33's cast of unusual (and ever-changing) characters, and find links to purchase the first episode at my site, Amazon and other marketplaces. (Ebook episodes are available at several stores, but The 33's audiobooks are sold exclusively here.)

And hey. While you're over at The 33's page, take three seconds to sign up for The 33's newsletter. Do that, and you'll snag a free excerpt of Episode 1 in text and audiobook formats. You'll also get a coupon for 33% off your purchase of Episode 1. Freebies and deals. Not bad.

Unlike my past digital fiction projects, The 33 isn't free. I hope you're cool with that. I am, 'cause I gotta eat. But I've made sure the prices are fair for you, and for me.

I hope you'll check out the first episode of The 33 … and if you like it, I hope you'll tell a friend or two. Or two dozen!

As always, if you have any questions or feedback — or if you're a blogger/podcaster/reporter who'd like to learn more about The 33 — don't hesitate to drop a line. Thanks so much … and remember: The world needs The 33.

—J.C.

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Nobody's got it figured out. Everybody's doing the best they can.

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In the end, this is really all we writers want from you. ALL THE TIME.

Source: Clairetonic

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Dude’s wife drinks a bottle of wine. Tries to tell a joke. Dude records & and animates it. It’s pretty brilliant.

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Polygon isn't a perfect online publication, but it's often thoughtful and deliberate in its coverage of video games entertainment. Story for story, it's become my go-to site for well-written, timely coverage of video gaming news. Its long form features are especially good.

The Polygon team recently reviewed the next generation consoles, the PlayStation 4 and XBox One. While the site's long form text reviews (XBox One's is here; PS4's is here) are insightful and well worth reading, Polygon's video reviews of both products, seen below, represent some of the best the site has to offer.

If you follow video games journalism for any length of time, you soon discover that so much of it is ill-written, hyperbolic and downright bad journalism. That's because most of it isn't journalism at all, but attitude- and personality-driven punditry. Blech. Polygon strives to transcend that, and often succeeds.

I'm a PlayStation guy, so I'll eventually pick up a PS4. (My PS3 games backlog, right here on my bookshelf, is still too big for me to justify a PS4 purchase at present.) Polygon gave the XBox One an "8" in its review; the PS4 received a "7.5." For invested console gamers, those scores are interesting — and perhaps even underwhelming. But Polygon is examining the big picture, confident both consoles will improve in time, as new games, UI improvements and software patches are rolled in for both consoles.

These are terrific text and video reviews. They show us what great games journalism looks like.

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I do love it so.

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This is all kinds of wonderful madness.

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"I'm never happy with what I've written. You imagine, before you start, there's a cathedral, and the moment it starts on the page, it's a garden shed. And then you just try to make it the best shed you can."

—Sadie Jones, novelist

via The Guardian

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Laith Graham, an Australian buddy who's followed my career since my 7th Son podcast days, asked me this transmedia-related question on Facebook. I thought I'd share Laith's Q, and my A, here.

Hey J.C.,

I've been wondering about your thoughts on TV-related Apps and Social Media integration, and if it is "transmedia." For example: Sporting events like Formula One and iPad apps that show live track position, or Big Brother showing viewer Tweets and Facebook comments, as well as extra footage going to the viewer's iPhone app while watching the show live.

Is this now mainstream transmedia? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

—Laith

Here's my take:

These days, the word "transmedia" is being slung about in strange ways, and being applied to different content strategies. By some folks' reckoning, having such "second screen" content is indeed a breed of transmedia — it's certainly content rolling in through a separate channel/medium (the tablet, for instance), and is designed to enhance the experience of the core content.

Personally, I approach and define "transmedia" from a narrative point of view. For me, it's all about story ... which means I think it's best-suited for fiction programming. In this case, a second screen experience that actually pushes in-world narrative content to the viewer in real time (or permits time-shifted engagement) is a more authentic use of the word and content strategy. I'm talking about canonical content, not tweets of what other viewers think of the show, etc.

Of course, this strategy need not start and stop with mobile apps or social media. Savvy showrunners can, and have, hired creators to populate the web with in-world narrative content on YouTube, "personal" blogs, etc. The TV show Castle even features novel titles written by its crime novelist hero ... which then go on sale weeks later in real stores. Crazy cool.

Anyways, that's a longwinded way of saying I personally believe the most valuable application of transmedia storytelling is when it expands and enhances the storyworld of the show — and not merely (and crassly) promotes the show itself. Doing so can deepen interest and evangelism in the show's actual content and characters — which also accomplishes a marketer's mission of promoting the show itself. Everybody wins.

So, that's my hastily-written perspective. What's yours? Am I giving non-fiction and reality programming short shrift? Are there resonant, current examples of TV-based transmedia experiences — be they non-fiction or fiction ... story-driven or promotion-only — we should know about? Pipe up in the comments.

—J.C.

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Chipotle's recently-hacked Twitter account perfectly articulates my own ongoing personal struggle.

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Hey everyone! You’re really gonna like this episode a lot, trust us! In it, Steve chats with Christian Fonnesbech, the Transmedia Director for the upcoming project Cloud Chamber. We talk about story, challenges and more.

Present Shock: When Everything Happens Now

Little Bets: How Breakthrough Ideas Emerge from Small Discoveries

The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains

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It’s our special Mailbag episode! Steve and J.C. answer your questions, and boy were there some doozies!

Star Trek: The Next Generation: Season 3 [Blu-ray]

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I recently had the great fortune to be interviewed by Jay Ferguson, creator of the Emmy award-winning transmedia experience Guidestones. In these three videos, we gab about the future of the craft, being a creator in the transmedia space, and the blossoming business opportunities for transmedia programming. Enjoy!

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This week’s guests are the creative team behind The Lizzie Bennet Diaries: Bernie Su, Margaret Dunlap, Jenni Powell, and Jay Bushman.

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Professor Henry Jenkins is our guest in this episode! He and J.C. sit down and talk about our current culture of shareable, spreadable media in this epic podcast.

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Cool things are afoot over at Protagonist Labs. Damned cool things.

When the brilliant team at the new company — led by a duo of entrepreneurs and technologists named Stephen Hood and Josh Whiting — recently contacted me and tipped me to a remarkable new product they were developing, I had a bona fide lean in moment. I think my eyes went a little wide. I know I grinned like a kid.

It's supercool stuff. It's also super-secret stuff for now, but dude. Dude. It's supercool.

Stephen and Josh follow and enjoy my prose fiction and transmedia work, and felt my creative perspective and unique storytelling skillset might help them shape this innovative product. I can't tell you what it is, but I can tell you it's unlike anything I've ever worked on ... and it's right up my alley. I couldn't say no.

And so, it's my absolute honor to announce that I'm an advisor for the company. This is a trailblazing thing we're putting together, something I believe will absolutely be worth your time and attention ... especially if you like the kind of stories I tell, and how they're told.

