During my hiatus from this blog I did something extraordinary: playing games successivley without stopping to write about them. The little critic took a holiday from his home in my head, and I was able to enjoy my favorite hobby with a newfound enthusiasm. I slid across the reflective sci-fi skylines of Mirror’s Edge, explored the nordic tundra and rolling grass plains in Skyrim, and survived the horrific violence of a doomed Japanese island in Tomb Raider. I did all this with a sensation beyond the typical virtual-world escapism. I took a break from writing, and it felt good. In fact, I pushed it out of my mind entirely.
Well, that part may not be true. During his trips abroad, the critic and I exchanged emails – his signature always a prodding, “You really should be writing about something.” To reassess our professional relationship, I decided to take him to brunch upon his return. We both ordered french toast, a side of bacon, and coffee.
“So,” I began, “I’ve been thinking, I think it’s time you get a name change.”
“Well considering I’m a figment of your imagination, I don’t have much of a choice. But I humbly request I get the final say in the matter anyway.” He crunched on a piece of bacon.
“I’ll allow it. I think you’re less of a ‘critic’ and more of a ‘writer’ in general terms – the part of my brain that wants to write. I’ve been ignoring you for a while now, because frankly you can be a bit annoying.”
“That’s fair,” he conceded while scraping butter across french toast.
“But I think that may originate from you being both a critic and a writer, meaning you’re always critiquing my writing before I even begin. Imagine being a cellist, and hearing judgmental coughs and groans from the audience before the bow meets the strings. It kind of takes the fun away, you see?”
He nodded, knowingly. Despite his faults, he was always a good listener.
“And I know it’s always been like that,” I continued, taking a sip of room-temperature coffee, “but it’s become really prevalent this past year. I didn’t make it into grad school, and that really sucked. I’m not blaming you, or anyone for that matter, but you can understand how easy it is to fall into a slump of self-criticism that never allows you to even try again. It was a big defeat, but my meeting with you today is my way of reconciling that defeat and moving forward. Like, maybe It’s time to give writing another shot. But this time, with no ultimate goal in mind. I need to play with writing, just as I play Skyrim or any other game – for the enjoyment of playing and not for the achievement of anything beyond that.”
“I like this idea,” he said. “I should be more encouraging and supportive of playing, because it’s supposed to be fun. We’re no longer in school, there’s no final grade attached to anything we write. In fact the only evaluation that has ever been levied on our work has been from me, and it’s time I be a bit more forgiving for the sake of playing and allow us to write only when we want to.”
We clinked coffee mugs, splashing chocolate-colored drops into the bowl of creamer cups.
And with that I’m writing again. I admit the cursor still appears a little strange to me, like some ancient hieroglyph, but I’m beginning to pick up on that old familiarity. Then everything falls into place. Despite my setbacks, I’ve experienced a lot of good changes in my life. A new apartment, a new job, and a new sense of vague direction.
I hope to write again soon. But if I don’t? Well, that’s ok too.
James
Polyphonic Prayer 