Top 5 Tips for Enjoying Zelda Triforce Heroes (and why it isn't like a threesome)

I've been enjoying The Legend of Zelda: Triforce Heroes on the Nintendo 3DS for about a week. I've mostly been playing online with strangers, since between running my Kickstarter for Full-Cast Audio Drama based on Chaos Reborn and looking after my daughter, one or two quick dungeon raids every couple of hours is the best I can fit in.

The Legend of Zelda: Triforce Heroes is a game which takes some of the basic puzzles from The Legend of Zelda series and splits the tools for completion between three players. A co-op game, it requires teams to work together by combining skills, picking up each others' avatars to for a totem and communication using only 8 simple emoticons.

The Legend of Zelda: Triforce Heroes - Communication Panel

I've had some good games and I've had some bad games. It strikes me that the best way to make Triforce Heroes a great experience starts with looking at your own behaviour. What should we called this Zelda etiquette? I wanted something snappy, like "Tri-fiquette", but that's terrible. I thought maybe Etiqulink", but I'm not sure it's even pronounceable. I'm settling with "Zeldiquette." Zeldiquette, as a phrase describing good behaviour in Triforce Heroes is only irksome to me for the same reason as my irritation at this game being called "The Legend of Zelda." ZELDA IS NOT EVEN IN IT!

That aside, here are my 5 tips for good Zeldiquette.

Good Zeldiquette

5. Veiled Communication is Actually Part of the Game

I've read a lot of reviews of The Legend of Zelda: Triforce Heroes which completely miss the point. Take this quote from Arcade Sushi

Really this game is only held back by limited communication options when playing with strangers. 

Limited communication is at the heart of this game. Have you ever played charades and thought, "well, it's a good game, but surely it would be better if the players spoke"? Nope. If there were voice or text communication in Triforce Heroes then gameplay would boil down to more experienced players leading you through each level step-by-step. There's no fun in being told the solution. That's grinding.

One of the most interesting games of recent years was Journey. That did an exceptionally good job of matching you with random internet co-op buddies and giving you limited communication ability. Triforce Heroes is similar.

Guiding other players to a solution

There's a lot of satisfaction in working it out for yourself, which is why the 8 emoticons available in each level are a good way of providing basic communication to work as a team, without robbing you of gameplay. There's a great feeling of accomplishment from figuring out a complex bit of a level together. It's just as fun if you know the solution and help guide your team to success using only the simplest of language tools.

4. Wheaton's Law Applies

In Triforce Heroes, you only get one chance to make a good impression.

Here's an equation:

• We all want to try playing The Legend of Zelda: Triforce Heroes online with strangers at some point.
• None of us wants to get matched with a pain in the ass.
• The game makes it very easy to add players to a permanent blocklist.

The maths for that is very easy. If you behave rudely, every player you meet will block you on your first meeting. If that happens a lot, you're going to find yourself waiting in the lobby for connections for a very long time, because none of the regular players will want to play with you.

If you want to come across as friendly, remember to wave hello at your new team-mates when they join. No-one knows what to make of a player who stays silent, throws you at the starting Triforce and yells "Let's Go!" over and over.

Using the emoticons to celebrate success and good effort

3. It's The Opposite of a Threesome

I've heard lots of jokes on Facebook and other places about Triforce Heroes and threesomes. It's a fun gag for gamers who don't want to admit how attracted they are to each other. But there is a big difference between this game and a menage-a-trois and that is: the person in the middle is having the least fun.

However you organise a sexual threesome, the person in the middle is generally having the best time. But, when you form a three person totem in Triforce Heroes, spare a thought for the player in the middle. They don't get to use movement controls or items. They are willing passengers until such a time as the three-story target has been hit.

Forming a three-player totem to reach a high object

So, be nice. Everybody wants a chance to play. Being carried around a level by someone else is no fun. Put your co-op buddies down safely after they've helped with an objective.

2. There Can Be Multiple Solutions

I've done it myself. Another player and I are throwing icons at each other from opposite sides of a ravine, both yelling about how to reach the last balloon floating over the chasm.

The fact is, many of the puzzles in The Legend of Zelda: Triforce Heroes can be overcome in multiple ways, given the tools at hand. I may favour wearing the Big Bomb Outfit and blasting the hell out of anything that moves (including other players) but someone else might have worked out that the same target can be hit from a ledge a little way over.

Tackling a boss together

So, rather that stubbornly following a tried and true path you know to work, why not listen to your fellow players and try what they are suggesting? Even if their approach doesn't work, it's much more enjoyable to try an idea and see the results than to have someone shout a solution over you, again and again. Unless it's against the timer, what do you really have to lose?

1. Above All, Be Patient

Good advice for all aspects of life, it's especially valuable when playing The Legend of Zelda: Triforce Heroes. If, like me, you're attempting your seventh run at Moblin Base to try and get a Sweet Shroom because for some reason your last few attempts have won you the Gohma's Eye six times in a row (the probability of which being a maddening 0.14%!). then it's fair to say you probably know the level pretty well.

Passing a active bomb between players

Here's a thought: One of your online party might not know the level at all. This might be their first visit. Continually spamming the "NO!" icon and throwing them around the level isn't going to be the best gameplay for you or your new buddy. Given time, they'd probably even figure out the level on their own, so be patient, try to use the emoticons helpfully and give them space to work it out. Be extra patient if you're on a time-challenge map with someone who didn't vote for it - it's not the best way to experience a level first time.

Christopher Jarvis is a writer, audio drama producer and co-host on the LaveRadio.com podcast and is best known for creating the science fiction series Elite: Escape Velocity. He is an avid gamer and is currently running a Kickstarter for Full-Cast Audio Drama based on the game Chaos Reborn.

Novel Gamer Season 1 commentary

I write for GamePeople.co.uk under the name Novel Gamer. The basic concept was: rather than write standard critical reviews, I would try and express my thoughts about the experience of the game, or the reaction the game caused for me.

The name also refers to the way the reviews are presented as short stories. Taking the form of an allegory, Novel Gamer opens up a unique view into the world of a game. Sometimes seen as fan fiction, other times seen as an absurdist view of gaming and occasionally striking real entertainment gold. The first series of Novel Gamer ran for 20 episodes with podcast readings of the stories recorded by myself.

Over the next few weeks I'd like to look back at these stories and revisit why I wrote them the way I did. More soon.

Novel Gamer Episode Six - Pokemon, or "Gotta Catch Em All - An Expose"

This is the sixth episode of the popular online alternative review column "Novel Gamer", part of Game People, which specialises in real world, alternative and artistic reviews. Don't forget that a podcast is also available from the source of this article, here.