Other creative people, such as the supremely gifted writer and game designer Will Hindmarch, are also advising Protagonist Labs. I'm flattered to be in such awesome company, and advising such an awesome company. Stephen and Josh are crafting something remarkable, and I'm thrilled to be a part of it.

And be sure to check out Protagonist Labs and its founders (and try to guess what they're up to!) by visiting the company's site, or following the company on Twitter.

—J.C.

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In this episode, we welcome Jeff Gomez (Starlight Runner), as J.C. talks with him about his unique brand of world-building in the transmedia space.

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Watch your back, shoot straight, conserve ammo, and never, ever cut a deal with a dragon.
—Shadowrunner street proverb

I'm honored and delighted to announce that I'm a contributor to the Shadowrun Returns short story anthology, which will be published later this year by Harebrained Schemes and Catalyst Game Labs.

My story, titled Cherry Bomb, will accompany works from awesome writers (and veteran Shadowrun contributors) such as Michael A. Stackpole, Tom Dowd, Loren L. Coleman, Jason Hardy, Jennifer Brozek and Russell Zimmerman.

I've worked closely with my longtime collaborator — and Shadowrun creator — Jordan Weisman on this story. Fans of my work will recognize some of our past projects, including Personal Effects: Dark Art, Nanovor and the educational transmedia experience Edgar Allan Poe.

I also clocked in time with the anthology's managing editor John Helfers. My objective: To ensure that Cherry Bomb seamlessly and authentically integrated with the existing canon of the badass fantasy-cyberpunk world of Shadowrun ... and intertwined with the narrative seen in Shadowrun Returns, the upcoming video game from Weisman's company Harebrained Schemes.

I've been a fan of Shadowrun since the early 1990s, so this is literally a creative dream come true for me. I fondly recall poring over Shadowrun RPG sourcebooks and playing the Super Nintendo game back in the day. It was a genuine honor to slip into this world once more, this time not just as a consumer, but as a creator. The fact that Cherry Bomb is a canonical prequel to the highly-anticipated Shadowrun Returns game is cool beyond measure.

Last March, Weisman and his team launched a Kickstarter campaign to fund Shadowrun Returns. They had an ambitious fundraising goal of $400,000. Thirty days and more than 36,000 backers later, the campaign earned more than $1.8 million. Shadowrun is a beloved storyworld indeed.

The game — and a package that includes the Shadowrun Returns anthology, and my Cherry Bomb story — is available for pre-order at Harebrained Schemes' website.

If you're unfamiliar with Shadowrun, here's a quick 101, cribbed (and edited) from Wikipedia:

Shadowrun takes place several decades in the future. In 2011, once-mythological beings (such as dragons) appeared on Earth and old forms of magic suddenly re-emerged. Large numbers of humans mutated into orks and trolls, while human children began to be born as elves, dwarves, and even more exotic creatures.

In parallel with these magical developments, the setting's early 21st century features technological and social developments associated with cyberpunk science fiction. Megacorporations control the lives of their employees and command their own armies. Technology advances make cyberware (mechanical replacement body parts) and bioware (augmented vat-grown body parts implanted in place of natural organs) common.

When conflicts arise, corporations and other organizations subcontract their dirty work to specialists, who then perform "shadowruns." The most skilled of these specialists, called shadowrunners, have earned a reputation for getting the job done. They have developed a knack for staying alive, and prospering, in the dangerous world of Shadowrun.

By all appearances, the Shadowrun Returns video game (set in the 2050 era of the storyworld) has turned into something righteously cool. I've gabbed with Jordan a few times over the past year, as the game has been developed. He and his team are busting their humps to make this game something that lives up to player expectations — expectations that have been 20+ years in the making!

It's an unenviable task, but check out this "first look" Alpha gameplay footage, hosted by Weisman and Mitch Gitelman, Harebrained Schemes' studio manager and co-founder. I think they've nailed it.

Like I said, you can pre-order your copy of Shadowrun Returns today at the company's website. If you're keen to snag my story Cherry Bomb, be sure to pre-order the package that includes the illustrated anthology.

Oh, I guess you want to know what Cherry Bomb is about. It explores if two people from wildly different worlds can fall in love while working in an ultra-polluted, ultraviolent superslum. It's also about gunfire. And blood. And pathological lying.

But it's mostly about love. I promise.

—J.C.

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It’s listener mail time! Steve and J.C. answer your questions, sent in via all the social networks and wonders of technology. Also: We talk about J.C.’s inability to pronounce tall pale British actors’ names correctly.

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Our guest is Mike Selinker (Lone Shark Games Dot Com). Mike, whose puzzles appear regularly in GAMES magazine, The Chicago Tribune and The New York Times, talks with Steve and J.C. about his time at Wizards of the Coast, building ARGs like the one he did for Universal’s Repo Men, and his new book Maze of Games. Plus, if you pay attention, you just might hear a mysterious message!

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Steve and J.C. spend a little time with Lina Srivastava, as they talk about using transmedia techniques for activism, raising awareness and change.

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Warning: This post is packed with plot spoilers for the Mass Effect *trilogy.*

I completed the Mass Effect video game trilogy more than a week ago, and yet a hearty chunk of my mind stubbornly remains back there, on those many worlds, considering the many choices I made. The mistakes I made.

Looking back now, I realize when I became smitten by the series. It was a scene in the first game. It took less than two minutes to unfold, and ended with a thunderclap. Though I wouldn't realize it until much later, this moment made a profound impact on how I played the rest of the game, and its two sequels. Get your head around that: Dozens of hours of play, all affected by 90 seconds.

Sometimes, that's all it takes. Kinda like real life.

A LEGACY OF PAINI've already shared a bit about how I played my Commander Shepard during the series. The Greatest Hits recap: My Shepard was a surly soldier who didn't truck with bullshit. She was an orphan born on Earth, a former criminal who did absolutely everything it took to achieve her mission objectives. She didn't like aliens much, mostly because they didn't like her. She trusted no one. She was merciless.

As the scope of Mass Effect's story widened, my Shepard dropped the attitude about aliens. This was mostly brought on by her collaborations with several aliens during the story, all of whom were brilliantly realized characters, and righteous badasses.

There was another influencing factor, however. Ashley Williams, a member of Shepard's crew, was xenophobic. Her deep mistrust hailed from family history and military experience. Ashley's reasons may have been legit, but I soon realized it didn't matter. See, you start to wonder about your own biases when bigots evangelize their closed-minded hate. Ashley's behavior soon changed Shepard's, and for the better.

My favorite alien crew member was Wrex, the only character in Mass Effect 1 whose surly sass could keep pace with my Shepard's. The krogan bounty hunter loved to fight, but he wasn't a stupid brute. He was heartbroken about how his species remained on the brink of extinction due to the "genophage," a biological weapon deployed 1,000 years ago by two colluding alien species. Their goal had been to control the krogan population, and it had worked. The krogan didn't have a say in the matter.

