I’ve had an interesting meeting talking about the difference between how I approach gaming outlets and how The Peoples Orchestra approaches music outlets. I tend towards something objective-informative: What genre of game is this? How many players? What sort of players? They tend towards narrative, asking if there’s an interesting story to be told around the production of whatever piece of music is coming up next. I see the merits to that, a lot of people are reading for entertainment and writers are trying to serve them, so a story centric approach is perhaps a more helpful thing to do. Thus today is now storytime.
Once upon a time a master jeweller was challenged to carve the most magnificent diamond. The genie that had produced it said to her that if she could carve it with 10,000 equal facets then she could have three wises, but if she failed she would be bound into servitude and the genie would go free.
The jeweller thought about this and asked if she could have her wishes in advance, so that at least she would get to enjoy them before she were trapped, should she fail. The genie agreed, but on two conditions: First she would have only a week to enjoy her wishes before she would have to show that she had completed the work and secondly she could not wish the diamond cut.
She thought about this and agreed. Firstly she wished to be able to do 10,000 days of work in a day, thinking that this would get around the genie’s prohibition. However she continued to experience the work and her life came to resemble the servitude she sought to avoid. So she used her second wish to copy herself many times over, believing that this would help her to finish quickly. Alas she was holding the diamond when she did so and so each copy had its own diamond. With her final wish she wished to be someone else, who would receive the best of the diamonds that the many thousand copies of her now made and in doing so escaped her fate.
This is of course the story of how AI was used to balance the cards in Race for the Galaxy. Playing against itself many thousands of times to perfect an impossible task, ultimately to benefit another.
There once was a penniless sitar player. He played day and night and always tried to delight those around him. While he was hungry in body he was rich in spirit and the townsfolk loved that he was ever present to delight them with his music. When times were good and they had much to spare they were happy to share it with him and to dance to his tunes.
But good things do not last and there came a time where times were tough. Even well-to-do townsfolk were struggling to feed and clothe themselves. In such a time who might find anything to spare for the player? Struggling and destitute he found himself left with no option but to sell the one thing he had left: His sitar.
However as he resolved to do so, he discovered that his music had reached much further than he had ever hoped. An angel and a devil approached him, arriving from opposite directions. “You are a bringer of joy” said the angel “and so you shall be saved. Simply bring joy to just one more family in these cold winter days and you will be rewarded.” The player wept for joy and reached for his sitar, but found it missing. The devil had stolen it while the angel spoke.
This is of course the story of The People’s Orchestra getting diversification funding. It is outstanding that we got some support at a time that let us bring more joy to people, but complicated by the requirement that it must be done in a manner other than playing music.
A student approached her master and asked
“What is the oldest game that a person has invented?”
“Ahh” her master replied “That would be chess.”
“What about Go?”
“There has always been Go.”
The sitar player remembered an old friend, one who had given him advice once before. He thought that perhaps his friend could help him to find a way of spreading joy that did not require a sitar. So he sought her out.
After many days of travelling he found that fortune had favoured her and that she had become a scribe at the royal court. Together they hatched a plan, he would tell her of his music and she would write the tale of his exploits. He did not need a sitar to describe the beauty of its sound in a way that could touch the most jaded heart. He was confident in the quality of his friends writings and of his own experiences and so they embarked upon the venture together.
Little did he know that his friend not only did not listen to the sitar, but understood nothing of it. She was so talentless in this regard that she would not have recognised the instrument were it before her. What would they do when it became apparent that she knew nothing of his world, that she was tasked to represent?
This is, of course, the story of how I came to be hired to write Shenanigans: The Musical. I do not own a cd, mp3 or any other music playing device. I’ve never listened to music for fun, generally if I am in alone my house will be filled with blessed silence. Or the sounds of XCom followed briefly by me swearing at XCom. There was something of a learning curve in writing a game about music, what with it being a subject I’m so divorced from.
One might think that the sun would know not of the moon. The sun has dominion over day and the moon over night and never the two shall meet.
But yet, the two must know of each other! How else would the moon know to depart before the sun’s arrival? Or to know when in turn it must rise? Surely there is some accord between the two.
The truth of the matter is that there is no accord – how could there be, the two do not meet! It is a simple matter of instinct. The sun and the moon know where they belong.
And yet. And yet it is apparent that they are two sides of the same coin. The bond between them must be loving and strong and unbreakable. The moon must know of the sun, by seeing the effects of its passing. Why is the world warm at the start of each night when it only ever gets colder? The sun must know of the moon the same way.
They yearn for each other, do the sun and the moon. Their differences are smaller than their similarities and they understand each other’s importance. So they found a way to play together, despite the distance that can exist between them. Do you know how? You should.
They play by creating together. Things that prove that they’re real to each other and that they recognise each other. The sun can see flies that glow in the dark, the moon recognises that the sleeping animals must wake sometime. The sun understands the nature of the moon through its creations, just as the nature of the sleeping bear tells the moon what sunlight on fur must feel like. And so they are close.
The sun wishes to play with the moon.
Thus they created life.
This is, of course, the story of Mijnlieff. It’s creation was inspired by finding ways for minds of different kinds to relate through experiences that they could share in their entirety despite the obstacles. It’s a great game for crossing intergenerational obstacles, gulfs of experience and divides of all kinds. So that sometimes…
This brings us nearly to the end of storytime. The tale of the sitar player and the scribe remains unfinished, but then so does the reality that it’s based on. There’s plenty more that could be a part of that story: The way in which the scribe interviewed other performers to learn about their world, why it became necessary to blind the readers of the early manuscripts (and the consequences for doing so) and perhaps even the forbidden stories of how the pair found unexpected help in a nest of vice and sin. I don’t know which elements will turn out to be important to the final story, so I suppose this is where it rests for now.
If you have some insight into the things that lie behind games I’d love to hear the stories of some of your favourites.
If you’re a blogger, podcaster or similar and would like me to come and talk about this project in some way (either allegorically or directly) give me a shout. Apparently I’m in the business of sharing stories these days 😉