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I apologize for the wall of text, but considering the minor Twitter kerfuffle, it seemed like I should get this out as quickly as possible and that I should do it on Bitmob, where the original essay appeared.
Hello?
Hellooooo?
Working games journalists?
Is it safe?
OK. After logging on to Twitter for the first time in days and seeing the minor controversy my little public therapy session became, and reading Scott Nichols’ spot-on response to the subject, I think it’s time to write something where I choose my words a little more...hm...delicately.
In truth, I thought it might be a bad idea to publish that piece at all, much less on the heels of the whole paid/unpaid shenanigans. I was emotional, I was pissed off (at myself more than anyone) and I was writing purely from the heart, stream-of-consciousness style.
But, in my defense, experience taught me that nobody would see it anyway.
People did see it, though. In a truly sitcom-like twist of irony, my tantrum about quitting games writing became probably the most popular thing I’ve ever written. Granted, that’s not saying a whole lot, but still, it’s weird, no?
I’m not taking back what I wrote. I know I already exploited this cliche once, but I really was speaking from the heart. I do feel that most of the “advice” I get from working games journalist is shit. And I do feel that “Don’t even try” is the worst thing you could say to anyone pursuing a dream. Yes, it weeds people out who aren’t serious, and yes, for a long time it had the intended effect on me: it pissed me off enough to motivate me to “make it” and then loudly proclaim, “Suck it, everyone who told me I wouldn’t make it!”
However, the culture that “Don’t even try” creates is one of exclusion, one where you have to force your way in. That “advice” is what convinced me that there is a club, that it is exclusive, and that new people aren’t welcome in it unless they pass the “test” of rejecting everything they’re being told. Maybe I really am the only one who sees that as counter-intuitive, but it doesn’t make any sense to me. Self-righteous indignation is a fast-burning fuel.
When I indict that advice, however, I’m not asking for different advice. All I’m asking for is some form of encouragement. Not just for me -- not anymore, at least -- but for everyone trying to pursue this ridiculous dream. Seriously, the minimum amount, the “work hard and set your mind to it and it’s POSSIBLE.” No guarantees, no pro-tips, no magic cure-alls, just a minimum required amount of giving-a-fuck that you owe to your fellow human beings.
What is this notion that outrage is a better motivator than genuine enthusiasm? “Don’t even try” doesn’t just discourage enthusiasm from aspiring writers, it creates the illusion that you don’t have any enthusiasm yourself. It makes the whole endeavor seem futile and miserable and passionless. It hurts all of us.
But maybe it’s just me who sees it that way. But that’s really all my piece was about -- me.
All that talk about business skills, about writing not being as valued as it should be... none of that was an indictment of games writing. I thought I made that clear by saying, “I’m not saying that emphasizing business skills is part of what’s wrong or broken about games writing.” Games writing is what it is.
What I was saying, was that I’ve never been good at that stuff. I’ve tried to get better and I’ve failed. I thought I could compensate for that by being a good writer, by working hard, but that turned out not to be true. I had an idea of what professional games writing was and it was wrong. And when I realized what it actually is, I realized that...look...I suffer from some crippling social anxieties -- nothing insurmountable, but enough to make me write this a while back right after having yet-another panic attack. I’m not saying that as an excuse, either; I’ve overcome this shit before, many times, but it’s exhausting. The fact is, I wasn’t happy. I haven’t been happy for a very long time, and part of the reason for that is that I was pursuing this thing that didn’t really exist outside of my own imagination.
I apologize to anyone who thought I was saying that NO, as in ZERO, games writers had any problems, with mental health or otherwise. What I said (and sorry to be a dick, but I did say these words and you should read more carefully) is that you never hear any of them talk about these things. The culture doesn’t seem to accommodate the misfits much, from an outsider perspective. The emphasis on networking and hustling paints a picture of a very alpha-driven culture full of happy, well-adjusted people. You know, “business people.” I didn’t say games writers don’t struggle -- I said they don’t do it publicly. For someone like me, who wears my emotions, flaws and self-hatred on my sleeve, whose published more about his misdeeds (minor though they may be) and emotional baggage than anyone who isn’t famous probably should on the Internet, it’s difficult to see a way to integrate into that.