Wrex and Shepard

Truthfully, the krogan hadn't fully controlled their fate for some time. The species was technologically "uplifted" by other aliens 1,000 years before the genophage to be used as a willing army against the aggressive rachni, a conquering insect-like race.

This technological empowerment created big problems. After the Rachni Wars, the krogan aggressively expanded their borders. Left unchecked, they — and the war they inevitably brought with them — might have dominated the galaxy. The genophage "solution" was released, and everything changed.

Wrex was right to be heartbroken about the genophage. For 1,000 years, only one in every 1,000 krogan survived birth. Fatalistic thinking had plagued the species ever since; its males marched off to war against opposing krogan clans, or they worked as mercs. Most came home in body bags, filled with bullets. The species was dying.

Wrex wanted more for his people. He hoped the krogan might one day be cured. I did too. I reckoned a thousand years of pain, and god knew how many billions of dead babies, was penance enough. I didn't believe anyone had the right to make such a devastating and species-changing decision as the genophage.

A FRIEND LOSTWhich brings us to the planet Virmire, where 90 seconds of dialogue changed how I played the Mass Effect trilogy.

Folks who've played Mass Effect 1 probably recall that Saren, a rogue Spectre brainwashed by the villainous Reapers, was up to no good at Virmire. There, he'd built a facility that was successfully breeding a krogan army. Saren had concocted a cure for the genophage. In order to thwart Saren's galaxy-threatening plan, it became clear that the base — and in the process, the genophage cure — would be destroyed.

For 90 seconds, my Shepard and Wrex argued about this. Wrex demanded the squad retrieve the cure. I tried to explain that Shepard was sympathetic, but it couldn't be done. Wrex countered that the salvation for his people was within reach. The cure would not be destroyed.

As a player, this was a very long 90 seconds. I pined for another game option to agree with Wrex and hunt down the cure, but none existed. Wrex became furious. He pointed a gun at my Shepard's face. I gazed at the conversation options, helpless and horrified as I spotted several choices that were "grayed out," inaccessible — I hadn't acquired enough in-game experience to intimidate or persuade Wrex. All I could do was try to talk him down.

And that's when crew member Ashley Williams shot Wrex in the back. She then plugged him three more times as he gasped in the sand. Wrex was dead. I was aghast. I'd been powerless to stop any of it.

And in that moment — a miraculous moment that I intellectually understand is a complex illusion; a fabrication of polygons, textures and dialogue written by someone like me; make-believe, man — I hated Ashley. I experienced genuine hatred. I seethed at her disregard for Shepard's authority, at the betrayal, and at the bigotry that probably helped her pull the trigger.

Ashley Williams

Not long later, when I had to order a crew member to his/her death during a final all-or-nothing assault on Saren's Virmire base, I chose Ashley. I did this without hesitation. I chose her because of what she'd done, and the pain she'd brought me. My heart had gone cold, and cruel, and I didn't care.

And that's when I realized I was smitten by the series. I'd made a decision based not on some elaborate meta-game analysis of risks and rewards, but one based solely on emotion. More remarkably, I felt no remorse when she died.

That was the end of that.

But it wasn't. I didn't know it, but I was still haunted by Wrex's death. I'd be haunted well into Mass Effect 3.

A FAMILY FORGEDIn meta-game woulda-shoulda-coulda conversations that so many gamers have with themselves, Wrex's death represents a spectacular failure, my punishment for rushing through the game, ignoring experience-boosting side quests. Thankfully, my brain doesn't work this way. I don't enjoy fussing at myself, or trying to outsmart the game. I play games the way I want, and roll with whatever bruises they give me. Losing Wrex was a helluva shiner, but by the end of Mass Effect 1, my Shepard had put the bloody matter behind her, rose to the challenge and righteously kicked some Reaper ass.

Mass Effect 2's prologue is the best video game beginning I've ever played. Not only does the destruction of Shepard's beloved spaceship Normandy serve as an iconic, disruptive, the-rules-just-changed-you're-in-the-shit-now moment — the subsequent death and resurrection of Shepard effortlessly reboots the character, her abilities and her in-game experience, creating a perfect starting point for both veteran and new players. A clean slate for all, completely justified by story. So damned clever.

But the slate wasn't completely clean. Mass Effect 2 is about the ruin and reassembly of family. In it, Shepard is tasked with saying farewell to the Alliance — the institution that forged her (or him) into a warrior-leader — and must work with the dangerous shadow organization Cerberus. Here, Shepard must reforge relationships with allies two years gone, and make many new ones. The objective: To build a Dirty Dozen-inspired "suicide squad" tasked with taking down the Collectors, an alien race working for the Reapers.

Nearly all of the crew members Shepard recruits are outsiders — untethered humans and aliens who are either family-less, or have deep familial issues they wish to repair. To ensure the loyalty of her crew, Shepard must help these misfits. Genetically-engineered human Miranda Lawson wishes to protect her kid sister (who is in fact a clone of Miranda herself) from her tyrannical father. Masked quarian Tali'Zorah and human Jacob Taylor discover dark secrets about their fathers, servicemen who were highly regarded. Asari knight-errant Samara must confront and murder her daughter, who has become a serial killer.

Jack

In contrast, Jack, a remorseless criminal and killer, had no family. She had been abducted as a child by Cerberus (the very organization with whom Shepard is now in league), and was confined at a research facility that tested her remarkable telekinetic powers for years. She eventually escaped, murdered anyone in her way, and lived a thug's life until she was arrested and tossed into a cryogenic prison. Shepard springs her from jail in Mass Effect 2, and helps her destroy the research facility that broke her mind and spirit all those years ago.

Jack was damaged goods, bruised to the bone. She resented authority, seemed pathologically selfish, was unreservedly surly ... and was hella great in a fight. She and Shepard got on just fine. I reckoned Jack would ditch her bad attitude after I helped her say goodbye to her painful past. But she didn't. Because saying goodbye is never that easy.

Indeed, it was the appearance of another krogan in Mass Effect 2 that reminded me of the blood on my own hands, and how I'd failed Wrex and the krogan species in the first game. The creature named Grunt was a young krogan, grown in a vat, genetically engineered to be "pure" — a super soldier, a relentless killing machine.

Grunt

He was sleeping in a stasis chamber when my Shepard found him. Shepard had a clear choice in how to proceed: Leave the chamber closed (and keep the sleeping apex predator inside), or open the chamber and risk the safety of, well, frickin' everybody.

This next bit is important to understand. I didn't choose to open the tank because I wanted a new squadmate, or a better game ending, or other perks meta-gamers savvily strategize about. I chose to open the tank because I wanted to make things right. I knew Grunt couldn't replace Wrex — and indeed, I didn't take a shine to him the way I did my pal from Mass Effect 1 — but I reasoned there was a karmic debt that needed to be paid. My bad decisions had contributed to the taking of a krogan life, and here I was, bringing a new one into the world.

