I miss two things. I miss consequence-free diets (a single carrot is not a satisfying snack and I resent the implication that it is) and I miss friends coming over and playing hours of video games.
There’s, like, ten million versions of Pokémon. It’s sold millions of copies. There are half-a-dozen movies about it, and a television show. The gear is everywhere. I played for ten hours because there had to be something there, some quality. Sometimes three billion smokers are right.
Each of the sprites in these games took up precious memory, and had to be drawn by hand, pixel by pixel, one variation for every frame of movement, so what makes your enemies unique is not graphical differentiation but context and imagination.
Between July 1 and December 31, 2015, Cartridge Lit will be accepting submissions of chapbook-length collections of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and hybrid work inspired by video games for its first contest: The Push [START] to Begin Chapbook Contest.
She frowns, turns off her phone, and hikes the blanket closer to her chin. I’ve been playing Fallout 3 for two hours while she’s browsed the Internet. This is as close as we’ve come to her watching me play in the past month. The counter says 100 hours. This does not include death time, reloads, freezes, and the time I copied the game to another account, played until dawn and then realized I couldn’t save.
We have a vision of devoting a month of literature to the voices that most often get shouted down in a world that has, traditionally, been dominated by the white, the male, the straight. We want to give the work room to breathe, to play off one another. To give the world of video games a different, sustained perspective.
A print anthology from Cartridge Lit and FreezeRay Press. Pre-order now.
We are absolutely thrilled to announce that Georgia Bellas’ poem, “How Not to Win At Big Buck Hunter,” has been selected for the Best of the Net 2014 anthology, published by Sundress Publications.
Generally in my fiction the characters are collectors or creators of some kind and totally driven by that, or they’re hung up on a particular idea, trying to figure out how to deal with it or escape from it—now that I say this, it kind of sounds like I’m describing fiction in general. My stories also tend to wear disguises, solve mysteries, hang around with monsters.
Video games, especially older ones when designers were more limited in terms of what they could do/show, have such strange internal logics, making for totally unfamiliar, surreal narratives that I don’t think could’ve arisen in traditional fiction (the same way film opened up all sorts of doors for stories, too).
The songs on this playlist are not, by and large, directly related to video games (although the opening to Man Man’s “Knuckle Down” certainly calls to mind 16-bit dungeon trawling). Instead, this is just a set of songs I listened to a lot around when I started work on An Object You Cannot Lose. It was my first year living in Arizona.
Maggie Sullivan’s “Ode to Oot“: three wonderfully lyrical, wonderfully searching pieces of non-fiction, existing both within the world of Hyrule, and all worlds, somehow simultaneously. Check those out, and then tune in below to her favorite games and thoughts on being a writer/gamer!Maggie is a non-fiction MFA candidate at Columbia College Chicago. She’s been published in 3Elements […]
In a town a general store
is still general, its shelves warp
under dichotomies. Do we buy the food
or take the ammo? Saloon doors are never quite shut.
A family in a wagon is called a party.
When you look up, you remember this feeling. The sky dismembered by waves and angles and prisms. You remember this, grasping for solid land, searching for “up” as if it were some lost treasure. You remember a jewel glimmering red as an “OFF” light in the reeds and rushes of the water.
Blinky twists and somehow turns himself outward in order to face the glass. In his dream he had form and substance. In his dream he lived on the other side of the glass, and the rituals of Mouth and Ghost were nothing more than a game to him. In his dream, he could see his body’s reflection in the glass, but the only thing he remembers about how he looked, was that his body had Inky’s black, ever-open, eyes.