Through the Hedges and Into the Flowers

I nearly gave up this week. I was ready to call it, before I even began. The absurdity of this dream felt too much to bear; too unlikely, too impossible.

A few weeks back I went on a follow-spree of dozens of game writers and narrative designers on the social media network Bluesky. It has been deeply informative, but this week some of the conversations turned dour. In my scrolling, I came across a post in which a well known and highly regarded games writer vulnerably discussed that they've been looking for work for the past six months with no prospects on the horizon. The replies were filled with her peers, also known writers, empathizing because they've been looking for work as well.

In a world where even seasoned writers are unable to find a job, what chance does the hopeful upstart have? I'll be honest, the odds do not look good. The question I've been wrestling with all week is 'What do I do with this information?'

My first inclination was to pivot. Sure, writing for video games sounds like a good time, but there's other stuff I could do, right? Maybe I'll continue doing the work, but I'll make my goal something far more reasonable– like just getting paid to write words somewhere?

I've read enough of about game writing to know that often it's not your education that gets you in the door, but rather having a very specific skill or knowledge set that might do the trick. Maybe I'll try to foster those things by deep diving into whatever strikes my fancy?

Networking is a huge part of being successful in this industry. However, I haven't been able to find much of a gamedev community within Knoxville, maybe I'll focus on trying to connect with online communities.

On and on, options and possibilities laid out before me. After a while, I decided that maybe someone just paying me to write would be enough. I told my partner the news, fully expecting her to sigh in relief because her husband had finally come to his senses.

Instead, she bristled a little. She shook it off and said, "I'll support whatever you want to do, but it just seems like you're giving up before you've even gotten started."

The words hung between us for a while. Couldn't she see this was impossible? "Unlikely" is the best case scenario. Why would she be disappointed by me letting this go?

Slowly, the gears began to turn.

My partner is a bona fide magic maker. She doesn't let a little thing like material reality get in the way of what she wants. Once she sets her sights on something, it's only a matter of time before she, or the universe makes it happen. Impossible odds mean nothing to her; her life is telling a story and nothing will get in her way.

Then there's me.

I'm not even a "numbers guy", but I'm always looking at the odds. I can see the possibilities, but I am also deeply aware at all times how unlikely many of them are. If my wife is a queen who travels across the chessboard with ease, I'm a knight who can get there... eventually.

In the moments after I told her that maybe I'd change my plans, I think she was disappointed. Not because I was giving up on being a games writer, but that I had so quickly and easily given up on something I said I wanted. What's a little impossibility? It's just another chapter of the story.

In my youth, I wanted to be a movie director. I knew everything about cameras, about setting up shots and angles. I knew how to elicit emotion from images and how to tell a story. I carried a video camera with me wherever I went; I had a subscription to "video maker magazine". I watched movies over and over and listened to the commentary. I eventually went to school for it, before discovering the dark truth: Degrees don't mean anything when it comes to making movies.

Shortly after, I set about the work of becoming a grown up. I got a job, married my wife, and tried to find ways of making movies in my spare time as an adult. It never really happened. Eventually, the interest faded and now it's a footnote in a blog post. The lesson I learned and internalized was that achieving a dream or a goal takes work. Time. Probably, a not insignificant amount of money, and certainly an incredible amount of luck.

For the first time since then, I find myself wondering if perhaps the pendulum has swung too far in the opposite direction? I read a thing earlier this week that said that cynicism is armor for people who are too scared to dream or imagine a better way. Have I become such a capital-G "Grown-Up" that my stodgy practicality has ceased to serve my best interest? Has my sense of "realism" become a wall casting a shadow over the fertile land where my dreams once grew?

I fear the answer is yes.

I think it's time to tear the wall down. Let my dreams feel the warmth and light of my desires once again. I know it won't come easy for me. My brain is still struggling with how to invest in a goal that feels like it has more to do with luck than skill.

I guess that's the thing about luck, though, right? It can go either way. I read a lot of interviews and bios this week from game writers. People who found their way to the profession don't come off an assembly line, they're people who went for it: journalists, smoothy baristas, hotel managers, satire editors, and at least one archaeologist have all managed to find their way through. What's to say a middle-manager from Knoxville couldn't?

So, where does that leave me? Somewhere between embracing the absurdity of this dream and rolling my eyes at myself while I do so.

I guess this week I just needed to be reminded that that fear, cynicism, and “realism” don’t plant seeds—they just keep the ground cold and dark. Dreams might be silly, but they’re not frivolous. They’re the hedges that guide and the wild flowers that lure us to hop off the path to get a closer look. And while I might not have a map, I do know the first step: keep pushing, keep writing, and stay open to whatever luck—or life—throws my way.

Here’s to whimsy, action, and seeing where this road leads.