And look, that’s on me. A lot is on me. I honestly thought I made that clear in the original piece by using words like “fail” and “quit.” I never claimed to be defeated or beaten down or screwed over. The industry’s partially broken, the economy sucks, but a lot of it is on me. No, I didn’t pitch nearly as much as I should have. That’s on me. In my defense(?), I have emailed my share of editors over the years...apparently I don’t make much of an impression, since no one has “heard of me,” but, hey, that’s on me too. I have applied for countless jobs, kept my portfolio updated and sent it to countless people, covered various events (including E3), but I know that the traditional paths to getting a job are not the right paths in this business. Well, I’ve known that for a long time, but I’ve only just recently realized it. I’m not good at this stuff, again, and that’s part of why I’m quitting. I'm a good writer, but that doesn't mean much without the business chops. I realize that; it's not "wrong," it just isn't a good fit for me. I want to write, that's all.
I do think there are things about games journalism that are broken. The use of press as an extension of PR is sickening; the club IS exclusive, or feels that way, not just to me but to a lot of us, and whether true or an illusion, it’s a problem (as you can see from the comments on my original essay); and the craft of writing is not as valued as it should be in the mainstream games press (which is not to say that it isn’t valued at all, but I think honing that craft should at least be enough to get as much as a fucking rejection letter).
Pursuing and failing this dream has felt like being at a party where I don’t know anybody, where I’m not particularly welcome, where I’m not even having fun. After way too long I finally realized...I can just leave. I don’t have to be here; the only person making be here is a child who doesn’t want to admit that he’s closer to 20 than 30 and pretty soon the world isn’t going to be so forgiving or patient with his being a fuck-up.
Look, I do think there are a lot of fucked-up things about this business. But at the end of the day, whether I’m right or wrong to indict those things, the fact of the matter is that I’m just not having fun anymore. I honestly don’t know if I ever was. I was never look for pity -- comraderie, sure, but not pity. I made a decision to be happy, instead of futiley pursuing something that wasn't working out for me. It's that simple.
Look, I do think there are a lot of fucked-up things about this business. But at the end of the day, whether I’m right or wrong to indict those things, the fact of the matter is that I’m just not having fun anymore. I honestly don’t know if I ever was.Hello?
Hellooooo?
Working games journalists?
Is it safe?
OK. After logging on to Twitter for the first time in days and seeing the minor controversy my little public therapy session became, and reading Scott Nichols’ spot-on response to the subject, I think it’s time to write something where I choose my words a little more...hm...delicately.
In truth, I thought it might be a bad idea to publish that piece at all, much less on the heels of the whole paid/unpaid shenanigans. I was emotional, I was pissed off (at myself more than anyone) and I was writing purely from the heart, stream-of-consciousness style.
But, in my defense, experience taught me that nobody would see it anyway.
People did see it, though. In a truly sitcom-like twist of irony, my tantrum about quitting games writing became probably the most popular thing I’ve ever written. Granted, that’s not saying a whole lot, but still, it’s weird, no?
I’m not taking back what I wrote. I know I already exploited this cliche once, but I really was speaking from the heart. I do feel that most of the “advice” I get from working games journalist is shit. And I do feel that “Don’t even try” is the worst thing you could say to anyone pursuing a dream. Yes, it weeds people out who aren’t serious, and yes, for a long time it had the intended effect on me: it pissed me off enough to motivate me to “make it” and then loudly proclaim, “Suck it, everyone who told me I wouldn’t make it!”
However, the culture that “Don’t even try” creates is one of exclusion, one where you have to force your way in. That “advice” is what convinced me that there is a club, that it is exclusive, and that new people aren’t welcome in it unless they pass the “test” of rejecting everything they’re being told. Maybe I really am the only one who sees that as counter-intuitive, but it doesn’t make any sense to me. Self-righteous indignation is a fast-burning fuel.
