Messages

Hey Weston,
    You know, as long as what you're doing is furthering your interest in finishing a game, that sounds fine to me.
    Give us a couple days to sort out where we can find space, and I'll get back to you.

BvB

Hey foodophiles,
      I'm not really that into cooking.  I've got 10-12 things that I can cook, and just keep cycling through them again and again.  If it's Monday and it's my cooking week, watch out for Tuna Melts!    But my favourite dish to cook is....

Crab Martinique à  la Bob

(It's kind of a recipe that I adapted from my dad.  And yes, I am well aware of my perverse usage of French gendered articles.    )

So, here are the ingredients:



From left to right we've got sour cream, package of fake crab (flavoured white-fish: I ain't paying full price for REAL crab! ), cup of basmati rice, bottle of crummy home-made white wine, bacon, rum, diced tomatoes, broccoli (just for a veggie side), giant puff-ball mushroom*, onion, bag of white mushrooms.

*Giant puff-balls grow out in the forest around here.  You can't mistake them for something poisonous because they are so freakishly big:  this is actually only a quarter of the original!  Oyster mushrooms are my favourite, but any mushrooms do just as well.

Step 1: Rinse the rice and let it soak (pictured, in bowl), cut up that bacon and get it frying, and put on some water for the rice (2x water as rice, lightly salted, in orange pot).  It's 4:55pm, which means the kids will be getting hungry soon: gotta hurry!



While this is happening do your chopping.  Usually I just chop the onion, as you can just crumble most mushrooms, but puffs do better cut into big chunks and I also had to get the broccoli small enough to fit in the pot.  As soon as the bacon is cooked, let it sit on some paper-towel to remove as much grease as possible, and wash that greasy pan too.  As soon as the pan is back in action, fry up the onions and all the mushrooms you can get your hands on (This is also a good time to get that rice into the pot, since basmati will take a good 20 minutes).  Usually I just use a dash of olive oil for frying, but puffs taste better when fried in butter so that's what I used this time around.  When onions and mushrooms are soft and browned, heat up a shot or two of rum in a small pot, toss it on, and light that sucker on fire! Au flambé!



Once the fire burns out and all that rum is caramelized, throw in the diced tomatoes (with juices) and a couple good plugs of white wine.  This time of year I usually like to use fresh tomatoes from the garden, but my wife mashed them all into spaghetti sauce preserves yesterday so there aren't enough ripe.  This is a good time to start steaming the broccoli or whatever side-veg is tagging along (asparagus works well...).   Then boil the contents of the frying pan down.  My dad would let it simmer for like an hour, but I just power-boil it until the sauce gets thick (5-10 min.), and then I turn off the heat and add the bacon, chopped fake-crab bits, and a dollop or two of sour cream.  I used to put a dash or two of chili powder in to give it a bit of kick, but the kids don't like it so now I don't.



Oooo, 5:36pm.  The troops are definitely hungry.  Time to serve!



OK, so I'm not good at the whole "presentation" thing on the plate, but it's good eating let me tell you.  And you get to play with fire: it's basically a win-win.   

[Atmosphere]

This was tougher than leather gum.

