By Any Other Name
the tale of Willow

Date: 03:01PM | Sun, July 10th | 2011
Subject: And Since I'm Up... (Other Gaming Thoughts)
Security: Public
Mood:uncomfortable uncomfortable
Tags:media: mass effect, thinky thoughts, writing: me

I would play the heck out of Mass Effect, if it were on a holodeck. There are more avenues for imagination in a holodeck (in holonovels as portayed in Star Trek. TNG & Voyager). I would have my brown Shepard, who could be gay, male or female, or transqueer for that matter. I could have it set up to my likes, so I wasn't stuck shooting things for effing ever (the parts I find really boring and not immersion and best played at a distance via a screen). I could have lovely lovely friendships and romances of myriad kinds; romantic and/or physical, not all this heterocentrist ingrained stuff with the big big MONOGAMY ONLY. It'd be like (non dairy, low cholesterol, very yummy) BUTTAH.

I'm feeling the story, I'm liking certain characters, I'm intrigued by the world building (lore) but also so frustrated by it. Why isn't the Saladarian Ambassador female? You're telling me being on the council is NOT political? That it's not one of the most political appointments helping to shape the face and form of the galaxy? Seriously? Where are the Taurian females? Where are the more androgynous looking Asari? Where are the butch Asari for that matter? A world where there isn't one body type end after end.

I think Mass Effect may make me feel fannish because there's so very, very much I want to damn well fix. I remember Zvi mentioning in an essay many years ago that it's a balance between intrigue and 'Oh I can make it better!' that can appeal strongly to fannish sensibilities. Which makes me laugh now, cause in my head I'm all 'I can bring it INFRASTRUCTURE!. Except...except I really would be in a fandom of one. Writing to please myself, not willing, I think, to share it with anyone. Not wanting to be known for it or my words in anyway. Because then someone will say something stupid and I just don't have the energy.

The thought of writing fic exhausts me. I have all this excitement and no where to put it. And I don't actually want to spend money on the games when I wouldn't enjoy playing them. When I can't modify various characters, when the heterocentrist nature is rubbed in my face every minute (I mean really? Opposite gender peril implies possible romance? Seriously?!).

There's something in me also that feels profound guilt at the thought of diversifying the monocultures of these aliens, at diversifying the alliance so it doesn't read like 'Everyone's white under their skin' (so much white people privilege everywhere, regardless of skin colour, now hidden under 'human supremacist ideology'). I know I'm shoulding all over myself. And inspiration is inspiration and if something gets me interested in creating again.... and yet, there's this LOCK, this FREEZE - what am I doing? Why am I not going towards 'original work', though a snarkier side of me thinks that the things I want to fix, changes I want to make, reality I'm seeing between the lines would in fact make this whole thing very very different. But it's not enough for the lock and squeeze and freeze and internal shouting about wasting my energies. As if, as if the things I've been through have pulled me away from writing because I enjoy it, into I must write, because someone has to and there are themes that MUST BE EXPLORED and I get tense and claustrophibic and it feels like sitting an exam, and you (I) MUST NOT FAIL! EVER!

And crap, my stomach and chest cramps up just thinking about it.

This credit to your race, shut up and deal, create your own shite, stop whining and bringing up inequalities, do your own shite and leave us alone stuff creates some seriously messed up head stuff - like. whoa. Like I'm going to single handledly write the great PoC Western Masterpiece that illumates everything. Or gives untold members of the unicorn herd a place to point at and....

I know it's not all on me. I wish my brain would get that. And let me write for enjoyment again instead of insta-locking me up that if I can't write what I'm supposed to write then I can't write anything.

Should should should. ALL over myself. Drippy eeewh.

And I can just about feel the enthusiasm slip away as I type right now. The more I think about it, the more involved I want to get, the more I focus on the parts that make me unhappy and what would make me happy.

Hmm, maybe that's why particular types of RP became ok - it was permission to enjoy myself. It was so obviously recreational and involved another person also having fun, and thus involved responsibility. I recently had a chance to re-read some cowritten/rp stuff and the depth of it, the broadness of it, the characters and scenarious, the research I did all amazes me. Especially when to me, that year is basically a blur. And yet I managed something creative when I gave myself the freedom to be (to not be perfect, to explore, to play? I don't know).

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By Any Other Name
of Willow
January 2016