This week, a reporter goes undercover to witness street gangs, organised animal fights and capture of wild Pokemon but discovers more than just a world of competition and collection.

I'm an undercover journalist for the Evening Bugle and I've spent the last month infiltrating the young street gangs of this country. I've been attempting to gain better understanding of a subculture with its its own rules and obsessions; a competitive world of fighting, acquisition and rites of passage often not understood by their parents' generation.

To give you a better insight into this incredible world, I would like to being by telling you about the day I attended a meeting of gang members; the day I attending alongside a Police bust.

Sergeant Bill Oak knows the streets around this town well and as we drive to the address we've been given for an illegal underground fight, he talked me through the neighbourhood and it's history.

"It's been around for years, this kind of thing," he explains, "I think it started in Japan and it was a pretty huge thing over there. After that we started to see it more and more over here. Collectors, trainers, fighters -- everybody seemed to want a piece of the action and they found it a rich ground to cultivate... uh.." he stopped talking and looked ahead, squinting into the dawn sun. He spoke to the driver, "turn here."

Reaching down, he grabbed his lapel mic and barked rapid orders to the officers in the other cars. "We're here, let's get ready to move. I want Stewart and Briggs to cover the rear fire exit and pick up anyone who tries to make a run for it; everyone else with me."

Sergeant Oak turned to look at me, "we need to be ready to move quick, are you ready?"

I felt a bit cold. By now I'd become accustomed to moving among these gangs as an accepted part of their society. To arrive now on the end of a battering ram come to smash open their door -- I felt suddenly aware of the conflict. I nodded to Oak and we moved towards the building.

The courtyard between the abandoned brick warehouses were a reminder of the town's industrial past -- underfoot the crack of shattered pieces of broken, bottle-green glass broke the silence.

We entered the building with Sergeant Oak in the lead, immediately followed by five other officers and then finally myself. As we came in we could hear the excited shouts of a crowd around an animal fight in progress. Above the din, we could hear the plaintive cries of the combatants themselves. Creatures locked in a deadly mortal battle while their owners and trainers made bets and goaded on the action.

"This is the police!" Sergeant Oak's declaration of our presence cut through the scene like a crack of thunder.

There was a mix of reactions in the room. Some made an instinctive bolt for the fire exit, while others stood dumbfounded, waiting to be rounded up by the officers.

In the centre of the dark hall was the ring, in which lay the panting forms of two small creatures. Without their trainers to urge them on they no longer fought; they simply lay passive. A small panda-like creature whimpered in one corner, with evidence of burns and cuts to its fur clear to all onlookers. Hulking in the other corner was some breed of pig, with small flames and smoke issuing from its mouth.

This then, was the calling of the "trainers"- the self-appointed owners of these creatures called Pokemon and the orchestrators of this battle between animals.


A month earlier I had been introduced to the leader of one of these gangs: a young man known as Ash. Ash is of no fixed abode and spends much of his time travelling around the country. He seems comfortable in his camp and his collection of Pokemon scampered around him. He plays with them -- quite kindly, it seems to me -- and laughs as they scamper around.

At the time I remember thinking that this image of a young man enjoying his pets was not in keeping with the picture I had been painted of hardened street-fighters and dealers.

I began by asking him why he spends his days travelling away from home.

"Everyone in my town has the same Pokes," he says, "from what I hear it's same all over. Different towns have people with different Pokes -- but there tends to be like, y'know, groups of Pokemon in those towns, you get me? If you wants to find the best and the rarest ones, they're out in the country. Also, for a guy like me, I want to train my Pokes against the Pokes of other trainers, you get me? Like me, they all out travelling. No use sitting still."

I asked him why they all do it and what it is that drives them. Why does he do it?

"For me," he begins, a look of determination on his face, "I want to be the very best. Like no-one ever was, you get me?"

He explained to me that every young person that goes on this journey is looking to create the most diverse and complete collection and to demonstrate their skill in raising the Pokemon to a properly trained level. The members of these Pokemon gangs aim to be "Masters", a title they seemingly apply to themselves when they feel they have suitably proved themselves among their peers.

"'Dis journey I'm on," he continues, thoughtfully, "it's like it was made for me. I travel 'round and everything seems to fall into place. Even though people have been training Pokes for years, yeah?, new people are still coming to it. This new route I'm taking, even the new trainers are finding it perfect to get to grips with catching and training. It's a great time to be a trainer."

I spent some time travelling with Ash, to really understand what it is that he spends his time doing. When he found a Pokemon he wanted, I have to admit that I was a little shocked. The creature was exhibiting ferocious behaviour towards us as we walked through the long grass and I felt sure it would attack.

Ash's reaction was very different to my own flight response. He sent one of his existing Pokemon toward the wild creature and began issuing instructions.

The fight was brutal at times; the wild creature lashed out with poison, claws... even kicking sand in the eye's of Ash's prize pet. Eventually, however, the evidence of Ash's detailed tutorship of his Pokemon came to the fore and the wild creature was beaten into an exhausted submission.

"Whoa, that battle was well sick!" Ash declared as he deployed his 'ball,' a snare used by Pokemon Trainers to capture creatures and leave on it an imperceptible mark of ownership. Soon the creature was caught and in Ash's possession.

I had not expected his next actions to be what they were. We rushed to the nearest veterinary clinic and Ash insisted that we could not leave to continue our journey until his new Pokemon was restored to full health.

What surprised me most was not only the joy with which Ash received his fully healed Pokemon back into his care, but the excitement and happiness which the captured Pokemon seemed to hold for Ash. Even though this creature had seemingly fought to be free -- to within an inch of its own life -- you would now never know that these two had ever been anything but firm friends.

Watching Ash take care of his new charge and choose a name for it I began to understand the appeal these creatures hold for the self-appointed Masters that capture and train them. There is a mutual dependency and benefit between Trainer and Pokemon. In an increasingly isolated and fragmented society, these young people are constructing their own circle of loyal and dedicated friends and family as well as committing themselves to acquiring more and more skill.

"There ain't nuffin' quite like it," Ash explains, "most of us are given our first Pokemon by someone else. That's a quality moment -- but from the moment you catch your first Poke on your own, you is hooked. Seeing them turn and become friends for your journey -- I wouldn't swap that for nuffin, you get me?"


As the scene of the Pokemon fight was being cleared by the police and the Pokemon placed into the care of animal services, I noted with sadness that one of the young Trainers being placed in the back of a squad car was Ash; his head was now bowed low with shame, but I noted that he seemed more agitated as to the whereabouts and welfare of his collection than for his own predicament.