A quick sidebar: This karmic subtext is an invention all my own, of course. Internalized, deeply personal, player-created narratives like this one are perhaps the thing I love most about the Mass Effect games (and other superb choice-driven games such as The Walking Dead). This guilt I had ... the desire to right wrongs from games past ... it was all created in my mind, a byproduct of my emotional investment in the storyworld, characters and plot. Great writing does this. Great voice performances does this. Great character animation does this.

One of my most memorable internalized narrative beats in the series occurred during the endgame of Mass Effect 2. In the midst of invading the Collector base, Shepard's crew was besieged by swarms of Seekers, insect-like things that sting and paralyze their prey. I had to choose a squaddie with biotic (telekinetic) powers who could create a forcefield bubble to protect the squad against the swarm.

Jack, shining bright

Samara, the super-powerful asari knight-errant, was the clear choice. She was nearly 1,000 years old, and a disciplined, even-tempered telekinectic. But I wanted unpredictable Jack — she of the ruined past, she who was pathologically selfish — to have a bona-fide Hero moment, a moment where she was given the greatest responsibility of all. I had no idea if she'd come through; I just knew that after a lifetime of living in the dark, she needed a moment to shine bright. She did.

But back to the middle of Mass Effect 2 and Grunt, and the stasis tank. My Shepard opened the tank, and a great story arc began. When it came to Grunt and the krogan, it wouldn't be my last emotionally-motivated decision. In Mass Effect 2, I ordered the fast-talking salarian doctor Mordin to save some data regarding a genophage cure that had been obtained through terrible, unethical medical research. It was unlikely it could ever lead to a cure.

It didn't matter, not to me. I was trying to make things right, see.

A SECOND CHANCEIn Mass Effect 3, curing the genophage became a priority for the krogan. Considering my Shepard's arc through the series (and my personal feelings about Wrex, the genophage and the unjust punishment of the krogan 1,000 years ago), my character did everything she could to broker an alliance between the genophage's creators and the krogan.

My Shepard birddogged a cure, using the unethical research data saved from Mass Effect 2. She allied herself with the species at every turn, especially so with the female krogan Eve. As a player, I knew that the krogan, if cured, might hunger to conquer regions of the galaxy as they had generations ago. But I hoped they would instead help maintain the galactic unity Shepard was building during this stage of the war.

Mordin

This was a big risk, considering the subversive, revenge-minded talk hailing from Wreave, the krogan clan leader with whom I liaised. Ultimately, I had faith that trust and mercy were the best-possible options.

Trust and mercy. My character had come a long way from being the human-centric, ruthless grunt of Mass Effect 1.

There were moments when I could have sabotaged the genophage cure. I didn't. I saw it through. My Shepard lost a dear ally in the process — surely another moment of karmic balance, for victory and closure cannot come without sacrifice.

And as I watched the snowflakes of genophage cure drift down from Tuchanka's dusty sky, I finally let Wrex go. I finally put that bloody business to bed. Those terrible 90 seconds, all those dozens of hours ago.

A FINAL CHOICEI can't say for certain if Wrex's death, and my relentless, games-long pursuit to right that particular wrong, influenced my final decision in Mass Effect 3 in a meaningful way, but it certainly informed it.

Players of the third game recall the ending's three primary choices:

Destroy the Reapers, which would also kill all synthetic life forms throughout the galaxy, such as the geth and EDI. Even with the Reapers gone, interstellar peace would not guaranteed. Synthetics and organics might war once more. The krogan could rise up again.
Control the Reapers, which would kill Shepard, but inject her mind into theirs, ensuring the elimination of the Reaper threat. Even with the Reapers no longer wrecking the galaxy, interstellar peace would not guaranteed. The galactic unity I'd helped create could easily unravel.
Initiate "Synthesis," in which organic and synthetic life forms would integrate on the cellular level. This would render the Reapers' objective — to prevent organics from extinction, due to an inevitable organic/synthetic war — as obsolete. Due to this galaxy-wide "uplift" in evolution, interstellar peace would be guaranteed.

Shepard's mission, from the beginning of Mass Effect series, was to destroy the Reapers. Considering the galaxy-wide horrors (or meticulously-planned control, depending on your perspective) the Reapers committed every 50,000 years, I was on board with these orders. Kill the fuckers. Kill them all.

And yet at that moment, as my Shepard stood in the heart of the Crucible, panting and bleeding out, my mind reeled from the responsibility and the impossible stakes.

Should I sacrifice millions of innocent synthetic life forms such as the geth for a greater good — the destruction of the Reapers? Trillions of lives would be saved. But I considered the genophage and the unspeakable genocide it wrought for a thousand years, a decision the krogan did not make for themselves. Did I have the right to kill the geth, just as Ashley Williams had killed Wrex on Virmire?

Alternately, should I guarantee a lasting galaxy-wide peace by choosing Synthesis? In one swoop, my decision could end the Reaper threat, and harmonize all sentient life in a way never before seen — a genuine leap forward in evolution. But I considered the "uplifting" of the krogan 2,000 years ago. Did I have the right to make such a sweeping decision for all species ever ... a decision with no take-backs? The krogan hadn't been ready back then. Would the rest of us be now?

And then my mind turned to the genophage cure, and how I'd gone to incredible lengths to ensure its successful creation and release. I had done so because it was the right thing to do. It was just. The decision had not been without risk; the cured krogan might declare vengeance on the galaxy some day, and they'd be within their right to do so.

But I had had faith back then — faith that trust and mercy were the best-possible options. And that was where my mind settled, here, now, in the heart of the Citadel. I had faith it would work out.

My Shepard staggered to the panel that would sacrifice her life, and activate her consciousness' control over the Reapers. Trust and mercy — the two qualities my Shepard didn't have at the beginning of Mass Effect 1 — would be what she shared now. Trust in the galaxy to remain united; mercy for the Reapers.

The ending was wonderful.

A REMARKABLE EXPERIENCENow that the story is over, I regard the Mass Effect games with the same reverence I have for such other brilliant science-fiction stories as The Matrix and Vernor Vinge's novel A Deepness In the Sky — I wish I could completely forget them, so I could experience them again for the first time.

For me, the trilogy represents a miraculous thing. It is an experience that one does not control, but influences; a narrative that celebrates personal choice, but wisely — and rightfully — keeps its true rudder far from players' hands. And yet, at nearly every beat during the dozens of hours I was in its storyworld, I was thoroughly convinced that every moment of Mass Effect was my own.

I intellectually understand it's all a complex illusion; a fabrication of polygons, textures and dialogue written by someone like me. It's make-believe, man. But it evoked genuine emotion, passion, and creative inspiration and aspiration.