Atmosphere - Dadalus: the city as a femme fatale and the bourbon bottle as an old mistress just hung over the whole story like humidity on a hot day, lending the whole chapter this heavy feeling of internal struggle.  Extreme special mentions to monkey424 and PhilStrahl. 
Word Choice/Style - This is so unfair!  There were so many priceless turns of phrase: "...laughter rushing from her mouth like the blood rushing into his cock (Sinitrena);" "[the bottle] didn't need me to talk about nothing and everything, or remember its birthday (Dadalus);" "the rain.... ate away on the rotten limestone façades (PhilStrahl);" "We travel so far over the course of our lives and yet we barely take a single step (Mandle);" "Young tarted-up ladies adorned the streets like unorthodox Christmas decorations...(monkey424);" "Grogginess receded and a cocktail of regret and hunger filled the vacuum it left behind (Eric)?"  I think, in the end, I have to barely give the point to monkey424, just for sheer density of zingers: meandering through the dark streets and laneways like a rodent in a maze, the demented barking dog now confronted by an oncoming freight truck, swallowing the whole car and its helpless captive in one bubbling slurp, and more.
Character(s) and Pulpiness Level - Man, I reaaally liked PhilStrahl's Leon, and Sinitrena's Muriel, while completely not likeable, was the essence of a pulpy sadistic nymphomaniac.  And for that matter Eric's Mook was the perfect goon.  But I think I have to give this point to monkey424 for Joe and his everyman bad-boy coolness-in-a-pinch mannerisms: "As ugly as you are beautiful, baby."
Noir Level of Background World - I'm going with PhilStrahl on this one: the sheer detail of the run-down nature of Old Screw York/Little Lenningrad was mesmerising: "[the kids] had constructed a shelter out of old plastic EvoMal containers and underneath fiddled around on something that looked awfully similar to a severely scorched RC-45 mech from teh riots in '86."  I don't even know what half those words mean, but I can smell this roughed up distopic slum when I read them.
Best Overall This is painful for me to choose.... but I think I have to go with Eric by a whisker.  It felt like a chapter in a larger piece, it had some great short punchy prose, and I could really root for Havelock in a way that I couldn't quite root for Richard or Sebastian.  Not only was I hanging on every word, but when the chapter was over I really wanted to turn the page and find out what happened next.  Good job Eric!  Close Special Mentions for monkey424 and PhilStrahl, though.  Great round!

Is it just me, or is this season's crop of no0bies a whole lot cooler and more intelligent than usual?

Welcome, Spacetime Monkey!  Is there any possibility that you and SilverSpook can get together and create some sort of freakishly awesome love-child game?   Or, even better, if such a collaboration has occurred in your past, can you set me up with some sort of time-link?

Let me be the second person on the Forum to say that I like the cut of this SilverSpook's jib.

Awe, man!  ONE vote per category!  Have you read through these yet?!?  There's no way I can decide one for each.  Can I at least split a vote?

Well, I'm really sorry about the length but there's not much to be done: I've already edited out over a thousand words!  Enjoy if you dare...

-B

~Chapter 13~

   Detective Rhodes pulled up outside the Hotel Exotica, trying to clear his head.  The rain had let up for the moment, but this run down section of Gunchville still glistened in the pallid streetlight like it was painted in a film of slime.  An older woman paced outside the run down hotel wearing heels that were too high and a dress that was too tight.  In a third storey window the blinds were discreetly shut, revealing the silhouette of a much younger woman whose posture suggested a ditzy uncertainty.  On the sidewalk a blind man led a child down the street: suspicious for this time of night, but the detective had a bigger quarry on the loose.  Several parked cars lined the curb, any one of which could harbour prying eyes.  The Detective frowned, then pulled into the garbage strewn alley.

      *   *   *   *   *

   â€œI thought I told you to stop sticking your head out there,” Buck chastised.  He had a big game downstairs in an hour, and didn't need the nerving this two-penny dame was  putting him through.

   â€œSorry, Charlie,” Molly squeaked, promptly closing the blind.  His real name was Buck Marlin, but he was betting she'd never figure that out.  Buck had a soft spot for easy ladies and long odds, which was why he was in this dicey spot with another man's wife.  He was never more than a flip of a card away from disaster, and he liked it that way.

   He took another swig from his bottle of bourbon and beckoned casually for her to join him on the bed.

   â€œCharlie,” she crooned, holding onto the name like it was a spoon dripping with ice cream, “How'd you get so carefree?”  She joined him on the bed, caressing his clean-shaven face and tussling his rakishly dishevelled hair.

   But Buck the Gambler wasn't any of those things she thought he was.  He might look good on the outside, seem the carefree charmer and the happy tippler, but none of it was true.  Inside the gears were always turning, the adding machine was always tallying, and at the moment especially the clock was always ticking.

      *   *   *   *   *

   Madam Ying took shelter beneath the awning as the rain came on again.  Six pounds of gold and pearl jewelry could only keep a girl her age so warm.  Then the Mercury Eight pulled up under the awning, and it was time to get to work.

   â€œExcuse me?” she asked in an irritated tone, eyes flashing steel, as a burly body guard emerged from the car to block her path.  Didn't this uncouth barbarian know who she was?

