Hello, it's been a minute.
Despite my radio silence on this newsletter plenty is happening behind the scenes. I went to MIGW and talked about WizardChess at Freeplay Parallels and came back enthused and determined to finish this damn game.
I took some time away from writing publicly because:
my posts were getting a lot of attention
I was feeling overwhelmed by life and,
I just haven't felt like it
Luckily it's been enough time that it no longer feels like a big deal to publish something. I'm considering a move towards shorter, less refined posts on the newsletter, at least for a while. I enjoy ambitious writing but when I feel pressure to deliver at that standard indefinitely it kills the fun of writing.
Over the past few months I've been deliberately expanding my horizons and connecting with fascinating people from all over the internet. I’ve learned that there are far more likeminded people than myself that I ever expected. I found myself energised by the conversations, the new ideas and excitement from the process but... I'm kind of tired.
I often think about seasonality in my life and that, while I enjoy many things, I don't have to (and probably shouldn't) do them all at once. Recently a few pieces clicked into place and I suddenly felt like it was time for a phase transition. I was enthusiastically exploring my thoughts in public but now I'm finding myself drawn to focus. Specifically: on finishing WizardChess.
The finish line has just barely become visible in the distance and I'm finding an unusual stability in just waking up and moving closer toward it each day. For most of the game's development the design has been constantly evolving but it seems we're finally converging on a set of systems that work together. It feels strange, to be honest.
There is a complex and emotionally chaotic lifecycle to working on a game (or any long term creative project). First it's insatiable excitement, then it's doubt and confusion (“wait, this is going to take forever!”), then monotonous production, then more doubt and confusion (“it'll never be done, it's not even good!”), then hope (“could it really happen?”) and the final stretch of excitement, frustration and fear as you dot the i's and cross the t's and brace for the anxiety of release.
Currently I'm lingering in the hope that comes before the final leg, it's nice here. I‘m feeling sentimental looking back at all we've done while I prepare myself for the challenge ahead. That's not really the point though, the real point is that nothing lasts forever. We can only go forward. A few months ago it felt as if all I wanted was to spend my time reading, learning, talking and writing but, like all things, feelings change.
I'm getting better at noticing when my actions are out of accord with my feelings, it's been a difficult skill to re-establish after years of stuffing it down to work a regular job. Of course, it's not easy, I've been nagged by thoughts of everyone forgetting about me if I stop writing. It's easy to feel a sense of progress from publishing and seeing numbers grow, but this can easily spiral into an anxious compulsion to keep it up. So, when I feel that way, I do the opposite. I stop. I let my mind see that there is no catastrophe awaiting me as soon as I take my foot off the gas.
Perhaps this is the start of a new chapter, where I can finally admit to myself that making a game, writing a newsletter, making generative art, freelancing, working on tools for augmented creativity and designing the future of education might be just a little too much at once. Or maybe not. I have tendency to think that if any of my interests leave my thoughts for too long that they will somehow expire.
That fear of missing out never really goes away for me but, having laid all my interests out on the table, I think it's time to focus. Next season though, who knows?
Until next time,
Ben
I can so relate to this . But after ages I have started writing again and right now it’s more like I have to finish all pending blogs and newsletters and articles before I start writing for myself