As I said, a hearty chunk of my mind stubbornly remains back there, on those many worlds, considering the many choices I made. The rest of my mind — the part that's here with you now — will marvel at it for months to come, this genuine and awe-inspiring work of art.

Did the Mass Effect series make a similar impact on you? I'd love to hear about it. Share your own Shepard's stories in the comments.

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We celebrate the Indie-ARG in this episode! Guests Ryan Omark, Steve Omark (We Are Earthborne), Dana Shaw and Tom Pike (The Wall Will Fall) discuss their Alternate Reality Game projects from inception through execution and completion, along with the challenges they faced and lessons they learned.

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My Shepard's arc throughout the space opera Mass Effect video game trilogy is fun and fascinating to think about.

I resolutely played her as a human-centric Renegade in the first two acts of the first Mass Effect game. I reckoned the awful childhood and ruthless career decisions I'd chosen for her "origin story" in this Role Playing Game would've made her filled with piss and vinegar. She mistrusted aliens, resented authority, shot first and asked questions later. But that changed as the stakes in the game increased. Her little mind opened, she rose to the challenge, made more optimistic (Paragon) decisions than cynical (Renegade) ones, fought for a worthy cause, fell in love, the works.

In the opening acts of Mass Effect 2, I played Shepard as an alien-friendly, but no-compromises Renegade. She was rightfully cynical. She was pissed off at the world for what happened to her in that game's opening moments, and was pissed off at who she was working for. Yet again, she softened and became more Paragon as the pressure piled on, and that game's galaxy-spanning threat became increasingly clear.

These days as I make my way through Mass Effect 3, despite the occasional Renegade moment (for I still sometimes shoot and ask questions later), I nearly always play her like the galaxy-uniting Paragon hero she's supposed to be.

Here's the thing that amazes me. This game-by-game transformation isn't a side-effect of deliberate, thoughtful decisions made by me. I haven't wittingly "willed" my character to evolve over time. Shepard's changes have all hailed from my natural reactions to the rich storyworld, the games' plots, and the hard decisions Shepard has had to make. I didn't "choose" to play my Shepard as softer, or more generous, or open-minded as the series progressed — not with any deliberation, anyway. That evolution just happened. Adaptation? Assimilation? I don't have a word for it.

But I genuinely marvel at it, at the impact it's made on me as a player ... and on the impact it's made on my little world-saving Shepard. That's a testament to the authenticity and immersive qualities of the Mass Effect universe, and how the games clearly present their narrative stakes (and the ethical challenges those stakes evoke). Above all else, it's the characters and writing.

I'm certain I've changed as a person while playing these games, though those revelations will come later. But the changes my little Shepard has gone through, all brought on by the story? Those are worthy of awe, admiration and appreciation. And aspiration.

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Video game enthusiasts who criticize the NRA for releasing a "gun range" iOS game (after the NRA recently, and shamefully, blamed video games for inspiring violent behavior) are falling into a trap. The NRA's "gun range" game doesn't fire ammo at living creatures, and — I presume — encourages gun safety and responsible use.

By screaming about the NRA's iOS game and its irony, gamers are actually providing opportunities for the NRA to showcase the disparities between its "responsible" game and the undeniable ultraviolence seen in most other video games.

It's a honeypot, guys. Be critical, but be thoughtful with that criticism.

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Special guest Michael Andersen (ARGNet) joins Steve and J.C. as they look back at the year 2012. Projects, platforms, ARGs and more, you won’t want to miss this year-in-review episode.

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A few months ago, I received an incredible package in the mail from the Interplanetary Union, an organization based in a location called "New Lyon City," on the planet Centauri. I recorded an unboxing video, and shared the contents of the package with readers.

I learned not long after by Alternate Reality Game players and transmedia enthusiasts that the package was for a fiction project called We Are Earthborne. Remarkable in scope and quality, We Are Earthborne was an independently-produced experience, the brainchild of storytellers Ryan and Stephen Omark. They released the story under their studio, Immersive Fiction. Signs suggest the story concluded mere days ago.

However, I received yet another mailing via the Interplanetary Union yesterday -- this one from the planet Aquilo. It was a postcard from Akumu Hale. Players of the We Are Earthborne game may recognize those names. For newcomers, the postcard represents a brief and curious peek into a remarkable science-fiction world.

Is the postcard a final small rabbit hole for players to pursue, or an epilogue for the experience? I'll leave it to you to decide.

I've scanned the envelope and postcard. Take a look ... and if you're interested in learning more about We Are Earthborne, check out the links below the gallery.

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Links:

We Are Earthborne's site
We Are Earthborne's Unfiction thread
Oceanus Wiki
The We Are Earthborne Codex
Immersive Fiction

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Today, J.C. chats with longtime friend and social media maven & author C.C. Chapman about C.C.'s new nonfiction book, Amazing Things Will Happen.

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Hey peeps. I wanted to tip you to a brilliant book written by my friend, the incredible new media creator and marketeer C.C. Chapman.

In many online circles, C.C. is known for his positivity and relentless work ethic. In his new book Amazing Things Will Happen, C.C. explores the tricky subject of self-improvement and embracing change. Where so many other writers fail, C.C. rises above, delivering a masterful and elegantly-written approach to guiding one's life toward achieving goals and dreams (and not merely settling for current circumstances, as so many of us do).

My review of the book is below. But first, a bit more about the book, from the book:

FROM THE BACK COVERWork hard, be kind, and amazing things will happen. Amazing Things Will Happen offers straightforward advice that can be put into action to improve your life. Through personal anecdotes from the author's life, and interviews of successful individuals across several industries, this book demonstrates how to achieve success, in all aspects of life, through hard work and acts of kindness. Split into five sections, this book details how to begin the self-improvement journey.

MY REVIEWC.C. Chapman's Amazing Things Will Happen is a remarkable and uplifting — but zero-BS — book designed to help you identify places to improve and succeed in your personal and professional life, and then equip you with the insights to make good on those improvements.

C.C. seems to understand that the greatest problem with self-help books is that they overpromise and often guarantee unrealistic results. This mismanages expectations and leads to disappointment. Amazing Things Will Happen rises above such windbaggery by providing hard-earned, dirt-under-the-fingernails practical lessons and advice. This isn't a road map; it's a toolbox.

Thankfully, the tools C.C. provides are worthy of the reader's attention and action. He provides insights on topics such as: summoning the courage to start a new project (or stage in your life / career) ... how to document and celebrate inspiration when it strikes ... how to deal with fussbudget nay-sayers ... how to acknowledge and embrace risk ... and how to rise above it all to achieve your goals.

It's a brisk read, packed with insights, optimism and gumption. Highly recommended. Get your copy at Amazon today.

—J.C.

Amazing Things Will Happen: A Real-World Guide on Achieving Success and Happiness

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Today, J.C. chats with authors and entrepreneurs Collin Earl and Chris Snelgrove. These two ultracreatives are the brilliant minds behind The House Of Gray audio and serialized ebook experience, and the YA series Harmonics.

