Category Archives: Hello Muse

Feminism and Women in Games

I am a gamer-girl. I fly under the radar, and I never have Xbox chat open. Honestly, I never interact with random people in game and I completely ignore trade chat. So, I’ve never experienced the bullying and misogyny that many other gamer-girls have.

But I have noticed, the lack of (well written) women characters in games. Sometimes it’s directly sexist, other times it’s just like, the women disappeared except for the occasional bar-maid or rescue quest. Never really main characters unless you *decide* to play as FemShep or FemHawke.

Bioshock Infinite, I felt, was groundbreaking because their female character was remarkably well written, strong, capable, and <spoiler> saves your ass more times than you can count </spoiler>.

A lot of people, when talking about female characters focus on what they look like. Which, I understand, I guess, but I also find it…I don’t know. I feel like if your complaint about female characters is centered around how they look, then you’re putting women into games as sex appeal just as much as the other people (without taking into account whether or not the design fits the entire world/style of the game and isn’t a special thing). Honestly, it’s an animation, I don’t particularly take issue with how things were rendered so long as the design fits the style of the game and story.

What I do wish, is that the writing of Elizabeth and her character-type weren’t groundbreaking. I wish it were standard. I wish women were written better, and even, actually written as characters as opposed to furniture or quest objectives. Maybe eventually we could get to the point of having a female character showcased as the default – but that isn’t going to happen until other things happen first.

As a consumer looking in to the world of games, I think that it’s a little similar to the world of female directors – there are some who work in “the industry”, but not many. Before anything changes I think we need to encourage people to write better characters, better stories, and encourage women to enter the game writing/design/programming world. That’s going to take time – especially, because apparently this is so new to people? It’s maybe not so much that it’s intentionally sexist (although, a lot of people are) but, like the absence of women in games, they just aren’t there (or if they are, they’re somewhere hidden in a male-dominated world, and we need to support them, and/or become involved ourselves).

Women should be in games and in the game creating industry not because they are women (because if we’re starting there, then I think we’ve already “lost”) but because women are people, human (just like men, WHAT?! o.O) and have just as much talent, insight, and story to offer as anyone else does. I think when we stop separating our lives – in and out of game – by gender, we’ll be a lot better off.

But that isn’t going to just happen.

If we want to see this happen, then we need to be writing the stories, making the art, making the games and becoming involved in the process. Gearbox (Borderlands) and Irrational Games (Bioshock Infinite) are two companies that I know of who take care in their story writing, and in their writing/creation of female characters – there are others, but those are just the two that come to mind right now (and then there’s indie games and I could go on – there are options!). Penny-Arcade forums are a great resource for getting started and the best thing to do? just make stuff. make lots of stuff. make the stuff you want to see, make stuff with other people, and put your stuff out there.

So that’s my advice – brought to you by the E3 controversies.

-5 to all stats

28 days
or so they say
my body disconnects from me

I feel as though
my entire being turns into
my enemy

I lose focus
I lose movement
I lose the ability to sleep peacefully

my body seems to plot
to take this opportunity
to stick it to me
“Fuck you!”
it seems to yell at my existence
gleefully plotting my demise

While I just sit here and writhe
hoping that the alternation
of ibuprofen and tylenol
is enough to warrant a few hours
of relief

it’s personal, you see
this struggle between my body
and me
I wait
helpless
and this is normal for me

Because of What It Means (and the story I’m afraid to draw)

I.

red stain on pink
in a tree
in the summer
doing homework

pointing
everyone knew
everyone noticed
everyone but her

embarrassed she ran
terrified
stained
ashamed

not just because the publicity of the moment
because of everything it meant
everything she hoped to avoid

adults were proud
kids were worried
she didn’t even know what she was feeling

horror
shame
pain
sadness

resolve

II.

internalized anger
internalized hate
over something uncontrollable

Because of everything it means
to be fully grown
because of abilities
responsibilities
more things to be afraid of

pain
rage
depression
okay

the cycle goes on
muted for years
in the toxicity of existence
internalized

III.

Later recognized
as symptoms became worse
discovering the root of the cause
so many roots
a tangled web
of reasons and fears

pain is more intense
rage is more explosive
depression doesn’t end

internalizing results in fantasy
mutilation
would solve the problem
eliminate the ability completely
or so it feels

but she knows it wouldn’t solve anything
though the thought comforts
the intensity
the desire
to end it all

the fear
the potential
the pain
the shame because of what it means

IV.

It’s a love-hate
One day late means panic
Antidepressants keep the urge to plunge knives into the abdomen in a distant land
pain is on the verge of tolerable

there’s less shame
still fear
paranoia keeps her safe
or so she feels

she hates the symptoms
she hates the result
she hates the discomfort and the pain
but at the same time
the consistency is what keeps her
from panicking

one day late and it’s panic
talking down into reason
because stress effects everything
because of what it means

In which I write (really bad) poetry

Empath

I believe in empaths and telepaths – like the ones you see on star trek.
I believe that energy connects everyone, regardless of our awareness.
I feel energy from people I don’t know,
I feel the energy of arguments that aren’t even heated.
I feel the sads of people trying to communicate and making mistakes. I feel all of the things without ever knowing them.
I feel things stronger from people I know.
I am surrounded by feels
most of them aren’t even mine.
It gets to the point where I can’t tell
where mine end and theirs begin.
I internalize and never expel.
The more aware I am, the more sensitive I become.
I feel weak.
but
I wouldn’t trade this
for the world.
Even if they never know.

