#oneaday Day 808: Xenoblade Chronicles is Out Tomorrow, and Here's Why You Should Play It

As a European, I was lucky enough to be able to play the Nintendo-published, MonolithSoft-developed Wii role-playing game Xenoblade Chronicles last year. It ended up being my favourite game of 2011, and many North American gamer friends were suitably jealous that I had been able to play it through while they hadn't. I didn't feel too guilty, though, because North America has its own branch of Atlus and doesn't have to depend on other publishers to bring titles like the Persona series over.

But I digress. Xenoblade Chronicles is out tomorrow — April 6 — in North America, and here is why you should play it if you're an American. Or even if you're not.

The Japanese role-playing game genre is often accused of stagnation and a lack of innovation. This is, in fact, not particularly true — even the much-maligned Final Fantasy XIII was trying things which other role-playing titles hadn't attempted before. Okay, they weren't always successful, but it was at least attempting to innovate.

The real issue is actually that for whatever reason, Japanese role-playing games (and, to a certain extent, Japanese-developed games in general) have lost the resonance they once had with the core gamer audience in the West. Players are quick to judge them as clichéd and derivative before moving on to whichever game starring men in armour with guns is the flavour of the week. Specific attempts by Japanese developers to create games that appeal to Westerners end up having limited niche appeal despite their quality (see: Platinum Games' Vanquish, which isn't an RPG but demonstrates the point effectively) or end up being laughable attempts to pander to the Japanese image of what a Westerner supposedly wants (see: The Last Remnant).

Xenoblade Chronicles is a remarkable game because it nails that balance between Western and Japanese sensibilities, making a game that combines the positive aspects of WRPGs (freedom, exploration, a degree of sort-of-non-linearity) with those of JRPGs (stronger storytelling, more memorable, well-defined cast members, a firm sense of being unafraid to continually up the ante). The result is quite brilliant, and a significant step forward for the genre in one possible direction it way wish to take in the future.

The game casts players in the role of Shulk. Initially, he seems like every other teenaged JRPG hero, but a number of aspects make him stand out. He doesn't whine. He's not moody or angsty. He's just a guy, but he has a personality. He has friends, too, who form your early party in the game, and these, too, don't fall into the trap of clichéd character archetypes. This pattern continues throughout the course of the whole game. Even the "small furry thing" character introduced later in the story isn't typically irritating — he's quirky and silly, sure, but his character is defined well, and he proves to be more than just a means through which to provide silly slapstick gags.

The diverse, likeable cast you find yourself travelling with over the course of Xenoblade Chronicles' lengthy adventure provides several highlights to the game experience. Firstly, and most simply, they're a good ensemble cast who help drive the story forward. That's not their only function, however. As you might expect from an RPG, they each have their own role to play (natch) in combat, and finding the best combinations of three characters to take into battle is a key part of the experience. This affects not only your battle effectiveness, but also one of many stats that the game tracks in the background — Affinity.

Affinity is, quite simply, how much characters like each other. Characters with high Affinity with one another fight better alongside each other, but as their relationship develops, they also have the opportunity to participate in numerous "Heart to Heart" events that are scattered around Xenoblade Chronicles' vast world. These short sequences provide the opportunity for two party members — not necessarily including protagonist Shulk — to spend a little alone time with one another and get to know each other a little better. These typically involve multiple-choice conversations, providing the "correct" answers to which will give a big boost to the pair's Affinity with one another. (Giving "incorrect" answers often provides very amusing exchanges and still gives a smaller Affinity boost, however, so you shouldn't feel like you have to reach for the walkthroughs immediately.)

Affinity doesn't just affect combat and unlock Heart to Hearts, however; there's a host of little touches in the game that it affects, most notably during and after combat. Rather than simply yelling individual stock "battle victory" phrases, characters will often have short conversations with one another. This banter between characters is a real highlight of the experience, and while you will have heard everything they have to say a good few times by the end of the game, they remain entertaining and endearing.

Speaking of combat, Xenoblade Chronicles' battle system is a refreshing change from the turn-based systems that Japanese role-playing titles usually adopt. You control a single character out of the three in your active party, and are able to freely move around during combat. You and your party lock on to a single enemy at a time and automatically attack it, though many battles involve multiple assailants. In order to gain the upper hand in battle, it becomes necessary to make use of the unique skills the character under your control has.