Harmonics: Rise of the Magician (Harmonics Series Book One)

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It’s the listener mailbag episode! In this episode, hosts Steve Peters and J.C. Hutchins answer questions from listeners, with anything as the topic. You’ll be amazed at what you learn about your hosts in this episode, including our favorite books, best holiday memories, anecdotes from past projects and more! Not to be missed!

Orbiting the Giant Hairball: A Corporate Fool's Guide to Surviving with Grace

The Stand: The Complete and Uncut Edition

The Age of Spiritual Machines: When Computers Exceed Human Intelligence

The Coffin Dancer (A Lincoln Rhyme Novel)

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Folks, I wanted to tip you to an interview I recently did on the brand-new "View From Down Here" podcast, created by longtime 7th Son and podiobook fan Cobern Tweedel.

Cobern, who has cerebral palsy, is a brilliant guy with a helluva story to tell. In this conversation on his inaugural podcast, he asks me gobs of great questions about my fiction — and about the ethical conversations my stories can spark. It's a great chat.

It also has me talking about a 7th Son sequel I'll eventually write, starring a character fans of the trilogy know as binary_fairy. I can't tell you how much fun I had chatting with Cobern for his very first podcast!

You can listen to the episode via the embedded below. Be sure to check out Cobern's TalkShoe page for more episodes in the future! (TalkShoe registration required to access link.)

—J.C.

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This post is to test the website's ability to properly syndicate a podcast episode. Pay no attention to it.

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Today, J.C. chats with author, musician and new media entertainer Mark Yoshimoto Nemcoff. J.C. and Mark are longtime pals and collaborators … and as this conversation illustrates, both are big fans of the timeless Pink Floyd 1979 album, The Wall.

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Today, J.C. chats with Haley Moore, an incredibly talented transmedia storyteller who specializes in creating artifacts — physical items — from fictional worlds. Haley is presently promoting “Laser Lace Letters,” a Kickstarter project.

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Evan Jones (Stitch Media) joins us to give an update on the important court decision in Stitch Media’s interactive tax credit case, a followup to what we originally discussed in Episode 14. Very valuable, insightful discussion, regardless of where you live and work.

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The question for the ages.

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A test "beep," nothing more.

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This post is a test.

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Michelle Senderhauf (Dogtale Media) and Dave Walker (Synth-Bio Productions) join Steve and J.C. this week to talk about emergent, boutique transmedia companies, the challenges they face, and the solutions they deliver.

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In this special episode, co-host J.C. Hutchins chats with narrative designer Chris Dahlen about video game writing, transmedia storytelling and “Mark of the Ninja,” an XBox Live game that Dahlen recently wrote. If you’ve ever wanted to learn about the unique narrative opportunities and challenges found in creating video games, this interview is a great primer.

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In this episode, we talk with Eric Huang of Penguin Books about the opportunities for transmedia storytelling in the book publishing world … and beyond. Also joining us is Michael Andersen of ARGNet.

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In this special episode, co-host J.C. Hutchins chats with actor, writer, producer and entrepreneur Felicia Day. Day has starred in acclaimed TV series such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Eureka, but is perhaps best known as the creator of the groundbreaking, award-winning comedy web series The Guild. She also co-founded the Geek & Sundry YouTube channel, which debuted in April.

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Something cool is in the transmedia waters, my friends. Just last week, I received an incredible mystery package in the mail … and on Monday, another cool package arrived. This one is from another sender, for another transmedia experience! Swamped with work, I wasn't able to examine its contents until today. But man, cool stuff awaited inside.

The envelope appeared innocuous enough, but inside, were three very intriguing items: A cover letter (featuring a handwritten note), what appeared to be a comic book, and a CD-ROM.

I'll provide detailed shots of all this stuff in a moment, but first want to share some observations on this crazy comic book. As I flipped through the book, I realized this wasn't like any comic I'd ever seen. It was "shattered." There were no full pages of art or dialogue; merely shards of content on the white pages.

Here's what I mean. (I cut the pages to easily place them on my desk, in order.)

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I then examined the contents of the CD-ROM and found these files:

I opened the "WE ARE VERY DISAPPOINTED" movie file. This is what I watched:

The mysterious fellow talks about "cracks" in the foundations of the "fourth wall," a membrane that separates fiction from reality. These disturbances may threaten all worlds -- real and imagined.

A multiverse extinction event? That's pretty uncool in my book. Curious, I then examined the image files stored on the CD-ROM. They were scans of the "shattered" comic book pages. Each had a peculiar file name.

I'm including those images, and their file names -- and the cover letter with handwritten message -- in this PDF. If you want to head down the rabbit hole of this intriguing worlds-rending Alternate Reality Game, I suggest you download the PDF and look closely at its contents.

I also recommend checking out the YouTube page for the above video. There, you'll see links to a Twitter account, a story timeline, and more.

Can you help solve the mystery of the "shattered" comic book? Are there hints in the cover letter? Will your pursuit for the truth lead to the source of these destructive cracks between our world and fictional realms?

Download the PDF, let your curiosity be your guide, and good luck.

--J.C.

Note:* The last page of the PDF is missing the file name information. The file name for the image is "22-15-9-4.png*". The PDF has been updated with the file name, and will soon be available with that information.

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Hosts Steve Peters and J.C. Hutchins are joined by veteran game designer Ken Eklund, perhaps best known for designing the renowned serious ARG, World Without Oil in 2007. He talks with us about his current project, Ed Zed Omega. If you’re at all interested in ARGs in Education, you won’t want want to miss this in-depth discussion.

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Yesterday, I received a mysterious packet in the mail from the Interplanetary Union, an organization based in a location called "New Lyon City," on the planet Centauri. I've received some very strange packages in the past, but none with such a cool return address!

I filmed my experience of opening the envelope, and sharing some of its contents. That video is above; low resolution scans of some -- but not all -- of the documents are below. If you'd like to get as close to the experience as possible, DOWNLOAD THIS PDF, which features high resolution scans of the packet's complete contents.

You'll notice that I chronically mispronounce the words "logistics" and "Koatoa" in the video. My apologies. If you knew how nervous I become when talking on video, you'd be shocked that I could properly pronounce anything at all. :)

Enjoy the video, and a few low-res images below. Learn more about the Yimmu Logistics alternate reality game "We Are Earthborne" at the Unfiction forum thread. Also check out the "Oceanus" wiki for more info.

And remember: If you want high resolution scans of the complete collection of transmedia artifacts, download the PDF FOUND HERE.

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Remember: If you want high resolution scans of the complete collection of transmedia artifacts, download the PDF FOUND HERE. Enjoy!

--J.C.

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In this episode, hosts Steve & J.C. talk with the organizers of two of the largest transmedia conferences of the year, both coming up in October: The StoryWorld Conferencein Los Angeles and Power to the Pixel in London.