When I indict that advice, however, I’m not asking for different advice. All I’m asking for is some form of encouragement. Not just for me -- not anymore, at least -- but for everyone trying to pursue this ridiculous dream. Seriously, the minimum amount, the “work hard and set your mind to it and it’s POSSIBLE.” No guarantees, no pro-tips, no magic cure-alls, just a minimum required amount of giving-a-fuck that you owe to your fellow human beings.
What is this notion that outrage is a better motivator than genuine enthusiasm? “Don’t even try” doesn’t just discourage enthusiasm from aspiring writers, it creates the illusion that you don’t have any enthusiasm yourself. It makes the whole endeavor seem futile and miserable and passionless. It hurts all of us.
But maybe it’s just me who sees it that way. But that’s really all my piece was about -- me.
All that talk about business skills, about writing not being as valued as it should be... none of that was an indictment of games writing. I thought I made that clear by saying, “I’m not saying that emphasizing business skills is part of what’s wrong or broken about games writing.” Games writing is what it is.
What I was saying, was that I’ve never been good at that stuff. I’ve tried to get better and I’ve failed. I thought I could compensate for that by being a good writer, by working hard, but that turned out not to be true. I had an idea of what professional games writing was and it was wrong. And when I realized what it actually is, I realized that...look...I suffer from some crippling social anxieties -- nothing insurmountable, but enough to make me write this a while back right after having yet-another panic attack. I’m not saying that as an excuse, either; I’ve overcome this shit before, many times, but it’s exhausting. The fact is, I wasn’t happy. I haven’t been happy for a very long time, and part of the reason for that is that I was pursuing this thing that didn’t really exist outside of my own imagination.
I apologize to anyone who thought I was saying that NO, as in ZERO, games writers had any problems, with mental health or otherwise. What I said (and sorry to be a dick, but I did say these words and you should read more carefully) is that you never hear any of them talk about these things. The culture doesn’t seem to accommodate the misfits much, from an outsider perspective. The emphasis on networking and hustling paints a picture of a very alpha-driven culture full of happy, well-adjusted people. You know, “business people.” I didn’t say games writers don’t struggle -- I said they don’t do it publicly. For someone like me, who wears my emotions, flaws and self-hatred on my sleeve, whose published more about his misdeeds (minor though they may be) and emotional baggage than anyone who isn’t famous probably should on the Internet, it’s difficult to see a way to integrate into that.
And look, that’s on me. A lot is on me. I honestly thought I made that clear in the original piece by using words like “fail” and “quit.” I never claimed to be defeated or beaten down or screwed over. The industry’s partially broken, the economy sucks, but a lot of it is on me. No, I didn’t pitch something to someone every day, or every week for that matter. That’s on me. In my defense(?), I have emailed my share of editors over the years...apparently I don’t make much of an impression, since no one has “heard of me,” but, hey, that’s on me too. I have applied for countless jobs, kept my portfolio updated and sent it to countless people, covered various events (including E3), but I know that the traditional paths to getting a job are not the right paths in this business. Well, I’ve known that for a long time, but I’ve only just recently realized it. I’m not good at this stuff, again, and that’s part of why I’m quitting.
I do think there are things about games journalism that are broken. The use of press as an extension of PR is sickening; the club IS exclusive, or feels that way, not just to me but to a lot of us, and whether true or an illusion, it’s a problem (as you can see from the comments on my original essay); and the craft of writing is not as valued as it should be in the mainstream games press (which is not to say that it isn’t valued at all, but I think honing that craft should at least be enough to get as much as a fucking rejection letter).
Pursuing and failing this dream has felt like being at a party where I don’t know anybody, where I’m not particularly welcome, where I’m not even having fun. After way too long I finally realized...I can just leave. I don’t have to be here; the only person making be here is a child who doesn’t want to admit that he’s closer to 20 than 30 and pretty soon the world isn’t going to be so forgiving or patient with his being a fuck-up.
Look, I do think there are a lot of fucked-up things about this business. But at the end of the day, whether I’m right or wrong to indict those things, the fact of the matter is that I’m just not having fun anymore. I honestly don’t know if I ever was.
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