   The caveman looked around, assessing the surroundings, before reluctantly stepping aside to open the door.  Inside an impossibly fat man in a suit struggled to turn himself toward the exit.

   â€œGreetings Don Carlo!” Madam Ying smiled with her teeth but not her eyes.  “Welcome to the Hotel Exotica.”  She gave him her hand to kiss, but instead the weighty gangster grabbed onto it for support.  The poor madam was almost swept bodily into the back seat except at the last moment she was saved by the muscular goon who grabbed the Don's other hand and hefted him out of the car.

   Madam Ying smoothed her dress and tried to swallow the indignity: Don Carlo was a very important customer.  For now.  “Of course you are a bit early, but we would be very happy if you would relax a bit with us in the cocktail lounge.”

    But Don Carlo merely raised a hand, the effort of which seemed to make him wheeze.  “No.  I am meeting with a business associate before this evening's engagement.  Please give my regards to the Count.”  By this time the goon had retrieved a heavy briefcase from the car and was escorting Don Carlo up the red carpeted stairs and into the hotel lobby.  Madam Ying stared daggers, but said nothing.

      *   *   *   *   *

   The piano chimed slowly as the lights went down, the spotlight came up, and the curtains drew back.  And there stood Starley Musk, arms wrapped round herself sensuously, clinging to her body almost as tightly as that silver sequin dress, a tendril of smoke floating gently from her glossy lips.  She was mostly leg and breast, but if you could get past that she had amazing black hair done up in bouncy corkscrew curls.  And then she began to sing, in that sultry, husky voice of hers, and you could hear the crashing of a hundred hearts shattering on the lounge's art deco flooring tile.

   â€œI'm afraid I must greet our guests for this evening's game,” Madame Ying chimed, extinguishing the cigarette at the end of her holder.  The Count leant over and kissed her yearningly on both cheeks.

   â€œWill you be long?” he asked, fingering the priceless jewels on the necklace around her neck.

   â€œThe game will begin in an hour,” she replied.  “I will come for you by then.”

   The Count did his best to fain indifference, returning his eyes to the spectacle on the stage.  But when the Madam was out of sight he crushed out his cigarette and headed for the back stage door.

      *   *   *   *   *

   Detective Rhodes crouched low in the alley behind a pile of trash, his black skin and dark coat making him barely visible in the night shadows.  The rain was starting up again, and he was eager to get inside.  He frowned, then made his counter offer.

   â€œSeven, or deal's off,” his informant spat.

   Detective Rhodes wasn't in the mood for dealing with attitude from this kind of insect.  But he needed inside, and he needed in there fast and quiet, which was probably going to cost him.

   â€œI can go five, if you point me to the room.”  The nark gave him a sob story about needing to provide for his many children, the surest sign of desperation.

   â€œWhat if....  What if I get you into the secret passage behind the Shoji screen?  Right in the very room the game is going to be played in?  What'd that be worth to you?”  The fink glanced around the alley apprehensively.  The longer he dragged this out the more risk there was of getting caught, but also the more likely that this detective would lose his nerve and shill out what he was worth.

   â€œSeven, did you say?” the Detective mused.

   â€œNo, no, no.  This is a big thing here.  I'm asking twelve now.”

   The rain really started coming down.

      *   *   *   *   *

   Bruto flexed the muscles in his neck, oblivious to the bone jarring sound it produced.  He wished someone would hurry up and draw a gun or throw a punch or something.  All this standing around and looking menacing was as boring as... well, it was boring anyway.

   Don Carlo's wheezes filled the room with a slow rhythm of unhealthy rasping.  The boys sitting across from him looked scared, but Bruto knew that the easy rhythmic wheezes meant Don Carlo was in a peaceful state of mind.  When those wheezes started coming fast or sporadic, then someone was going to have their ass handed to them.  Bruto farted to pass the time.

   â€œI stand by my stuff,” Don Carlo panted.  “It's 100% pure, top of the line, and delivered on time and as requested.” 

   The boys on the other end of the coffee table each tentatively dipped a finger into the contents of the suitcase before them.  They were raw, that was sure, which meant either they were pushovers or crazy sadistic weirdos that killed their enemies with papier mâché.  Either way Bruto would make them squeal at the slightest hint from his boss.

