Breaking It Down
Reaction to Wednesday’s comic fell, conveniently for my purpose, into two camps: those who found a phrase like “raped by dickwolves” a stunning return to form, and those who felt that we were somehow advocating the actual rape of human beings. It sounds as though we’ve already satisfied the first camp, but an effort should certainly be made to assuage the latter.
Immediately after PAX East, which is to say the very next day, before the last leg of a book tour that would strip my mind of the knack for contiguous thought, we went to Irrational Games briefly to talk about the game they would eventually call Bioshock Infinite. When you are making something, you don’t always know exactly what it is. That destiny had to be revealed, and the work of this revelation has taken years.
Even though I make things all the time, things which did not exist prior to their making, I still forget that a game (or a book, or a song) doesn’t just jump out from a big crack in your head. This is stupid on the face of it, I know. I know that I have to tug on them, and tug, and coax, and plead, but for some reason I imagine that this task is much easier for others. This is all top of mind because I was somehow entrusted with a “beta” of Patrick Rothfuss’ new book