Sergeant Oak came to talk to me about all that I had seen and his own experiences in dealing with "Pokemon Masters."

"A lot of them claim simply to be collectors, traders or breeders. That wouldn't be a crime, where ownership is clear. But most of these kids scour the countryside for wild creatures which they attack until they are tired and defenceless and then they snare them. After that the creature's future is to be hardened for fighting. These trainers..." he shakes his head sadly, "no matter what they say: to catch them is their real quest; to train them is their cause."

Oak went on to talk about the history of the scene, "we've seen previous generations of Pokemon breeders and trainers. If anything this generation is one of the most focused purely on catching, training and fighting. We'd actually started to see more positive trends in the last couple of generations. One pair of gangs, known as the HeartGolds and the SoulSilvers not only found a way of getting their Pokemon to compete athletically, but also showed an interest in Safaris, going for long walks and growing legal health supplements. The previous generation to this even got involved in cooking, talent shows and treasure hunting. Fighting has always been a part of it, but the other gangs seemed to have other distractions to balance it out. This generation doesn't seem to have the same level of other interests. It really is just about catching and battling Pokemon. It's a shame really. Not that I condone any of it, but if I had to choose I'd have the golds and silvers back over these..."

I wondered about the impact this current generation will have. Certainly the creatures available to a trainer now are more varied and arguably more appealing than they have ever been, with a huge range. The newly discovered breeds add some wonderful variation to an established scene.

With today's technology, the recordings of these fights also look better than ever and it won't be surprising if many aspiring trainers are attracted by the bright lights, clean images and fast nature of the world which they will be entering.

But it also seems as though this latest resurgence of Pokemon training may not enjoy a position at the peak of the generations. As Sergeant Oak pointed out, previous generations of trainers seemed to have more varied activities on which to spend their time. This new arena is large and it may be that there will be more discoveries to be made; however I have seen little evidence of this, even with the month I spent with the gang. It is likely that, if there is more to uncover, only those trainers who are able to commit the most time will be able to reap the full benefits.

But with the new communication options available to them, sharing thoughts and ideas and finding other trainers may be easier than ever.

We shall have to wait and see; only time can fully assess the impact of these latest Pokemon and their dedicated trainers.

Novel Gamer Episode Five - Infinite Space, or "Reaching Infinite Space"

This is the fifth episode of the popular online alternative review column "Novel Gamer", part of Game People, which specialises in real world, alternative and artistic reviews. Don't forget that a podcast is also available from the source of this article, here.

This week, a young man - who lives on a planet where space travel is forbidden - dreams of visiting the stars. One day, he gets his change: can the reality live up to the expectation?

Chapter the first: Comrades and coincidence

My name is Yuri and I have always dreamed of leaving my home planet and reaching for the stars. Last night I witnessed a raging battle in the heavens.

At first I thought it was a shooting star. That was, until I realised it was growing larger and heading toward me. It crashed mere metres from where I was standing and I could see that it was a star-ship, badly damaged.

I climbed in to see if there were any survivors.

She was lying across the command console; she was beautifully drawn, if you know what I mean. I climbed down and helped her out of her craft.

"Typical men," she exclaimed, "a few quick shots and they're gone."

Right, I thought, is that how this is going to be? First thing I've heard anyone say and this is the level I'm to expect?

"Oh sorry," she says, "I've just been shot down. Not feeling myself. My name is Nia."

"Are you a launcher?" I asked, excitedly. Launchers were known for providing people who wanted to go into space with passage and a good start to their freelance adventures.


Nia cocked her head on one side and looked at me, "where'd you get that from?"

"Well," I explained, "I’m an orphan, living on a planet where space travel is totally banned, who dreams of flying off into the stars. I’m really hoping that - on top of the infinitesimal probability of a space craft crashing right in front of me - the first person I’ve ever met from space turns out to be a 'launcher’."

She raised an eyebrow. "Have you any idea what the chances against that kind of coincidence are?"

Not put off, I persisted, "Well, are you?"

Her incredulous look turned to a frown, "as it happens, I am. But, so help me, Grus, if there doesn't turn out to be a really good plot reason for this coincidence..."

I cheered, heartily.

"Anyway," Nia sighed, "I can't go anywhere. My ship is busted up and it would be stretching the realms of possibility if the one person I crashed in front of happens to be a 16-year old prodigy when it comes to fixing star-drives and single-handedly welding the shattered hull of a 40-tonne star-ship back together."

I just looked at her and grinned.



Chapter the second: Freedoms and Peons

We left my home world behind and flew out into space, heading for a planet where I could buy my own ship. I pawned my one and only possession: a relic of great interest and plot-propelling mystery left for me by my long-dead father.

My first ship was not at all what I was expecting.

Nia's ship seemed small, homely and just the sort of place to learn about flying; the ship we bought for me was a 320m long destroyer, with a crew of 200 people. 200! I'm only 16 and I've never been in space before; how could I suddenly manage 200 people! We sat down for a drink so I could talk to Nia about my concerns.

"Don't worry about them," Nia assured me, "you don't need to worry too much about the crew. We don't see them a lot."


"What!?" I exclaimed, suddenly gulping my tea, "I don't ever meet any of my crew?"

"Oh, it's not like that. If you meet anyone with a name they can be recruited as officers and placed in specific command roles. But, yeah, the general crew are just... sorta... there..."

"But these people are going to live and die at my command!" I protested.

"Just make sure you fit crew quarters and a mess hall and they'll be fine. Maybe a doctor to patch them up to get back into battle." She shrugged.

I spluttered my tea all over the Navigation console. "I don't even PAY them?" I gasped.

"Look," Nia became exasperated, "you'll have enough on your plate wandering around the universe 'finding yourself' without having to think of the welfare of 200 people you'll never meet."

"But... that's... SLAVERY!"

"Oh give it a rest."

I was starting to feel that this life was not going to be as glamorous as I had hoped. Still, I thought, at least we can put this ship to good use. There must be oppressed masses to free, princesses to save and historical ruins to explore.

"So, what's our first mission?" I relaxed and took a big mouthful of warm, re-assuring tea.

Nia didn't even look up, "oh, um, we're going to knock over a commercial transport full of luxury goods."

She was still wringing tea out of her hair ten minutes later.



Chapter the third: In control and out of control

If the realities of this life and the story in which I found myself are stretching the limits of my credulity and morality, these challenges were as nothing compared to the practicalities of actually living this life.