   The boys seemed to like what they tasted.  Don Carlo nodded approvingly.  “Now there is the matter of my recompense, as per our agreement,” he laboured.  “I am about to play a game of heavy wagers, and will be most disappointed if I don't have a full arsenal of currency to bring to the table.”

   The boys looked at each other a little nervously, and Bruto smiled inwardly.  This evening was about to get interesting after all.

   Then there was a woman's scream from the floor above. 

   Don Carlo turned to face Bruto.  “Did you fart onions behind my head?” he rasped.

   But Bruto was already heading for the door.  “That sounded like my wife!”

      *   *   *   *   *

   There was a loud banging on the hotel room door.  Buck and Molly both froze, half undressed with their hearts in their throats.  Molly was sure it was her husband, who she had no doubt would murder them both.  Buck's mind raced through a number of possibilities, each more unpalatable than the last.

   â€œOh my god, Charlie! Oh my god!” Molly whined, looking through the tussled bedding for her blouse.  Buck just took a swig of bourbon before the door burst open. 

   Now Buck prided himself on his poker face, but his eyebrow rose despite years of training to the contrary at the sight now before him.  A stocky midget in a bright red suit strutted through the door, a small revolver in his hand.  Behind him a spindly man in thick sunglasses lurched awkwardly through the doorway, swinging a cane in front of him.

   â€œHold it right there, sister!” the little man ordered.

   Molly stopped, and turned around with a look of utter confusion on her face.  “Who are-?” she started.

   â€œJust sit back down on the bed,” he barked without taking his eyes off Buck, who still lounged in bed with his liquor bottle.  “You!  Hands where I can see them!”

   Buck raised his free hand unenthusiastically, but kept his other hand firmly grasped around the bottle.  “What is this, some kind of circus act?” Buck sneered.  He had no idea who these two buffoons were, and wanted to push them a bit to see what he could find out.

   â€œHey, that's funny,” the little guy said, nodding to his partner who was awkwardly fitting the door back into its shattered frame.  “Isn't that freakin' hilarious?  I bet you're on after the musical numbers downstairs with your comedy routine.”  Behind him the blind man tripped over a lamp that had been thrown to the floor by the force of the door opening, and fell head first into a plush chair.

   Molly's mouth was agape, but Buck was getting worried.  He sure as hell didn't know this little fire cracker, which meant this was business and not personal.  But  anyone this cool and collected in these circumstances was clearly a professional, which meant a little more respect was due.

   â€œHit men?” he guessed, sitting up slowly.  He was wearing nothing but his ace-of-hearts briefs, which severely limited his range of flight.  He scanned the room with his peripheral vision, considering his options.

   â€œBounty hunters,” the little guy stated matter-of-factly.  “My partner's The Finder: he can sniff out your trail from across the country.  I'm The Seeker: like the freakin' missile that locks onto your ass once you're in range.  Who's the dame?”

   Buck weighed the merits of truthfulness and found them wanting.  “She's my sister,” he asserted.

   â€œYeah, and I'm a freakin' line backer with Notre Dame.  Now here's the shinny, folks.  One of you two stole something very precious to my employer, and we're here to retrieve it or seek retribution in lieu of.  Anyone have a guilty conscience?”

   Buck and Molly exchanged guilty glances.  Molly's looked guiltier; Buck's should have.

   â€œHey, no problem,” the Seeker soothed sarcastically.  “I mean, we tracked you all this way.  Why make it easy on us now?  Larry!  Sniff 'em.”

   The blind man felt his way over to them on the bed, groping at Buck's nipple before sniffing him in the face like a hunting dog.  The poker face was gone again.  Then the Finder moved on to snuffle at Molly, who gave a little shriek of disgust at his attentions.

   â€œWell?” the midget asked, pointing the gun to each of them.  “Who's the quarry?”

   The blind man stood back behind him before pointing in the wrong direction: “It's the dame!”

      *   *   *   *   *

   The Count moved on silent feet, carefully stepping over the many trip wires that laced the hotel room like a spider's web.  Each one was rigged up to rather medieval looking weaponry, everything from barbed darts to headsman's axes.  As a jewel thief of international calibre, the Count had seen far worse, but never in such density in a person's domicile.  The long-term renter of this hotel room was not a person to be crossed, at least not for good reason.  But he had a family, of sorts, that had to be kept in the manner to which they were accustomed.  He reached the underwear drawer, and opened it gently, careful not to trigger the spear-thrower mechanism attached to it.
   