Most characters have more skills than it's possible to hold in the "quickbar" at the bottom of the screen, so it becomes possible to customize the way they play to your own personal style. Some skills manage aggro, some attack areas, some provide more damage or inflict status effects when unleashed from beside or behind an enemy. Some skills are dependent on other characters doing things like knocking the enemy down or stunning them, and the AI which controls the other two party members does an absolutely astounding job of keeping up with what you're doing and understanding the strategy you're going for. It's very rare that you will be cursing the game for causing you to fail — more often than not it's a result of you either adopting a poor strategy, or simply needing to go and do something else for a while until you're a little stronger. This doesn't mean you have to resort to grinding, either — inevitably there will be some quests you have missed that you can go back and do, and returning to earlier-visited locations often throws up even more things to do.

Another great thing about the combat is that you can elect to control any of the game's cast in battle, not just Shulk. Each character plays in a significantly different manner to all of the others, so if you find yourself getting bored of the same old skills over and over, simply switch to another character for a brand new experience. Fed up of tanking? Spend some time with Sharla, a ranged character with healing abilities. Or Melia, a magic-user who can summon elementals that either provide ongoing buffs or can be "unleashed" to deal direct damage. Or the aforementioned small furry creature, whose skill names are genuinely hilarious.

Perhaps the strangest but coolest innovation in the combat, however, is the fact that you're occasionally presented with "visions" of the immediate future, usually when a character is either about to die or be afflicted with a debilitating status effect. A countdown timer starts, and you're given the opportunity to either do something to take attention off the enemy's target or warn another party member. If you do the latter, you're able to pick one of the warned character's skills to unleash — usually either a healing or aggro-management skill — and hope for the best. If you do the former, you have until the countdown timer depletes to do something very special, or your party member will suffer their grisly fate. It's a neat system that isn't overused.

Outside of combat, there's plenty to do, too. Exploring each of the game's massive zones rewards you with experience points and uncovers part of the map as you discover each sub-area. There are collectible items scattered around each area at random, with rewards on offer for collecting whole sets. Those who find item-hunting frustrating, however, may instead complete these quests by trading with other non-player characters. There are rare monsters to take down, loot to find, secret locations to discover. Xenoblade Chronicles' world is more than just a pretty backdrop for combat — it's a rich, beautifully-rendered environment in which to spend time, and it looks gorgeous. This may be a Wii title, and it may have been even more lovely to see it in HD, but it doesn't detract from the fact that the hugely-varied vistas you find yourself running and fighting over throughout the course of the game look simply magnificent. There's a waterfall you'll come across partway through the game which is genuinely breathtaking to look at, for example — you'll know it when you see it.

If the game's combat, quests and exploration aren't enough for you, there's also a deep Achievement system to delve into. Since these Achievements aren't online-connected, they're simply there as challenges for you to undertake, and all provide you with experience point rewards. In essence, they're mini-quests (although some will take you the majority of the game to complete) and rarely feel as "gratuitous" as some examples seen on Xbox Live and PSN. Rather, they provide yet another means of getting an enormous amount of entertainment out of an already vast, sprawling title.

This isn't even getting started on the deep crafting system, which allows characters to team up to create enhancements for their weapons and armour, with the results of their collaborative efforts dependent on their Affinity and compatibility with one another. Or the fact that the game allows you to change the time and fast-travel at will, eliminating a lot of the inconvenience and backtracking endemic to the genre. Or the colony-building minigame. Or the fact the voice acting is all British rather than American, giving the game a unique aural aesthetic in a genre typically dominated by whiny teenagers and squeaky-voiced females. Or the fact that when you're all done, you can New Game+ it and do the whole thing again with your levels, Affinity and a suitably broad spread of awesome equipment intact — something I will be doing when North America gets its hands on the game tomorrow.

Xenoblade Chronicles is, in short, a magnificent evolution of the Japanese role-playing game genre. While it's easy to dismiss it as "an offline MMO" or "a Final Fantasy XII wannabe", the reality is something quite different. This is truly a game that is greater than the sum of its already-fantastic parts, and one which will have you bellowing "Now it's Reyn time!" at your friends for months to come.