"Have you decided what to call your ship, Yuri?" Nia asked cheerfully.

"Yeah, Amistad."

"Oh, don't start!"

The star-ship controls seemed to have been designed by two or more people who didn't like to talk to each other. A feature labelled Anti-Ship on the Fire Control System seems to report this same statistic as "Dexterity" during battle (whatever that means). Overall the whole experience of controlling my fleet was extremely awkward. A misunderstanding over the quirks of "saving" (some sort of backup process, Nia assures me) resulting in me having to repeat much of my journey multiple times.

Compared to my dreams of piloting a star-ship the reality was kinda dull.

"Nia?"

"Yes" she looked up, wearily.

"I thought space battles would be all manoeuvres, tactics and daring?"

"And?" she asked, nonplussed.


"I seem to spend most of my time using Excel. I've stared at more comparative rows of figures than... I don't know when and even though I'm adjusting the ship's attack strength and speed it doesn't seem to have any direct relation to my ability in battle. And, battle's another gripe. I thought it would be a cunning battle of wits, but it's mostly just a case of waiting for the other bloke to turn his back and then pressing a big red button. Admittedly I have 2 buttons to push and they have their pros and cons but it's just... not..."

"Go on," Nia said kindly, "say it."

"It's just not Battlestar Galactica."

"Would you like to try Melee battle?" she offers kindly.

"Ooh what's that?"

"That's where we board the enemy ship and, using the whole crew we -- please don't look at me like that -- using the whole crew we fight hand to hand until either crew is totally slaughtered." Nia smiled, sweetly.

"Well," I really wasn't sure if this was such a good idea, but I thought it might break up the repetitive battle I was in the middle of, "let's try it."

We drew the ship alongside the enemy and all piled aboard.

Our crew stood in ranks, fearlessly facing the opposition. The enemy crew had also assembled line after line of grinning, toothless and battle-scarred pirates. Neither side knew fear, intimidation or had any doubt that they would fight to their last breath for their Captain.

"Ready," came the first barked order.

"Aim," both crews tensed.

"Scissors!" my crew began attacking with scissors. On this day, fortune smiled and the enemy had planned their first barrage using paper! Oh how the gods of war smiled upon this...

"Hang on!" I shouted. All 200 warriors stopped and looked at me. I looked at Nia with a suspicious expression. "Is this just rock, paper, scissors?"

"Well, no," she explained, "there are three commands, Leader, Shoot and Slash and they..." she paused.

"Are basically just a big game of rock, paper, scissors?" I asked.

"It’s better than that," she said, "Your enemy is so predictable after a couple of games you can predict which they are going to use next. Assuming, that is, that the enemy just doesn’t decide to continuously retreat until you get fed up and go back to firing on their ship."

"But," I kept on questioning, "my feeling is -- and do forgive me if this question seems a little bit basic -- that that is complete rubbish?"

"Well I'm sorry," Nia retorted, hurt showing on her face, "that's just how things are out here!"

I was so disappointed. Space looked so exciting. The ships were gloriously presented, the actions in battle were smooth and film-like and space even sounded glorious -- everywhere we went a thrilling score accompanied us.

But, in the midst of all this I spent most of my time fighting a bad control system, staring at numbers, re-using battle tactics and playing rock, paper, bloody scissors!

"Well," I sighed, "I've come this far. I'll stick with you for now; but, if it doesn't get more any more interesting I'm going back home to my Pokemon breeding."

"Fair enough," said Nia and took my hand. "Ooh, they're about to use 'shoot', you should switch to 'slash'."

I was aware of the sound of my teeth grinding together. "Swords against infantry? How does that even work....?"

Novel Gamer Episode Three - Epic Mickey, or "Dead Men Beg No Scraps"

What follows is my third Novel Gamer column for Game People. This is also available as a podcast, and there are iTunes and RSS subscriptions available.

To summarise, Novel Gamer is a feature in which I tell a short story, based on my experiences of playing a game. It's a 50/50 hybrid of fiction and critical analysis. Hopefully you'll come away entertained and informed about a game.

It was raining in the city. Raining hard, like the skies were trying to wash the memories from the buildings, the walls, the train yards and the sidewalks.

Five-foot nothing and with a figure that looked like he'd been carved just to make passers-by laugh, Mickey leaned against the window frame of his twelfth-story apartment and looked out to the horizon. Water spattered against the pane, like a warning keeping him inside. Keeping him locked in this house of memories.

There was a rap of knuckles against the peeling wooden door. Mickey looked around. Why couldn't they fix the security intercom? If he was going to face visitors these days he wanted at least five damn minutes to throw water on his face and put the whiskey back in the dresser.

He lurched across the boards to the door and pulled it open before turning away and heading back into the room. He didn't even look to see who was behind the door.

"Is that any way to greet an old flame?" came a dove-song laced voice from the door.

Mickey looked around. He watched as Alexandria swept into the room, the hem of her dress gliding across the boards, like she floated and had no connection with the mundanity of the floor. Her hourglass figure kept the same time as Mickey remembered and the bee-stung lips showed no sign of getting any less swollen, red or losing any sparkle.

He fought down the joy in his chest. They call it the past because it's gone and no broad in a cheap cocktail dress could change that, even if she could make an end of line outfit look like a million dollars.

"You're a real piece of art, Alex," Mickey told her and gave her a roguish grin, "why are you hanging in a place like this?"

She came up to him and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look up and meet her eyes. "Mickey, baby, I came with good news. Abe sent me."

Abe Ewart, though Mickey, my old agent. There was an old saying: when the world ends the only creatures left alive will be the 'roaches. And, Abe Ewart will be queuing up behind them with a fork.

"Well, well," Mickey said, "what does that old second-hand trader want with me? He ain't had reason to call in years."

Alexandria let go of his face and took up his hands, leading him over to the worn couch by the TV. Mickey tried not to think about the last time she'd done that in this apartment. The couch groaned under their weight, as if to say "get off! I'm too old to carry two of you!"

"They're making a movie, Mickey honey! They want you! It's your movie -- your name is all over it!"

Mickey simply stared at her. He hadn't been a star since ... he couldn't even remember when. Plenty of trains had rolled out of this city since those days.

"Are they crazy?" Mickey said, "nobody makes pictures about me anymore. What happen to that Italian kid with the moustache or that limey broad? You know her, the acrobatic girl with the guns?"

The angel shook her head, making her elegantly curled locks dance around her face with joy, "Abe says there a real old-school revival. People are getting interested in the old stories again. Says he wants to make a picture just like the old days. With you. About you. Hell honey you could be a star again!"