   â€œMother of God,” he exclaimed.  It took a lot to shake his nerves, but Madam Ying's woven nettle thong stung his fingers.  Beneath it he found the safe, and began delicately to practice his craft.

      *   *   *   *   *

   Starley Musk powdered her nose as the stage manager passed by, saying that she was on in five.  A cockroach skittered across her dressing stand, and she instinctively tried to squish it with her hair brush.  Breathing deeply to steady her nerves, she took a hit of her special powder stash, and then strapped the tiny derringer pistol to her inner thigh.  It was show time.

      *   *   *   *   *

   Detective Rhodes followed his informant's lead, stealthily running through the maze of corridors that made up the Hotel Exotica's interior.  He heard shouts, muffled gun shots, and this surreal kind of melodic moan all coming from the floor above.  That would bring the cavalry in, he thought, disappointed.  And that would stop the game from going ahead.  They stopped at door 2B, left slightly ajar.

   â€œThis is it,” the fink said flatly.  “Good luck.”

   The Detective drew his gun.  “We had a deal,” he told the backstabbing little cockroach.

   The Roach stood up on his hind legs, antennae twitching at the commotion echoing through the corridors.  “What'cha going to do?  Shoot me?  I thought you wanted to keep this hush-hush.”  With that he skittered off under the wainscotting.

   The Detective cursed under his breath, and then listened at the slightly open door for any sound of the room's occupants, but the flood of noise erupting around him made it impossible to hear anything.  Holding his breath, he pushed passed the door, pistol ready.

   The room was empty, except for a man-sized piñata that could have held about two tons of candy.

      *   *   *   *   *

   Madam Ying shivered under the hotel awning in the evening chill as the rain poured down.  She lit another cigarette for warmth.  A cockroach skittered out from under the ashtray stand at the hotel's entrance, but she crushed it with a combination of her six inch stiletto heel and the lightning fast reflexes that she was legendary for.  Why were the highest rollers always so fashionably late?

   Then a body fell out of the sky and smashed onto the roof of the car parked on the curb next to her.  The car's alarm went off, but even though she was so close the sound was still quite muffled by the pounding rain.  Apparently she was missing the real action this evening.  Her cigarette met the same fate as the cockroach before she headed inside.

      *   *   *   *   *

   Buck Marlin tiptoed through the corridor.  He was still wearing nothing but his ace-of-hearts briefs, but he had his freedom and his wad of cash for the big game, and for that he counted himself the luckiest man in the world right now.  Sometimes, against the odds, the cards fell just right for men of his ilk.
   
   Then a big hulking man with a sloped forehead and a mean-looking set to his jaw came around the corner and ran right into him.

      *   *   *   *   *

   The piano tinkled away, filling the time between acts in the cocktail lounge.  Then suddenly the ligths went out, and the wails of banshees flooded the room.

      *   *   *   *   *

   Starley Musk turned the corner of the corridor, pistol drawn.  Dust floated like cigarette smoke from a hole in the wall, indicating no moving air currents in the vicinity, but the eerie moaning sound now permeated the building had to be coming from somewhere.  She glanced through the hole, and suddenly wished she hadn't, for inside the room in a pool of blood lay a skeleton wearing nothing but ace-of-hearts briefs.

   A sound behind her made her spin, ready to shoot.  A dapper looking black man holding a detective's badge and a bigger gun than hers stared back.

   â€œWho the hell are you?” he asked.

   â€œWho the hell are you?!?” she replied.

      *   *   *   *   *

   Bruto groaned and sat up, glass falling from his hair as he did so.  His stomach ached from the bullet wound he'd sustained, and his back didn't tickle after that three storey fall.  That midget had one hell of a left hook, he conceded, but he lacked an appreciation for just how much punishment Bruto could sustain and yet keep on coming.  He spat out a tooth and then rolled off what was left of the car roof.  Nobody spanked his wife like that and got away with it!  Bruto lurched back through the entrance of the hotel.

