I'm a freelance writer, designer, and game developer. My name is Will Hindmarch, and this is a notebook I keep on the web.
So, look, here’s a thing. The lies that depression tells us are insidious, undeniable, fearsome, dreadful. Frightening. They’re not simply told to us, they lay across our eyes and everything we perceive passes through them. Telling ourselves the depression isn’t right — isn’t accurate — feels like lying to ourselves.
Things can one day somehow be better? There’s hope? We’ve been well before and we can be again? We’re allowed to feel anything but what the disease tells us is insight — is truth? These feel like lies we recite to make ourselves feel better when we don’t feel right, feel correctly, feel the good, any good at all. Believing them can feel dishonest.
Here’s another lie we tell ourselves: That we should be capable of outsmarting it. That we should toughen up. That we should be enough to cope on our own because these signals are us. That everyone gets low, gets blue, gets sad, and if we were worthy we would simply get sorted out. We can know this is bullshit and believe it at the same time. At the same time.
It is hard to accept that I cannot always be the person I want to be. I cannot always be the person you tell me I can be.
I tell myself that I’ll power through, that I don’t have to make time for this chronic illness, that the worst is behind me. I don’t know that. That’s not how this works. I have to make concessions to this thing because it’s not going away.
It’s built into the air we breathe, these ideas. They’re invisible and they’re already inside.
I don’t know if this makes me lesser than, I hope not, but I know it means I can do and be less than I’m told I can be. That’s a hard thing to face. And there it is.
I sat on the floor, watched Robin Williams be a space alien, and learned that even as outsiders, even when weird, we can love and be loved.
We’ve laughed, we’ve sobbed, we’ve let poetry drip from our tongues like honey, and we’ve been human aliens, all at once. We saw it in him.
Let us sneak off to the cave, break loose from our bottles, remember each other’s memories, and wet our eyes with laughs and tears.
Twitter. Love it or loathe it — and, hell, I love it — it is different things to different people. Here’s some of what it is to me.
Twitter’s a microphone and a transmitter. It broadcasts to anyone who tunes in. It’s public, visible, and complicated. The transmissions twine together and ricochet and intersect and align and diverge. It can all be maddening complex, harmonious and disharmonious, full of chords and discord. It’s a big deal.
Some of my favorite thinkers, writers, and personalities don’t think very highly of Twitter or its power or its actual usage in practice. I think they’re mistaken. It’s made friendships possible. It’s made revolutions possible. It’s been used and abused and misused — because it is a tool and that is how it goes with tools.
Sometimes I hear that Twitter is a space, and that’s a useful and powerful metaphor but it is only a metaphor. Twitter is not a space. It is not a safe space.Read more
I watched half of a PBS show about Anglo-Saxon, Viking, and Norman history in the east of England and you can sure bet we mentally noted some names for the wolfhound we’ll get one day.
Next week: Gen Con.
I’ve been going to Gen Con pretty steadily for fifteen years or so. I missed one in there — the year Things We Think About Games debuted, of course — and I’ve had good and bad years at the convention. The bad years are usually my own doing, the result of my own health or fitness at the time of the show.
Gen Con is a wonderful collection of events (with some static, some noise in the signal, some angst and frustrations amid the fun, sure) and it is historically one of the landmarks of my summer, if not my year. A lot of my friends in the gaming sector live far away from me and this is when i get to see a lot of them. Historically, this is also when I drum up some of my freelance work for the rest of the year.
This year, I’m making sure to visit the ENnie award ceremony, too, since a thing I made with Jeff Tidball, for Pelgrane Press (based on Kenneth Hite’s Trail of Cthulhu game), is nominated in a few categories. (It’s called Eternal Lies.) I was nominated for a product I designed once before, in the first or second year of the awards, when they were held in a lobby in Milwaukee (as I recall), but that was 12 or 13 years ago. I’ve worked on products that have been nominated (and won awards for publishers or other writers), but I don’t have an ENnie for my own work yet. Whether we win anything or not, I’m excited to go to the awards and see people and applaud hard.
And yet.Read more