Mickey turned his nose up. "I may be a mouse in this town now, but I know a rat when I smell it. If this picture was above board Abe would have come himself. He only needs to send out the pretty if he thinks I'm gonna say no." He turned away from her, trying not to hope.

She simply moved closer to him, "I wanted to come and tell you myself, honey. What? You think I could hear about the best thing to happen to you in years and I didn't want to run straight over and bring you the news?"

He looked around at her, her lip was quivering with emotion -- or with the strain of still trying to play the ingenue after all these years, he thought, a little maliciously.

"Come on, Mickey," she pleaded, her voice running like icy water over a crystal waterfall, "it'll be just like old times. Whaddaya say?"

He felt like the mouse who'd just seen the kitchen door left open, with a pile of cheese waiting -- and even if there were a hundred traps he couldn't see them from here. He couldn't exactly say "no."

"Sure Alex," Mickey said at last, "let's me and you revisit some old times."

*************

It was clear to Mickey as soon as he walked onto the lot how much things had changed since he went away. It was colder, he thought, run by the bean-counters and the lawyers and no place for the little man with a great idea.

Alexandria was hanging on his arm the whole way to Abe Ewart's tiny office. He was sitting behind the desk filling his face with a greasy meat sandwich, dropping bits of lettuce all over the papers on the desk. A stack of dishevelled documents piled high in his in-tray, like a Bonzai Tower of Pisa which he tended daily for the perfect lean.

Abe looked up and greeted Mickey with a broad grin and a wave of platitudes. Mickey felt like he was being verbally dressed up for a party. The question was, was he the long lost son or the fatted calf?

"This is gonna be a great picture," Abe told him, drawing in the air with his hands like a showman, "we've got one of the best creative teams around working on it and they know how to pitch it for the current market."

"The current market?" Mickey parroted, "where do I fit into this?"

Abe slapped him on the shoulder, "it's a reinvention, Mickey-boy! That's what it's all about these days -- looking back to see what was great about the old times and making it fresh, modern! And it's dark..."

Mickey raised his eyes to the ceiling, "dark? Why the hell do we want to make a dark picture? Life is dark enough at times," he looked at Alexandria, and she shifted uncomfortably, "We used to make pictures for laughs, for adventure, for fun to take people away from reality for a few sweet hours."

Abe stood up, shaking his head, "dark is where it's at, these days. Audiences are more sophisticated. They've seen and heard too much of the world to accept a clean-cut hero. These days you can choose to be a hero or a villain in your story -- but whatever you choose you're still the star!"

Those words rang in Mickey's ears. He'd seen the stuff that had come out of this place -- and others like it -- for years since he went away and he'd always wanted a chance to show what a bit of old-school magic could do. He looked straight into Abe's eyes.

"When do we start?"

******************

It was only when Mickey got his hands on the script that he knew something was amiss. It was a great approach -- he had to give that to them at least. But something deep in the core of the story didn't make sense. The spider tracks of words coalesced on the page into meaning, plain enough, but it was the heart that was missing.

His character didn't make sense: he could be both creator and destroyer. He could restore the world around and him and create beauty or he could destroy his surroundings and take the spoils unto himself. But, beyond that it said nothing. It didn't seem to matter whether the things he created were good or evil and his journey seemed to require a balance of both. This wouldn't have mattered, Mickey thought, if balance was the message of the story, but the character seemed to be judged based on his adherence to either side. There seemed to be no reason for the decisions he had to make.

Mickey was also worried about the filming. He'd watched recent releases. It almost frightened him how much of an exact science the shooting seemed to be: perfectly crafted scenes captured by an almost prescient hand, like God himself moulding the Garden of Eden.

Even in the old days, when he was shooting his scene he could feel at least one camera following his every move, every jump, every fall. These cameras seemed to be pointed in all kinds of different directions, like prairie dogs sniffing the air for a scent. Not one of the camera operators seemed to have a clue where the action was and were shooting whatever allowed them the most comfortable position to slouch.

The scenes themselves were challenging enough. Abe used to say in the old days, "you've got to make it look like you're busting your chops when you're doing the action stuff, but that doesn't mean it should be hard to do. No one wants to break a neck making this picture." On this shoot, Mickey had had to make several re-takes of the same scenes over and over. They simply seemed physically beyond his ability to move: as if some malevolent deity had taken a measure of his longest jump and made all the platforms too far by a single inch -- to taunt him; to test his patience for the project.

He tried raising his concerns with Abe. The money-loving agent didn't seem to care. As shooting went on, Abe disappeared on more and more junkets and only reappeared with a pair of bimbos on each arm and a fistful of rings on each hand. At least the pre-release hype seemed to be winning hearts.

Even if mine is empty, thought Mickey.

The last straw came when Mickey finally saw the rough cut of the movie. He was appalled. The lolling cameras showed little of the action and his own futile attempts to clamber over the scenery look liked the helpless falling of a stiff doll down all fifteen stories of his apartment building. The very worst thing, Mickey thought, was how it looked.

The old stuff looked ropey, sure; if you wanted to compare it side-by-side with modern pictures it couldn't compete. But it was of it's time -- and in it's own time it was a thing of beauty and set the standard for everything that came after.

What Mickey saw on the screens was a travesty: the colours were blotchy, his own animated performance rendered sub-par by the careless direction and unmotivated script.

Without a word, Mickey threw his coffee cup to the floor and walked off the set.

Abe came running after him, with a bewildered Alexandria tailing him like a concerned nurse trying to get a wilful patient back into bed.

"What the hell are ya doing, Mickey-boy?" Abe demanded.

Mickey spun round and pointed at the ground, as if marking the line Abe dare not cross, "I'm through with this picture. I'm through with you."

The agents face filled with rage and turned a colour of red that almost made Mickey nostalgic for the old days. "It'll be more than that, Mickey-boy! If you're through with this picture you're through for good! This was your chance to make a big comeback -- not just for you, for everyone that was part of the old days. There's too many new guys making good in this city: Paxar and Drainworks are taking all of our glory. We need to hit them hard and show them what we can do! If you walk away from this you're a dead man!"

Silence hung in the air like a baseball smacked high over third base and everyone was holding their breath, waiting to cheer -- waiting to know who to cheer for.

Mickey shook his head, sadly and spoke. He was fighting to keep his voice from cracking as he looked between Abe and Alexandria. "I'm already a dead man, Abe. Can't you see? Don't you understand?

