Yes, again. And no, it won’t be as bad as the last three.
Basically, a few years ago, I made a game called My Mind. It wasn’t as good as I hoped and it was even less good than the people who played it hoped. Then I got a friend of mine to make My Mind 2. It was better but still fairly average and the plot was never truly realised as we didn’t collaborate closely enough. I began work on My Mind 3 but it was never completed out of laziness and the fact that the game was possibly the worst yet.
So this is why I’m sure you’ll be hugely excited that I’m going to make another game.
It’s sort of a remake of the first 3 games I did. The plot will be similar, the characters will be the same. But the plot will be edited to better reflect what I want to say, the writing will be vastly improved and the RPG elements will be diversified and refined. Also, I’ll be setting it in a much larger and more interesting world (like I did in my 4th, significantly better yet unfinished, game.)
The game will simply be called My Mind and will take place over 3 chapters which I am giving the preliminary titles of Broken World, Final Hours and The Burning Crosses.
I’ve already explained what I’m changing in these games but I haven’t explained why. Reason number one is because my first games were awful. I was semi proud of what I’d achieved as I was young and overambitious but the games were short, boring and never conveyed quite what I wanted to convey. All the time I was making them, I wanted to make a narrative adventure joined together by simple gameplay. However, due to the limited tools at my disposal and my ambition, I never settled for that which is a huge regret of mine. Secondly, I’m making massive changes to the plot (including totally changing the ending of Final Hours which, for anyone who has played that awful game, is a pretty massive change) because of how I use My Mind as a platform. My Mind was initially created as an abstract visualisation of my inner thoughts, ideals, dreams and fears. However, my ideals, dreams and fears are different now and I want the game to reflect that. I am a different person and I want My Mind to explore that, even if the game isn’t strictly about me.
So there we are. This is what I’m doing next. My Mind will be released at some point in the future (it’s a big project and I’m a busy man so it may be a long while yet, don’t expect a release this year or perhaps even the next) and it will be either free with a donation option or PWYW. Feel free to ask me any questions on Twitter (@Matt99J.) Sorry for boring you with this post but My Mind is something that means a lot to me and I want to share it with you. I can totally understand that none of you give two shits now and I doubt you ever will do. But none the less, I hope that when My Mind is released that it is an enjoyable and interesting experience, if only because it will give me a much needed boost to my confidence in myself.
This is so unhealthy that it’s vulgar. But it’s also ruddy tasty and not too tricky either.
Ingredients (serves 4 normal people or 1 fat guy):
This is a little dish that I cook up nearly every week. It’s really easy, cheap, fairly healthy (plenty of omega 3) and has a smashing flavour that is hard to beat. Gawd, I sound like such a twat.
Ingredients (serves 2):
This is a little recipe that I tried out last night so I thought I’d share it with you. It can be fully vegan if you use the right ingredients but bear in mind that it’s not exactly low fat.
500ml vanilla ice cream (vegan ice cream works great)
2tbsp caster sugar
3 gelatine leaves OR 1.5tsp powdered gelatine OR 1.5tsp agar powder
45g butter or vegetable oil spread
150g biscuits (any biscuits will do but I recommend either the classic digestives or, for a richer taste, Oreos.)
1. Crush the biscuits to a crumb.
2. Melt the butter/spread.
3. Mix the butter/spread into the crushed biscuits.
4. Compact the crushed biscuits into a round tin with a removable base.
5. Cook for 10 minutes at 220°c (210°c fan.)
6. Juice the lemon.
7. Remove the leaves of the strawberries.
8. Blend the lemon juice, strawberries and ice cream together.
9. Add the gelatine/agar and sugar and place in a pan over a low heat until the gelatine/agar and sugar are fully dissolved.
10. Bring to the boil and then simmer for 2 minutes, stirring constantly.
11. Pour the mixture over the biscuit base.
12. Allow to cool then place in the fridge to set overnight.
13. Serve with strawberries.
Today marks the 50th anniversary of my father’s birth. In a few days, it will be the 12th anniversary of his death.
This isn’t really going to be a long post, it’s just going to be a stream of thoughts on how I’m feeling and stuff.
I wish. I fucking wish. If he were still alive, right now, I could be eating birthday cake (probably coffee cake, he loved coffee cake) and taking the mickey about him being an old man. Instead, he never lived to be an old man. He died when he was 38 years old. 38. That never quite hit me. He was so, so young. He was such a brilliant, caring man. The world is a worse place because he is dead.
The other thing that never quite hit me is why it was unfair. I always thought it was unfair because I grew up without a dad. I lacked a male role model. I never had the same opportunities that others did. I had to help my mum through her grief. I’ve had to help myself get through my own. I always thought I was the victim of this. Which is really selfish, to be honest. I’m not the only one who is sad, I’m not the only one who missed out. My mum had to raise me on her own. My grandparents lost their son. All of his friends, colleagues and family members were impacted by his death. There are some people out there who I have never even met who must still think about Richard Jones occasionally.
But most of all, he lost out. He was thirty eight years of age when he died. His life was cut short. He never got to see me grow up, he never got to see his grandchildren, he never got to grow old. He never got a 50th birthday party. He died young. He never got to enjoy life to it’s full.
Really, you have no reason to be reading this. I very much doubt that you are reading this. But if you are, I’d like to give you a reason to be reading it. I want you to do something. Not for me, but for him. Live your life. He never got that opportunity. You are so, so lucky that you do. Treasure every damn moment. Make sure you tell your loved ones that you love them. He never got to. He died of a heart attack in the middle of the night. His death was painful, sudden and unexpected. He tucked me into bed and told me a bedtime story. He told me that he’d see me in the morning and that he loved me. He never saw me in the morning but I have no doubts at all that he loved me. Make sure that you treat your family and friends the same way. You have no idea how special they are. Live life to it’s full.
Anyway, so. Sorry about that. I just needed to get it all off my chest. So, long story short.
I miss you dad.
Well, that’s the angry, antagonistic headline out of the way. I’m predicting about 20 minutes until I’m crucified by people who don’t read the post.
For starters, I’d like to point out that I’m not talking about sexists and people who equate feminism with misandry. They’re not just not feminists, they’re also bloody lunatics. What I’m talking about are people like me. People who support and agree with feminists but who don’t consider themselves one.
Feminism is ruddy brilliant. It’s done so much to fight for equality for women and it’s still going strong. There are few people I have more respect for than feminists. They put all kinds of things (their reputations, their families, their livelihoods and even their lives) on the line in order to make the world a better place. And it’s because of that that I’m not a feminist. I’m not worthy.
There are so many people who do so much to support equality for women. They protest, they fight, they die. I occasionally tweet links to Guardian/Independent articles on Twitter. That’s it. I do not deserve to be compared to real feminists. Sure, I support them but I don’t really do anything. To call me a feminist would be like giving my grandfather (born in 1936) the Victoria Cross for his work in WW1. I just don’t deserve it.
Some might argue that that doesn’t matter though. Loads of people (probably the majority of people would say that a feminist is simply someone who supports the rights of women. I’m totally okay with them having that definition and I don’t think they should feel bad for it. I just happen to have a different definition. That’s cool but what’s even cooler is that we can have different definitions.
Anywho, that’s why I’m not a feminist and why a lot of other people aren’t feminists. You might disagree with me. Great. You might think that I’m not entitled to have an opinion on behalf of the pink bazooka between my legs. Fine. You might not give a shit. Fair enough. I just thought I’d write it down anyway. Au revoir.
Sometimes I feel bad about myself and then I remember that there is always someone uglier than me. It’s probably you. Sorry.