Hello,
This week I found myself in Roma Street Parklands after dark, following my friend around as he waved his phone’s flashlight along the ground in search for the clues I had hidden. Really it’s a miracle security didn’t ask us to leave, looking like we’re searching for a dead drop, but all I could think about is how I had failed.
I’m writing a new interactive fiction text, part scavenger hunt, part short story - and one of my specific goals was to constrain it to daytime - my trial of this story ran about an hour over schedule and long after sunset. I keep telling myself I’m not a perfectionist, but an error like this is unforgivable. Following my friend around the parklands I kept racking my brain for how I was going to fix it, fix the slow story progression, fix the clunky characters who weren’t helping, fix the shoddy hiding spots I chose.
I don’t think it’s a secret that I’m quite an aspirational person, and my writing is much the same. I dream of writing a story which is canonised as capital ‘L’ Literature, I brand myself as an high-brow artist who is interested in rigorous cultural and political work.
But - in the case of this new text Recidivists - what I needed to work on wasn’t artistic merits, but how to make it fun.