"What we had was great. It was a beautiful thing -- it really was. We showed the world what we could do and how it should be done." Mickey gulped. "And then I died. I died and the world moved on without me. But they had their memories. They remembered me and the good times I gave them. But this?" he removed a copy of the script from his pocket and slapped it hard with the back of his hand. "This travesty is not how I want to be remembered -- making below average cash-cows for an audience that is used to better. That deserves better."

Mickey turned to walk away, the low falling sun stretching his shadow across the drive and over the buildings of the lot -- his shadow making its mark on the buildings he had helped to make great.

"I'd rather be dead and remembered as a legend than live and be associated with this failure. You want to make something that speaks to modern audiences? Then call it by a name they understand. Call it a Fail. Call it an Epic Fail! Can you do that, Abe? Can you be honest, or are you just taking the Mickey?"

Abe and Alexandria looked at the floor sadly.

Mickey walked away towards the city. The sun was baking the side of his building and he knew where he could find a killer view to watch the world go by. The world he'd helped to shape.

Novel Gamer Episode Two - Monster Hunter Tri

What follows is my second Novel Gamer column for Game People. This is also available as a podcast, and there are iTunes and RSS subscriptions available.

To summarise, Novel Gamer is a feature in which I tell a short story, based on my experiences of playing a game. It's a 50/50 hybrid of fiction and critical analysis. Hopefully you'll come away entertained and informed about a game.

Rupert's Safari: An encounter with Monster Hunter Tri (Wii)

"Mr Fisher, I understand you wish to make a complaint?" even over the telephone, the Travel Rep couldn't hide the exasperation in her voice.

"Yes," Rupert Fisher explained, "I have to say that the whole experience has not lived up to my expectations."

The Rep frowned, "but, from what you are telling me -- and forgive me if I've missed something -- you don't actually want to leave the village?"

"That is correct," Rupert informed her.

"So, you want to complain; the experience is not what you expected; and you want to carry on in the village and keep hunting?"

"Yes."

The Rep covered the handset and allowed herself a long sigh. She returned the mouthpiece to her face.

"Perhaps you could start at the beginning, sir, and explain exactly what is at fault with this experience..."

* * *

Many days before...

Rupert Fisher leaned back and enjoyed the sea breeze as the boat carried him over the waters to the hunting and safari village, in which he would be spending the next leg of his year-out.

The Travel Rep shifted uncomfortably on her seat and tried to complete the rest of the paperwork. Rupert had ignored her vocal concerns. Many times he had been warned by others that this safari was a very basic experience. There was much less hand-holding than on other safari tours that had been sold to his friends. That was what had convinced him that this was a unique opportunity; he also knew that those who loved it came back time and again.

This was a chance to see some wild country, some rare and exotic creatures and to spend some time living out a hunter-gatherer fantasy.

Perfect!

As Rupert stepped onto the jetty of the village of Moga he turned to watch the boat with the Travel Rep jet away at some speed. Whatever this experience was going to be, he was definitely on his own for now.
His greeting was not as he expected. Without even really knowing what future adventures lay in store he had to provide a name and basic details about how he wished to dress and appear for his time in the village.

"Would sir be interested in some facial markings?" came the inquiry from a faceless village administrator, "these arrow shapes across the forehead are very popular."

"Humm, I'm not sure," Rupert wavered, his middle-class sensibilities signalling an instant retreat, "those face paints look like they may have some significant cultural meaning to a particular group of... ahh... maybe ethnic cultures. I don't want to offend anybody... umm."

"Please yourself," the administrator told him, "they're just face paint." The administrator shuffled away. "It doesn't matter anyway. You'll choose all these outfits and markings and then your first set of armour will completely obscure your face and clothing anyhow. Can't see why we bother..." he grumbled as he walked away.

"Armour?" Rupert called after him, "what do we need armour for?" He could hear the sound of chuckling from off down the path.

A little perplexed by this, Rupert entered the village proper and soon became acquainted with the many, many local people it seemed necessary to talk to before he was finally allowed to set out on his first safari; there seemed to be a lot of these people there and their jobs clearly suffered from large areas of overlap. As a management consultant, Rupert could tell at a glance that there were huge parts of the village structure that would benefit from a shake-up and rationalisation.

He stopped himself: he was here to enjoy the quaint backward charms, not to civilise the locals or try and make the experience more logical or efficient.

He set out on his first venture into the nearby woods.

* * *

The landscape was beautiful, as expected. Grand mountains, winding paths and graceful rivers... and he caught his first sight of a creature.

Monsters they called them in the brochure. Not a bit of it! This was a graceful herbivore. I looked like a dinosaur of some kind. There was a big one and two small ones grazing and moving down the valley.

"That is incredible," Rupert whispered to himself. He reached about his person and realised what he'd forgotten. "Damn!" he addressed to the air, "umm I appear to have forgotten my camera. I don't suppose you have one I could use?"

There was a voice that travelled with him as he ventured on the lonely safari although Rupert never saw his guide. "Attack the creature and kill it for points and resources" came the deadpan reply.
"What?" Rupert was surprised, assuming he'd misheard. "No no no you misunderstand. I'm on safari -- I'm here to enjoy the wildlife and scenery."

"Use your knife and kill the creature. This will give you points and items to spend on upgrading your armour and weapons and also resources to help redevelop our village."

"Now see here," the young traveller told the guide, "I know you people are a bit separated from modern culture and are pretty far out of the way; but, I can tell you that the rest of the modern, thinking world has moved away from the petty savagery of safaris for the purposes of hunting for pleasure. We leave only pictures and take only footprints, I think someone said. No that's wrong, sorry! We leave only footprints and take only pictures. Or memories they said, maybe? I forget who. In any case I have to say I feel very uncomfortable about the idea of attacking this family unit of beautiful creatures!"

"The village needs resources. We must rebuild after the earthquake."

Rupert nodded, sympathetically. "I am very concerned about your situation, believe me. My tourist dollars will go along way toward the regeneration of this region!" He changed tack, "look, aren't there any other tasks I can undertake for the village while out here?"

The advice came back, without irony. "You can forage for mushrooms, bugs, stone, iron ore, honey from nests, cut grass and herbs to make potions and gather resources for the village. You will need to make medicines to look after yourself and materials to make clothes and armour. The village will also require some resources."

"Right..." Rupert responded, "I seem to be doing a lot for the village and I seem to be spending a lot of my leisure time grubbing around for random herbs and foliage when I should be on safari for animals and enjoying myself. I assume this is all really necessary?"

The only reply was a thick silence.

Rupert acquiesced. Eventually he did attack some local creatures, once he realised that it was not a joke and that he was really expected to spend his time running around and killing everything in sight. If my girlfriend saw this she'd be horrified, he thought to himself.