   Moments later, unnoticed, a swarm of cockroaches emerged from every crack and crevice to lock the door behind him.

      *   *   *   *   *

   The game was a bust, that much was for sure.  The Count shook his head with disappointment, but at least he had a sack full of loot to compensate him for his trouble.  Now there was the little matter of bringing his precious coven to heel so that they could make their getaway before dawn.  Screams wafted down the corridors as they devoured the other guests, and he wondered worryingly if the uncontained carnage would summon the police.  It could be so bothersome when things didn't go to plan.

   He was so immersed in his thoughts that he turned a corner and ran right into a spindly man wearing large sunglasses.  The shock of his inattentiveness was surpassed only by that of the man's damp nose sniffing in his face in the manner of dog, and he flailed in a most undignified manner to extract himself from this invasive greeting.

   The sunglassed man pointed knowingly at him.  “Ham Sandwich, Reno, 1978.  You left the midnight snack counter without paying.  We've been looking for you for a long time.”

      *   *   *   *   *

   Madam Ying had been in business a long time, and nothing much surprised her anymore.  So when a wraith-like figure floated down the corridor moaning for her flesh, she calmly drew the three foot katana she had somehow kept concealed in her seemingly too-tight dress and prepared to do battle.  The banshee screamed lustfully, and Madam Ying howled back like a Siamese cat.

   And the few survivors left in the Hotel Exotica hunkered down in horror.    

[Adventure Game Studio Addicts (AGSA)]

OK, let's get this thing going!  Here's the results of the lottery (I threw in the tentatively interested people to round out the numbers):

Adventure Game Studio Addicts (AGSA)                    Devs-Anon
Problem & KodiakBehr*                                            Scavenger
Stupot+                                                                Gurok
Monsieur OUXX                                                        Cassiebsg
Lasca                                                                    Haggis/Haggini
Baron                                                                    Ghost
Intense Degree                                                        Eric
                                                                        AprilSkies

*I did rig the lottery so that Problem & KodiakBehr would fall into the smaller group, since if they both participate it will make for more reading.

I've done a bunch of reading on running groups and I gotta say there's a bunch of crap advice on the internet, so I'm just going to make up a few basic rules here on the off chance that people get confused, irritated, grumpy, lonely or curious.

AGS GROUP CHARTER RULES

1. How to Gain Entry into a Group:  There are two acceptable methods.  1) Post in this thread, and we'll try to hook you up to an existing group or a newly formed group, depending on current numbers.  2) PM someone in the Group that you want to join indicating your interest in joining the group.  In both cases someone will mention in their weekly group post to the group that so-and-so wants to join the group and ask if there are any serious objections.  If there are none within 72 hours of that PM it is presumed that the new member is welcomed, after which he should be added to the PM list and/or the secret private forum for that group.

2. How to Exit a Group: People have their reasons, some good and some bad.  Nobody's forcing you to participate in anything you don't want to.  But you can't just stop answering PMs, since the whole purpose of the Group is to pester you to stay in touch in order to support your progress.  Alternatively, someone might get overly emotional and seem to be needing extra support when all they really want is to be left alone.  To avoid this kind of confusion, you need to use this exact formula to clearly communicate your desire to leave the Group: I am regretfully informing the group of my desire to withdraw from [Group Name] at this time.  You can list reasons, or not, but do keep it civil, and believe that we all wish you the best.  You can even apply to join another group if you feel its dynamics would suit you better.  No grudge holding allowed!

3. How to Resolve an Intra Group Dispute: *Sigh*  I'm really hoping nobody ever has to read this section, but just in case two or more people just can't get along, this is the official process to be followed.  I write this in the interest of quickly resolving any dispute, so that it doesn't fester endlessly.  The procedure is as follows: 1) Somebody identifies a dispute and names the parties (this can be a party to the dispute, or a witness that sees it brewing).  2) Each party has 72 hours from the moment a dispute is identified to explain their side of the story in as dispassionate and civil manner as possible in one mass PM.  Each party may choose to omit the other party from this communication, but must make this decision clear in the PM.  No rebuttals are allowed.  3) Non-parties to the dispute are then to vote on two courses of action: a) assign a non-party to the dispute to act as mediator, if the Group feels that a misunderstanding can be resolved, b) vote to split the group.  In the event of a majority of the remainder of the Group voting for a split, each party to the dispute shall be deemed the core of a new Group and the remaining members can decide to join one, or another, or both.  In practice this might lead to everyone deciding to join one group and ostracising one member.  That's a a bit sad, but probably a very clear signal that some reflection on one's behaviour is in order.  On a happier note, this same mechanism might be used to settle a positive dispute over how big the group is getting.  Or we could just all be passive aggressive about someone being out of line and all bow-out using the above mechanism, only to form or join a new group without them.  Choose your poison. 

