Sometimes you have to earn the horse, like a weapon or a boat or an airship. You acquire it by completing a fetch quest for a cranky farmer, or jacking a horse out from under some random villager. You are not punished for this because you are saving the world.
“Get those scalps,” I used to yell at the TV, because I didn’t know what that really meant. They were like gold coins or rubies; the more I got, the better I felt, because the best gift you can give a kid for a divorce is distraction.
/You don’t know how to do that, the game spelled out, and /I don’t know the word /drag and /The door is already open, error messages which forced you to consider what words might work in each situation, substituting /move for /drag or /carry for /kick.
After failing to write one word for four months, I decided I had to make the dissertation a game. I had to treat myself like a child—develop a system of rewards. The method came to me in a flash: eight proposed chapters, eight Aeons in FFX. The idea of a pilgrimage. My old, dusty idol.
How we must look when we ride through the farms and villages between holds: two women mages, soft skin bound in studded leather armor, conjuration circles ringing our proud heads.
We think video games are literature, and so why shouldn't there be literature about video games? That's the question we're hoping to answer here. Read more.