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This week, StoryForward also speaks with David G. Wilson, Vice President of Global Business Strategy at EON Productions (the production company behind the James Bond film & entertainment franchise) and co-founder of SEAM, a new website designed to foster creator collaboration. In our chat, David shares his passion for storytelling, and discusses some of the practical advice presented in SEAM’s new ebook, Story Design.

Story Design: Storyteller's Handbook for Writers and Dream Merchants

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Our good friend Jonathan Waite joins us to talk about ARGFest-o-Con 2012, happening July 26-28 in Toronto. We talk about all the great reasons to attend, including all the great speakers, events and parties. You can find information and register at the link below.

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Transmedia Designer Andrea Phillips joins Steve and JC to talk about her just-released book A Creator’s Guide to Transmedia Storytelling: How to Captivate and Engage Audiences across Multiple Platforms. They talk about the need for open conversation, the various descriptions of transmedia and the four creative purposes for transmedia storytelling.

A Creator's Guide to Transmedia Storytelling: How to Captivate and Engage Audiences Across Multiple Platforms

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In this special interview, Stitch Media’s Creative Director and Founder Evan Jones joins Steve and J.C. as they discuss the denial of two projects to qualify for an important Digital Tax Credit based on a seemingly defective definition of what interactivity actually is. The serious ramifications of this decision, along with the importance of practitioner input into the very definition of what they do, make this a very important episode that you can’t afford to miss.

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We celebrate the 10th anniversary of ARG websites Unfiction and ARGNet in this history-packed episode. Guests Sean C. Stacey (Unfiction), Jonathan Waite and Michael Andersen (ARGNet) join Steve and J.C. and look back at the early days of Alternate Reality Games.

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Steve and J.C. welcome transmedia writer and producerDavid Varela (davidvarela.com). Their discussion includes a history of his past ARG/transmedia work and his current project, a transmedia live theater event, The Seed.

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New media expert Gunther Sonnenfeld has a meaty discussion with Steve and J.C. about the obstacles that have been preventing transmedia entertainment from going mainstream and what can and should be done to push through them.

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In this conversation, J.C. chats with Karen Wehner and Lucas Johnson, co-founders of The Time Tribe, a transmedia experience designed to teach youngsters about world history. Combining video games, comics, real-world artifacts and more, the project aims to create an accessible, educational narrative that engages players in the media they love.

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Veteran transmedia producer Jackie Turnure (Fourth Wall Studios) joins J.C. and Steve in this jam-packed episode. Their discussion spans her past Alternate Reality Game projects for LOST, Flash Forward, Salt and more, and leads up to an in-depth conversation about Fourth Wall Studios’ just-released project, Dirty Work and their new transmedia platform, RIDES.

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In this bonus episode, Brian Clark (GMD studios) defends his controversial assertion that “transmedia” has outlived its usefulness as a descriptive term for storytelling … and how refining the definition of this emerging breed of narrative will contribute to its long-term viability.

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In a special roundtable discussion, Mur Lafferty, Adrian Hon (Six to Start) and Jim Babb (Awkward Hug) join hosts J.C. Hutchins and Steve Peters as they talk about their recent Kickstarter campaigns.

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In this jumbo-sized episode, hosts J.C Hutchins and Steve Peters spend some quality time with Jay Ferguson, the creator of the interactive thriller Guidestones, and Kate Sullivan of Candlemark & Gleam.

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Today, J.C. brings you an exclusive interview with legendary transmedia creator and game designer Jordan Weisman. In his first audio interview on the topic, Jordan shares the news about a Kickstarter campaign to fund the development and release of Shadowrun Returns, a videogame that will bring players back to the ultra-imaginative RPG world of Shadowrun.

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I've been a busy bee this week, finalizing travel plans to several transmedia/game conferences in the upcoming weeks. Now that these engagements have been booked, I can share the news with you!

Multi-PlatFORUM 2012

Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada March 27-28

Multi-PlatFORUM is a two-day networking and professional development event focusing on digital content creation from both creative and business perspectives. I'll be speaking about how transmedia storytelling can help companies achieve their financial and marketing objectives. I may also be on a multi-guest panel discussing transmedia.

Transmedia, Hollywood 3

Los Angeles, California April 6

Transmedia, Hollywood is a one-day public symposium exploring the role of transmedia franchises in today's entertainment industries. Academics and practitioners converge to share insights and best practices. I'll be an attendee.

PAX East

Boston, Massachusetts April 7

This legendary east coast convention is dedicated exclusively for gaming, created by the folks at Penny Arcade. I'll be speaking with transmedia superstars Jan Libby and Marie Lamb in a presentation called "Transmedia, Alternate Reality Games and Storytelling -- Why Players (and Creators) Should Care." We'll examine past attempts to expand game worlds beyond the screen, discuss what worked and what didn’t, and ponder the future of this kind of storytelling.

If you're attending any of these fine events, please come see me and say hi!

--J.C.

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Hosts Steve Peters and J.C. Hutchins talk with Tom Salamon, the co-creator and writer of Accomplice, an ongoing live action/transmedia show with performances in New York, Los Angeles and London.

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Today, J.C. chats with Kate Sullivan, the mastermind of indie digital publisher Candlemark & Gleam. The company, which has been publishing books since 2010, pioneers the emerging digital publishing space, and often experiments with promotion and distribution.

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Hosts Steve Peters and J.C. Hutchins have a fascinating chat with Michel Reilhac, who is the Executive Director of Arte France Cinéma and Director of Film Acquisitions for ARTE France. A passionate evangelist of Transmedia Storytelling, Michel shares his experiences pitching and producing projects in Europe, and talks about the changing transmedia landscape there.

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In this special episode of StoryForward, co-host Steve Peters talks with Joe Lidster, a television writer best known for his work on Torchwood, The Sarah Jane Adventures and most recently, the online story content for the BBC series Sherlock, starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman.

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J.C. chats with his friend Josh Viola, writer and creator of The Bane of Yoto, a compelling science-fiction / fantasy mashup narrative that’s currently unfolding on mobile devices as a free downloadable app.

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The most epic infographic in the history of the multiverse, created by ultracool transmedia pro Carrie Cutforth-Young, quoting a grumpy tweet I made today about infographics. (Click the image for a larger version.)

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I've been keen to contribute my storytelling skills to the video game industry for more than a year now, and during that time, I've met some incredibly talented folks in the business. One of them is narrative designer Jonathon Myers. Jonathon hails from a play- and screenwriting background, and presently works for Zynga Boston, as a Game Writer for its Indiana Jones Adventure World Facebook game.

I recently learned that Jonathon had participated in this year's Global Game Jam, a worldwide celebration of video game creation. There, participants are given only a weekend to make a working video game based on a specific theme. It's truly inspiring stuff, as is Jonathon's co-creation (called Sleepwalking Backward), which you'll soon learn about in this Creator Spotlight.