* * *

One of the rumours Rupert had heard about this experience was the opportunity to hunt with other visitors. He thought it was about time he tried it for himself.

"It's totally the way to do it," Tilly -- a girl he had met in Sydney airport -- had told him, "it allows you all to take on challenges far too extreme for you to handle alone. Ya, you get a real sense of achieving something big."

Her words rang in his ears as he explored the huge deserted "city" for companions. He hoped it was different. Much of the hunting he had experienced largely involved hitting things indiscriminately until they fell over.

The city was meant to be a hub for meeting other hunters but any attempts at communicating with other people had proved dismal. None of the other people spoke his language. Why haven't they booked me on an English-only resort? he thought to himself, I didn't have this problem in Sharm El-Sheikh. He had even attempted to write notes to attract the other visitors but the system provided for writing to other people was laughably basic and really only suitable for four or five letter communications. Not what he needed.
A thought occurred to him in a flash. He remembered that a friend of his from home was supposed to be out here at the same time!

He gave her a call and, sure enough, she was in the area and up for trying out some of this multi-hunter game she'd heard about.

Zara turned up in good time and they were both keen to work out the best way to communicate with each other while out in the field.

"Oh, are you two friends?" came the voice of one of the game reserve's administrators.
"Yes" Rupert replied. "We've been friends ages."

"But," the administrator pressed, " are you friends in here? You can't talk unless you make friends with each other within this city as well!"

Rupert sighed, "oh all right, then. If we must... hang on what's this?"

The administrator had handed them both a giant fishbowl helmet with a microphone -- for some reason -- right at the top. "This," the administrator explained, "is the Wii Speak. It's what you must use to talk to each other."

"Oh! Really?" Zara sounded disappointed. "But it echoes really badly and I can't hear a word he's saying. Can't I use my Bluetooth headset? I have one, you know?"

"Sorry, miss," the administrator told him, "Wii Speak only. That's the rules."

Rupert and Zara decided to concede the point and headed out into the wilderness for their first joint hunt. Rupert was, understandably, excited about the new strategies this co-op approach would surely offer.
They came out into a clearing and stood before a giant T-Rex-like creature.

"Steven H Spielberg, that's a big monster!" Rupert exclaimed, turning to Zara. "What do we do?" he looked around but she had already gone, charging in to attack.

Rupert followed her into the fray, slashing wildly with his monstrously-oversized sword. The carnage was intense, both assailants regularly hitting each other as well as the beast.

"But, surely," Rupert yelled above the noise of carnage, "this is exactly the same as what I was doing on my own?!"

Zara didn't reply. He looked but she had totally disappeared.

After receiving a sound trashing from the creature he recovered in the main city. He gave Zara a call.
"What happened to you, then?"

"I don't know," she replied, "one moment I was there with you, the next minute I found myself standing back in the city, totally disconnected from you. Couldn't get back in no matter how hard I tried. I say, that's a poor show!"

"That's it!" Rupert exclaimed, "I'm getting on the phone to my Travel Rep right now! This experience has been bad enough without adding service faults to the equation. I shall make a complaint..."

* * *

The Travel Rep was trying to write this all down.

"So Mr Fisher, you are dissatisfied with the experience?"

"Well," Rupert said, "I wouldn't say disappointed. Bewildered and confused, perhaps. The hunting just feels like a continuous grind, the communication is shocking and I seem to spend a lot of my free time running around after the demands of the villagers. And don't even get me started on the locals. I swear I saw the farmer's pig wearing a pink dress..."

"But, do you want to leave and get a refund, Mr Fisher?"

"Well, err," Rupert thought about this carefully. What was he thinking? Was he actually considering persevering with this? "The thing is, you see, it really is a very pretty and large place."

"Yes," agreed the rep.

"And there are always new challenges opening up..."

"Yes."

"And I always get this feeling that, no matter how flawed the experience is, it's about to get better just around the next corner..."

"So?"

Rupert thought carefully about this for a moment.

"I think I'll stay."

The launch article for Game People's Novel Gamer column

What follows is my first Novel Gamer column for Game People. This is also available as a podcast, and there are iTunes and RSS subscriptions available.

To summarise, Novel Gamer is a feature in which I tell a short story, based on my experiences of playing a game. It's a 50/50 hybrid of fiction and critical analysis. Hopefully you'll come away entertained and informed about a game.

Starfox Command DS: An interview with the legendary frontman of the group, Fox McCloud

It was a few days ago my publisher called me up about the chance to interview one of the most iconic and enigmatic figures of the last decade. Clearly this was a great chance to talk to a most influential artist. I was a little surprised when the subject matter of the discussion was a focus on StarFox Command. When compared against such classics as the legendary StarFox 64 (known in the UK as Lylat Wars) how is that we came to be talking about this particular release?

These days, McCloud keeps up a trendy apartment in west London which he uses when he’s in the UK on business. It’s in that part of the city so favoured by the select and which is home to many artists and retired performers – actors of the old school, retired rock-stars and their peers.

McCloud’s rooms had a new-age air to them. Oriental fabrics and incense burners lined the walls, on which sat the framed gold discs of Lylat Wars and StarFox Adventures.

The man himself dispensed with the formalities and insisted I call him Fox. I began by asking him about the group and its impact on the genre. He pushed the glowing end of a stub into a full ashtray and leant forward, his eyes glittering with memories of the old days.

"I keep meaning to give up!" he grinned, "It was a crazy time, man. Ninty just came at us with all this new equipment and said to me and Falco, what can you guys do with it?"

I asked him if he’s referring to Nintendo’s Mode7 chip, which for many households represented their first experience of a moving 3D surface.

"Yeah, yeah, guy, that was it. So we said to the suits, ‘man if you’re gonna give me something that looks like flying, then I wanna fly!’ ha ha ha!"

"So," I pressed, "you feel that the StarFox group was about technical innovation?"

"That was a part of it, sure," Fox leant back, a serious expression now on his face; "but it was about creativity and experimentation. The story and the characters had to be top-notch. That’s why were we excited about Command, man! We’d always been too big and our shows too technically demanding for the little consoles. Finally here was a handheld venue capable of holding a StarFox show – and we were stoked about it I can tell ya."

"What was your reaction to it?"