(Grab yourself a copy soon, though, as this is the kind of game that will get pretty tough to find pretty quick.)

#oneaday Day 807: Bully for You

Courage is fire, and bullying is smoke.

— Benjamin Disraeli

Bullying is an odious practice, awful to witness and even worse to be the target of. Yesterday — and I am going to keep details deliberately vague here — I witnessed a good friend of mine get pretty ruthlessly picked on by people who should know better. Their words were continually twisted and very selectively shared with a wider audience in order to gain support for the bullies and tear down my friend piece by piece until the point they were trying to make — which I shan't go into here but I actually agreed with — was all but lost. My friend was left ridiculed and humiliated having been called a whole storm of names from people he had, in some cases, never had contact with before. Meanwhile, the bullies were left looking like white knights who had saved the day.

It made me very angry.

Bullying is about power, insecurity and, very often, a desire for approval. This incident — which took place on Twitter — was an apt example of all of the above. The bullies had a great reach thanks to their profession and their high follower counts, giving them a large amount of power by default. The fact that they were only selectively sharing the things my friend said with their followers was a sign of insecurity and a lack of faith in their own argument. And their desire for approval speaks for itself, really — otherwise why would they have engaged in such a toxic, public argument? It was deeply unpleasant to see and, as I say, the perpetrators in question should really know better than to behave like that.

I've been the victim of bullying on a number of occasions through my life, so I can relate to the feelings my friend has undoubtedly been suffering as a consequence of this incident. I suffered physical violence and ostracisation by my peers at primary school and, to a slightly lesser extent, at secondary school. I've been a victim of what I call "passive bullying" at one of the schools I worked at, where I was regularly left to sit by myself in the staffroom and was never invited into any friendship groups or cliques — a situation exacerbated by my own social anxiety, which was made worse by this going on.

And I've suffered outright workplace bullying, which is what I'd like to take a moment (edit: several thousand words, I apologise in advance) to talk about here, as it has relevance to the incident I described above — adults who should know better, in other words. Disclaimer: I shan't be naming specific names here, but those who know me well will likely already be familiar with the particular incidents that I'm about to describe. Those who aren't familiar with the specific instances I'm going to refer to, I hope they open your eyes a little to the fact that bullying among adults is most definitely alive and well, and it should really be unacceptable in a civilised society.

This is not an easy thing to write about, and will likely go on for some time, so I thank you in advance for indulging me and reading this.

It started with a review meeting. These were a regular occurrence at the place of employment in question, so there was nothing new there. Said employer had fairly strict policies in place to help control its public image — namely, employees were not permitted to engage in discussions relating to their job and the things they dealt with in the course of their daily work, and were not permitted to speak to the press. Not that that was ever an issue to my recollection. Given that all this was around the time that everybody and his dog was getting around to joining Twitter, it was a hot topic. I knew this, so I always took great care to never refer to my employer by name online and never to discuss the specifics of what I do.

So it was with some surprise that in my review meeting it was "suggested" to me that my target for the next review a month later should be to "stop talking about work on Twitter". At the time, I didn't think much on this until a little later, when I realised that such an "admission" — which had come from my reviewing manager, not from me — would look bad in the cold, hard light of the Policy and Procedure manual. As such, I took the opportunity to take the managers aside and politely request that my "target" be changed to something more appropriate.

My request was bluntly declined, and one of the managers even offered to go back through my tweets and highlight the ones he found particularly objectionable. I knew the ones they would be referring to — but as I said previously, I had always taken the greatest care to never share my place of employment in the public domain, and never to mention the specifics of my job. Their justification was that "people who knew me would know what I was referring to". I could see that fighting this would be an uphill struggle that I didn't need to have at this time, so I reluctantly acquiesced and the "target" stood firm on my file. I never mentioned anything even vaguely work-related from that point on.

I worked in a small department at the employer's place of business. We were understaffed and overworked, and this situation wasn't helped by the hasty dismissal of two members of our team who had been with us since "the beginning", as it were. One was dismissed for a Facebook prank gone awry, the other was dismissed following the complaint of a client. Both were disproportionately harsh penalties for the supposed misdemeanours in question — in the latter case, the client who raised the complaint was notorious among the non-management members of staff as someone who was difficult to deal with and rude as well as being someone who completely flouted the terms and conditions of her working relationship with us. The situation could also have been completely averted with managerial involvement — something which my colleague immediately sought when things got heated, but was unable to secure due to the fact that they were all locked in their office (busily dismissing another colleague, as it happened).