If you're interested in video games or storytelling, consider this conversation with Jonathon Myers a must-read. A special thanks to Jonathon for making the time to chat!

--J.C.

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J.C. HUTCHINS: Before we dig into Sleepwalking Backward, let's talk about your love of video games and game writing. What games, or game narratives, have made an impact on you over the years?

JONATHON MYERS: When I was young I loved the Zelda games and other titles that enabled me to feel like I was the hero of my own adventure story. And yet, something about those early NES games and RPGs like Final Fantasy were different in their story delivery when compared to novels or comics or movies. The interactivity and immersion better enabled me to pretend I was a participating character in a fictional world. As the story unfolded, I became an agent of action that had an effect on the world and a control over the outcomes.

Much later, I began to encounter games that focused directly on the power and possibilities of an interactive narrative experience. I played Passage by Jason Rohrer. In less than five minutes, I had a profound emotional experience from a very simple game. It enabled me to exist inside a simple sequence of events while my imagination pieced together a story during structured play.

While playing BioShock, I experienced a recognition and reversal as the protagonist of a classical story arc. I discovered that basic storytelling techniques could be applied to video game storytelling in refreshing, innovative ways.

*HUTCHINS:* What lessons from those experiences have you brought to your writing at Zynga and the Global Game Jam?

MYERS: Good interactive narrative is about the player’s experience of the story during gameplay. Good game stories seldom come from a writer or a designer first developing and then narrating a story to the player. It’s about the player having agency within the constraints and conventions of a gameplay system. Events are not told, or even shown. Events are available for player experience and events are accomplished by the player. Story is what happens inside the player when those events are encountered during gameplay.

That is the challenge of being an interactive narrative designer and writing for games. Not only are you working with at team to implement stories, but the system will often determine a large portion of the experience before you write one word. You must come to understand the gameplay system and ensure that any narrative elements are not at odds with the experience of that system.

For example, my writing at Zynga Boston on Indiana Jones Adventure World is episodic, and even inside those episodes it usually displays in strings of 123 characters or less. Story nuggets and events are encountered by the player in bits and pieces for a few minutes here, a few minutes there, some today, some tomorrow, some next week. For a piecemeal experience like that, if you attempt a big story in which one moment is dependent on the previous moment for a long string of events -- well, it just won’t work. The attention span isn’t there, because if someone plays a little bit every day or every other day for a couple weeks, there’s not much potential for that player to remember what started the story or what happened that long ago.

We (the design team and I) now try to think of very simple and non-subtle information delivery opportunities that fit this system. We try to use repetitive elements in short term episodes that release weekly or bi-weekly, like serialized content. We embrace our adventure genre roots and the system of our platform. I study the old Flash Gordon Sunday comic strips and the characterization in daily comic strips because their efficiency in keeping simple and to the point is an ideal parallel.

When I’m fortunate enough to be part of something in which the narrative matters or in which people care about quality writing, then I must always recognize that I am only one part in a larger whole that is developing a player experience. I look back to the games and interactive story experiences I loved. I recall that the most exciting aspect of player story experience is portrayal of an agent of action in a fictional universe of gameplay. Many of the writing basics still apply, re: character, conflict, goals, obstacles, etc. However, you’re in trouble as a game writer the moment you forget that the end goal is an experience over which you have only indirect control.

There is a fine line, though. Does this mean we need to always tell hero stories that feed an inner fantasy? Do we always need a narrative experience to be uplifting, enjoyable, and triumphant? I don’t think so, and that’s where we enter the lesser explored territory. I often like to explore that territory whenever I get an opportunity to work on something as a non-commercial side project.

*HUTCHINS: On to Sleepwalking Backward*. Tell us what it's about, and what experience you and your Global Game Jam team were trying to create with the game.

MYERS: We wanted to make a game for the Commodore 64 in one weekend and that was our start. We all liked the idea of using constraints in order to push ourselves creatively. As we began, it was clear that we wanted to provide an emotional experience in the simplest way possible.

The simplicity of the narrative came out of the simplicity of our mechanics. It would take too long to have gameplay that was more than controlling a player character to push squares and move from room to room. We envisioned that each room would include an image that the player would piece together. We were slightly bound by the Global Game Jam theme and interpreted it as a backwards yet ever-present cycle, like walking up the down escalator.

As designer/writer, I drew initial inspiration from a haunting song I had heard several times, Somebody That I Used to Know by Goyte. It was apparent by that point that our game would have a narrative focus and we were all interested in exploring something dark and moody. We explored our own processes while constantly checking in as a team to retain a unified vision. This guaranteed that the text, display, music, art, and mechanics would work in harmony.

A framework emerged that focused on a male player character moving backwards through the memories of a past relationship. The memories became naturally related to the images in the rooms. The gameplay exertion of into putting pieces back together led to the deeper narrative exploration. Given that narrative starting point, the system of action seemed to denote a denial and a need to fix something that had broken at some point in the past.

I won’t go beyond that because I don’t want to spoil the experience or provide a specific interpretation of events. The story is only in the player experience and ultimately it’s up to them to decide exactly what has occurred and what it means to them.

*HUTCHINS:* Tell us about the creative challenges the Global Game Jam presents to participants, and how you and your team overcame them.

Left to right: Arshan Gailus (Music), Elliott Mitchell (Art), Ethan Fenn (Programming), Gregory Kinneman (Programming), Jonathon Myers (Design and Writing), and (not pictured) Courtney Stanton (Producer).

MYERS: From meeting up and pitching ideas, to forming a team and completing a game, participants have less than 48 hours to accomplish their goals. So time is the biggest challenge. You can’t really think too much about decisions, you just have to stay focused and trust your instincts.

Good team communication also became a major factor while working within the time constraint. We used Google Docs and regular check-ins to gauge our progress. We had the good fortune of working with site producer Courtney Stanton, who consistently kept us on track and reflected back to us our scope and the consequences of our decision-making. If we suddenly recognized we didn’t have time for a feature or idea, we immediately readjusted and scaled back.

It would take another full blog post to explain the obstacles we specifically faced in making a Commodore 64 game! Two of my teammates have already written and posted on that, as you can see below.

*HUTCHINS:* If we wanted to learn more about the game and your work, where should we go online?

MYERS: You can see our Global Game Jam page to get some immediate information, a Commodore 64 disk image and a link to the playable game. The game itself is hosted and playable here on the site of our musician, Arshan Gailus. It only takes about 2-3 minutes to play. If you’re interested in our process and the constraints of making a C64 game, check out these postmortem blog posts by our programmer Ethan Fenn and our artist Elliott Mitchell. While I’m at it, I’d like to give a shout-out to teammate Greg Kinneman. His programming, QA, and feedback on the narrative were crucial to the success of the project.

If folks want to know more about what I do, they can check out my portfolio site here.

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