Too much

Melancholy Muses

You know what peeves me lately? lazy writing. It’s bothered me quietly since the 7th season of Doctor Who aired and the writers wrote the characters completely out-of-character, and then started off with a badass new companion and went back to writing her lazily and helpless. Watching Fast and Furious 5 and 6 (and reading poor articles) have just kind of compounded that. Anytime you’re using family/pregnancy/babies as a major motivator and spend the whole movie centering around how those are important, you lose me. I find it lazy because a) you completely lost the character of what’s-her-face, and 2) turned everything into un-layered, un-dementional motivations, reasons, and plot points. Admittedly, you shouldn’t be watching fast and furious for the writing, but I enjoyed the earlier ones that were actually, you know, about racing and stuff…

What is life? I’m so dissatisfied with the concept lately – of spending the best years of our lives doing things that we hate, things that discourage us, soul-sucking things, so for two days we can – if we’re not passed out from exhaustion – do something we want to do, and then, hopefully, when we get too old to have the energy and stamina we have now, then maybe, if we’re lucky we can actually live and follow our dreams. The prime of our lives is wasted away. And this is life? this is glorified? we’re supposed to live like this and enjoy it because that’s what responsible people do?

I’ve been depressed about this lately, because, like raising children, I don’t want that. I want more – I want to do be able to live doing what I love. I don’t want to wait 40 years and start from scratch.

I guess this is what most creatives have to deal with, and I’m not the only one. I just haven’t been able to think about it any other way than that I am remarkably dissatisfied at the prospect – and I guess, more than anything, determined not to let it happen.

I react to things strangely. What just upsets most people is often followed by “well, what are you doing to fix it?!” While this is a good starting place for some things, it tends to be overwhelming for me. When people are upset about ideologies/belief systems and I get upset about them too, I’m more frustrated because I can’t change it. When bad ideas and beliefs expose themselves in writing world, I get upset about it and want to do what I can alternately – but it’s not exactly what I do, and so I get frustrated while resolving to write in a better way when the opportunity arises.

It’s probably because I follow the idea that I should make the content I want to see. So when say, Doctor Who has a poorly written (somewhat misogynistic) season, I’m just as angry as everyone else on that level, but frustrated because I can’t actually fix it, but calling people out on it, and not offering an alternative feels wrong to me, so I don’t usually engage on the same level besides just being frustrated.

I don’t know what’s better: to call people out for their outdated ideas (that reap horrible repercussions) and join the outraged masses, or stay out of it and plug away at what I do and making my art better and not all those other things.

The Strongest Woman I Know

I had intended to spend the day painting my dragon (Archangel) for my Horde army that I need to pick up the rest of on Thursday. But while in the shower, thinking about the meaning of life (as you do, and then quickly do that thing we call “washing” 2 minutes before the water turns cold) I realized that a large reason that I’m not bat-shit crazy, and the reason I attribute to my marriage being awesome and not abusive, is because my grandmother on my dad’s side was my rock.

I struggle and have always struggled with feeling worthless, like I’m nothing more than a broom with a brain and octopus arms for doing my mother’s bidding (or now, cleaning my apartment like there’s no tomorrow). I wonder, sometimes, why I’m not with some asshole of a guy, someone who is manipulative and mean, I wonder why my story is different. Why am I with this guy who’s been nothing but a catalyst of/for freedom and acceptance of me in all my nuances and idiosyncrasies. Who loves me for my intelligence and heart (as well as my boobs)?

I think, it’s because of her. My parents did a lot of lip service to self-worth and not settling for people who don’t treat you right, but they proceeded to treat me horribly. My Gramme?

She is the strongest person I’ve ever known. She was the second-youngest in a huge family, and the “all bad” child in the eyes of her mother (even though, like me, she spent her life slaving away for her family), she was neglected and abused and the most loving, accepting person I’ve ever met. She was brave and unafraid of anything, she was my original escape plan. She was the one, who, by her unconditional love and acceptance instilled in me this sense of I-deserve-to-be-treated-well-by-my-friends (family I was kinda screwed with, but *my* circle, I deserved to create to feel safe in).

xmas2003

She was the type of person who wouldn’t sit quiet if her kids were wrong, if her grandkids were hurt she would fight for them. She was my defender. I knew that if things got bad enough, I could run to her and trust her to protect me (not that I would have, but she was *that* kind of safe place).

When she died I was devastated. I’ve grown up around death – my first funeral was at 6 months old. My great-grandparents have passed, my uncle, two siblings, friends…my Gramme is the only one that still affects me. I still cry and get choked up when I talk and think about her (so I usually try not too, because there’s a huge gaping hole where she should be). Sometimes, 5 years later, I still do a double-take on the street because I see her dopple-ganger. If I were spiritual, I’d take it as a sign that she’s looking at me (instead of just some random elderly lady with the same haircut).

When I think about how she’d feel about me, I feel so so secure in that she’d still love me – that I could still tell her anything and she’d keep it between us, that she’d be supportive, that she’d be proud, she’d tell me I’m brave, and she would understand.

My gramme is the reason that I am so strong. She’s where I got my stubbornness from, she’s where I got my I-will-protect-the-shit-out-of-the-people-I-love-screw-you-if-you-hurt-them impulse, she is why I value acceptance and completely unconditional love.

She is why I am so lucky. Because without her just loving me? I would have been so different. She taught me, without either of us realizing it, that I am worth loving because I am me – that people who don’t accept me for me are not worth my time. And that’s why my marriage looks the way it does, that’s why I’m lucky, that’s why I built a circle of friends who genuinely cared about me, a circle that my family couldn’t penetrate.

I am lucky because as a child, I had a tether – and when all hell broke loose, when the shit hit the fan, when the abuse left crushing and devastating imprints on my soul – I KNEW that someone loved me unconditionally and THAT was right.

That’s why my story is different. That’s why my marriage is actually healthy – the healthiest relationship I’ve ever had.

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