4. Providing Consistency Between Groups: Somebody in each group should briefly communicate the type of things discussed in their Group with someone in all the other Groups on a regular basis (every couple of weeks), and communicate interesting discussions/processes etc. to the rest of the Group in their weekly PM so that all groups have access to best practice ideas.  This should just be a quick note: "Hey Groupey Group Guy, what have you guys been talking about lately?  Last week Super Duper Group decided to talk about our "distraction worms" (kind of like ear worms, they're the little distractions that won't go away that keep us from focussing on our projects).  Some great insights!  Stay in touch."

I guess we'll add things as they come up, but hopefully these simple ground rules will keep things running smoothly.  If anyone seriously objects to one of the above please post a better idea and we'll discuss.  Otherwise, happy Grouping!

Edit: I've PMed everyone in the lists above.  If I missed someone, or if the PM didn't go through, let me know and we'll try to get that sorted ASAP.

Ha!  I'd watch the All Jesus Network if it had content like that. 

I've been plugging away at it, but my chapter is over 2000 words so far and goes absolutely nowhere.  I'll try to edit it into something readable (if not sensical) by Sunday.

I knew it!

Or you could join our new AGS Motivational Group!

Holy enthusiasm Batman!

I count 13ish people so far (not sure about the Darth brothers.... ), and the idea has only been floated for less than 24 hours.  This is proving much more popular than I had originally contemplated.  My personal feeling in floating the membership cap at 6-8 was that keeping up with more than 6-8 developers' projects and struggles might become more of a strain than the benefit of Group membership is worth.  And if there are too many people, it's easier to float under the radar....  What do you guys think?  At current numbers my preference would be to run two parallel groups, with membership being either based on project status (starting vs. middle) or lottery (just for variety's sake).  Or we could just push ahead with a large group and ask for volunteers to hive off if necessary.  I would appreciate your input; otherwise I will feel compelled to forge on blindly just for the sake of making progress!

I'm in, if there's still room:

I don't think its fair to turn people away based on the speed of their replies.  If we don't have immediate room, we could just use this thread as a waiting room for interested parties to congregate until there's an opening or we have sufficient numbers to get another Group up and going.

Wow, this seems to be just what I'm after.  A huge thanks, CW! 

[AGS Group Goal]

    I'm interested in starting an AGS motivational/support group for aspiring game finishers.  I envisage this as being a low time commitment enterprise whereby each member's essential function is to hold the others to account for their progress in as positive a way as possible.  "Meetings" would essentially consist of two weekly PMs: one mass mailing to other group members stating the week's progress on your project and the challenges you've encountered trying to make progress, and one personal PM to another group member as a response (obviously you could respond to everyone if you chose, but I think a mandatory minimum is necessary to guarantee that everyone gets support).  Why the PM route?  Well, there's already a forum to post your game if all you want is attention: I was thinking of something more personal.  Also, some members might have projects that aren't ready to be announced, or are intentionally being kept on the DL, or don't necessarily want to air their dirty laundry to the public at large.  And, lets face it, enthusiasm for a GIP thread dies much more quickly than the developer's need for motivation: ideally the PM format will fill this gap.  AND it's personal.  There's no hiding, or saying you didn't check the thread.  Somebody has taken time out of their busy schedule and written: "Baron, why you no make progress?!?", and you've got to face that.  Ideally this will result in more AGS games being completed, especially mine!

Here are the group dynamics I propose, but I'm open to other ideas being discussed.

AGS Group Goal: Motivate and be motivated by a small band of like-minded and like-muddled developers.