"I thought the controls were crazy when they first pitched it to me. They showed me how the ship could be flown entirely by drawing the stylus on the screen. The only button used was for firing! I said to the engineers – I admit I was a bit rude in those days – what the … y’know … what the ‘F’ do you think you’re doing? There’s a perfectly functional D-Pad and on the other side you’ve got buttons for Boost, Brake, Shoot and Loop. Use the shoulders for Bomb and Flip! It seemed obvious to me but the tech guys talked about wanting to avoid something they called ‘Metroid Claw’ and got me to try the Stylus control."

"What did you think?"

A big smile crept across McCloud’s face. "It was like experiencing all the material again for the first time! Seriously, with only a bit of practice, the way that ship responded to the slightest touch? It was like leading her by the nose past buildings, down gulleys and through those … those hoops that give you power-ups?" I nodded. "We could never have got that kind of control with a pad, never!"

"And the stylus, of course," I prompted him, "was also used for the strategy sections after which this entry is named."

"That was a gamble," McCloud admits, "y’see with this release we wanted to put the audience in control. The first StarFox was a really linear ride; with Command we wanted to say to the player: ‘here are the bad guys; here’s the world; you choose when and where to fight them’. We gave them a limited number of turns to clean up each area but you should have seen the way these guys flew the missions! There were worlds we thought would take 4 or 5 turns to clear, but some of the real fans figured out how to chain refuel stations and how to draw your fighter’s interception path to catch many squadrons at once: they cleared the map in a couple of turns. Just incredible! Plus you had to use the stylus to scratch away the ‘fog’ that covered the enemies position – most fans figured out the limited tool only allowed small bits of the covered territory to be cleared so they just figured out ways to make it work."

"So really," I asked McCloud, "StarFox Command’s greatest legacy is allowing the player to improvise with the material."

McCloud nodded vigorously at this, "defo! Got it in one. Even with the combat missions it was all about giving the player choice. It was pretty easy to kill the enemy squadron but we filled the area with secondary and tertiary enemies that gave huge bonuses if you clear everyone out. It became less about whether you could clear the level and more about how you beat the level. Doing it with style for maximum points! Not to mention the time bonus strategy!"

I had to admit that I thought I had missed that.

"Aww, that was a great strategy! We set the ship up so that, if you did a barrel-roll while taking fire, then you deflect the enemy shots and gain 2 seconds, right? Well some of the fans figured out that it was a good idea to keep some of the anti-air towers around – that way, if you run short on time you just goad the towers into shooting at you and you can rack up extra seconds! All about personal expression, man; all about it…"

I decided to bring up the issue of Command’s position in the overall series of StarFox releases. I asked if he felt it was a departure for the series.

"People have the wrong idea about StarFox, man," he shook his head at this; he seemed quite sad. "People think of this epic space adventure going on story after story … but they forget. StarFox 64 or Lylat Wars or whatever you want to call it was a remake of the original StarFox. We started again with new technology and new freedom to explore. We never got a shot at the Wii. The GameCube versions mixed it up with ground vehicles and walking sections and the other one was a third-person adventure game. In many ways, StarFox Command is the truest StarFox release to date. It’s like we were looking for the perfect version of space combat with story. Command has its own ambience and flavour. All with full 360-degree control rather than on-rails. It’s the follow-up album the original deserved."

"How do you feel," I asked him, "about the suggestion that it was short?"

"Totally wronged! I mean, we made a choice to make each story thread quite short. Sure, you can play it from start to a finish in a couple of hours. But then we put in nine totally different endings and a branched storyline that gave you all kinda ways to get to them. To see all that Command has to offer, you come back to it again and again. That’s what our fans say: they just keep revisiting it."

I nod. I can see, maybe for the first time, how Command is a forgotten great in StarFox’s history. "Command was also very beautiful."

"Oh yeah," McCloud agreed with this, "we wanted to make it look and sound great on the DS. Corneria City, the deserts, those series of islands in the sea? We were really pleased with the way it looked and sounded. And we introduced internet multiplayer for the first time. That DS Wi-Fi can be a hot ticket if you get it right!"

I thanked Fox McCloud for his time and asked about the upcoming release, a remake of StarFox 64/Lylat Wars for the 3DS.

"I’m looking forward to it. It’s great to see the old material re-mastered on a new format. But I don’t know if it will stick to the original format or not. You see Command gave you a full arena to fly around in, whereas the original StarFox was a fixed flight-path that you moved along. You could position yourself within it, but Command was always where the real freedom was. Away from the tracks…"

I left him sitting amid the trails from the incense candles and presumed that he was returning to ponder the adventures of his past: the mothership-destruction motif that riffs throughout the missions, the characters and their distinctive ships weaving in and out of the storylines and the chance to catch up with old faces.

As I left his rooms and put my thoughts in order I thought about the last time I’d seen StarFox Command. It was on a pre-owned shelf for less than a fiver. It seemed a shame that such a great release – and a landmark for so many reasons – should be so forgotten in the public sphere. But there is a flipside to this story – it does mean that this entry in the StarFox legacy is as easy to pick up and as accessible as it was when it was first released.

And, for such a reasonable price tag, I think I just might revisit it myself.

Time to go public

For a while now, I've been writing articles for Game People. A few of you may have seen me posting links to articles under specific games.

Game People is a games review site with a difference. It offers regulars reviews alongside 'artisan reviews.'

The artisan reviews offer a slightly different perspective on games than the usual literary criticism-style approach. There's the Haiku Gamer - whose reviews take the form of Haiku poetry. There's the Scripted Gamer, who writes and performs a short radio play to review the game. There's also the Musical Gamer, who some of you may know as the wildly successful Rebecca Mayes: Originally from Game People, latterly from The Escapist and recently spreading wings and doing her own thing.

This is about a very different way of looking at games. This is a personal response, an artistic response: a sideways look at a games content in order to judge it by merits beyond those of the "typical" gaming demographic.

Game People's regular reviews also come with a twist. Everyone has a perspective - a unique approach to how they come to the games they play. Whether they are coming from the approach of a parent, a lapsed gamer, a co-op gamer, a techie, a teenager or a board gamer - these are personal and reflective responses to the world of gaming.

How do I fit into this? Well, if everyone has a story then I have several. Sometimes the only way to communicate a point is through parable. Our world is full of stories and synonyms. I write stories, simply put.

Stories which entertain in their own right; stories which represent a personal response to a game's individual character; stories which, if nothing else, provide a break from the usual language we associate with game reviews.

Known henceforce as the Novel Gamer, my tales aim to both tell a story and make a critical point or two about the games themselves. This is complementary creativity - a sideshow to the games' own big top.

I hope you'll come with me and enjoy the journey.

My column goes live on Monday 17th January, with fortnightly stories and podcasts. Get a sneak peak at the first article here.