Membership: 6-8 members would be ideal, but realistically there will probably be some churn.  Membership would be open to all skill-levels, but proper manners and a supportive attitude are compulsory.  All members must be currently developing a game (no free loaders!).  I'm not fussy about how far advanced the project is, but if there's enough interest it might be worthwhile to split into groups of fellow travellers who are at the same point in the development cycle (but let's not get ahead of ourselves yet ).

Commitment: Minimal, as to maximize time for working on your project!   This is not a social gathering, although you can feel free to send social PMs to group members outside of Group business.  And it's not for tech support, or C & C, or for attention seeking, or for idea brainstorming.  It's about holding each other accountable for following through on what we all acknowledge to be our personal goal from the outset: to finish a game.  A longish-term commitment would be ideal, since I foresee members developing an attachment to the success of the other group members projects.  You are under no obligation to share sensitive material, builds, assets, etc., but you should be prepared to demonstrate progress in your weekly PM (describe work, problems, rough sketches, etc.)

Atmosphere: Positive!   We can do this!  Ra, ra, ra!  There's a thread for criticism: Group should be all about getting things done.  Maybe the quality of those things might be iffy, but they can always be improved upon later should the developer chose.  GO TEAM!  [igm]Tabata cheery smiley[/igm]

Exact Format: To be determined once the group is actually assembled, but ideas are welcome below.

AGS Group Name:  I like how cheesy "Group" sounds, but we can probably do better. 

So, feel free to offer ideas below, or sign up, or tentatively sign up.  For organizing purposes please clearly communicate the following information to help us see where our members/potential members are at:

Name: Baron (actually this isn't necessary, since you'd be posting using your account....)
Interested in Group (Yes/No/Tentative): Yes (why else would I have started this thread )
Game Dev Skill (Beginner/Intermediate/Jedi Master): Intermediate
Project Status (Starting/Middle/Ending/Post Production): Starting
Estimated Project Completion: Approximately one year

The only thing I ever found motivational was progress.  The more progress you make, the more you want to make.  Unfortunately, the reverse is also true: the old negative feedback spiral.  So my advice is to pick something interesting on your game and finish that bit (animation, background, puzzle coding, dialog, anything!).  Once you start rolling again, the momentum is often self-sustaining.

Greetings Tech Experts,
     I've got this GUI with overlapping buttons.  Everything looks great, but the buttons aren't square so in order to make them "fit" properly they have to overlap each other (at least, the empty box that's a part of the sprite but isn't visible overlaps).  Functionally everything works fine, except that the invisible portion of the highest (z-order) button seems to be intercepting clicks meant for the graphic visible underneath.  This behaviour is unlike other AGS elements such as objects, where even if blank portions overlap it is the visible one that interprets the click.  This is only a problem around the edges of my buttons where the overlap occurs, but I foresee it being frustrating for users.  Is there a simple workaround for this or am I going to have to use my ...*sigh*... brain?

I'm not aiming for success.

I do not recommend it.

Trust me: You would not want to read it.

Now I don't mean to pry, but ....why?  Why would you write a blog and intentionally discourage readers?

Your blog has not been updated recently.... 

I read through the first page: your analyses and responses to the emotional/spiritual elements of the games are intriguing, although in many cases I wished you had given more detail about both the game and your reaction to it.  I had only played one of the nine games on the first page, so often I found myself lacking enough context to either agree with you or disagree.  So from my perspective it read more like a catalogue of games that would be interesting to someone looking for emotionally evocative games, while I get the sense that you meant more to convey a deeper connection between you and the game, and indeed the reader as well.  So.... consider yourself judged. 

I will admit to only browsing through your non-game related posts about contemporary alienation and spiritual yearning.  You seem very well read, and you've clearly put a lot of thought into your subjects.  But what's your agenda?  Who is your target audience?  Why would I want to read this?  I think you need to be more overt in your blog's "branding" (*gasp!*) and establish a clear overarching message: something simple enough that the reader can "get" within the first 20 seconds, before the heavy slog through the philosophical quagmire.  No, I don't mean "dumb it down", but I do mean make it accessible.  It seems a little ...intimidating at first glance. 

[Edit:]

Judging from the bottle, I'd say it's something French.  But then, don't they use metric clocks over there? 

Edit: Nevermind, I googled the bottle label and figured it out.  HINT: It's not French!