I sat in on the disciplinary proceedings and subsequent appeal for my colleague and friend. It was horrible to see. His arguments were fair and valid, but little heed was paid. As his nominated "second", I was able to ask questions which were to be recorded on the official notes of the proceedings, so I took great pains to think of some questions which would help clarify the situation in a way that would make my colleague look — as he was — innocent. Three questions into my list I was effectively told to shut up and stop slowing things down. It was abundantly clear at this point that no real consideration was being given to my friend's arguments and the issues I was hoping to raise — the decision had already been made before we walked into that room, and the same happened in the appeal process. It was utterly demoralising to witness.

So, two members of our team down, we struggled to keep up with the increasing demand for our services from clients. Our efforts were not helped by the introduction of a new initiative which had come down from Head Office which made life considerably more inconvenient for both us and our clients. As a team, we called an urgent meeting to discuss this initiative and how it wasn't working, and were ignored — despite the fact that written complaints from clients had come in echoing our own sentiments along with frustration at the fact that the two dismissed team members' particular, specific skill sets were no longer available.

One manager in particular had started watching us — and particularly me, for some reason — like a hawk. When we weren't dealing directly with clients, we were supposed to have time to train and improve our own skills so as to be able to provide a better service. It was a system that had worked well in the past and had allowed all of us to learn a lot both independently and from each other. By this point, though, any training session we held proceeded with the manager in question breathing down our necks, regularly asking what we were doing in an accusatory manner and frequently sending passive-aggressive emails about all the things we were supposedly doing wrong.

By this point, I had come to the conclusion that I did not trust the managers, particularly after witnessing the way they had treated my former colleagues. As such, to avoid hassle and confrontation, I made a point to stay out of their way, keep my head down and just get on with my job. My clients appreciated what I did for them (I'm aware this makes me sound like a prostitute but I'm being deliberately vague in all this!) and frequently sent in glowing letters of praise, and my colleagues appreciated it when I helped them using my own specialist knowledge. In short, I was doing just fine by myself.

One day, I was pulled aside by another of the managers and asked why I wasn't talking to them any more. I was accused of blanking them on the way into work — patent nonsense, I might add — and threatened with "behavioural conduct" proceedings if I didn't change my ways. I wasn't clear at all on what I had supposedly done wrong in their eyes, however — since I had had no need to speak to them except when seeking permission to perform specific tasks, I simply hadn't. A "keep out of my way, I'll keep out of yours" situation, if you will. It worked fine for me, but I wasn't specifically blanking them or anything, nor was I "resisting" any suggestions or feedback on the rare occasions when it was provided.

The latter incident, however, convinced me that it was probably time to move on. To prevent awkwardness, I spoke to one of the managers — not the one who had raised the "behavioural conduct" issues, but the one who had been watching over our shoulders while we trained, as it happens — and explained that I wasn't happy, I wasn't satisfied with my career progression (I couldn't see a clear onward path from my position at that point) and that I was considering moving on. I explained that I wanted to be open and honest about the whole thing, and that I did not want it to be the cause of any ill will or bad blood.

It was at around this point that the opportunity arose for me to do some "work experience" of sorts with a friend in the local area. Said work experience would provide me with the opportunity to move sideways into a different career that I was qualified for, and it would be a good opportunity to get some references for job hunting, since I already knew that my then-current employer's references were nothing more than stock letters that confirmed start and end dates. I explained to the manager that this was a possibility, but that I did not yet know the dates for when it would be happening as my friend had to clear it with her employer. I also explained that I would simply book holiday for the time in which I would be undergoing this (unpaid) work experience, as I still had the vast majority of my holiday allowance available.

As it happened, the week for this work experience eventually fell a week after a week-long holiday I had already booked months in advance to go and visit some friends abroad. I followed procedure to the letter, booking the extra week well ahead of time and going to the extra trouble to include a letter explaining the situation — that I understood it would be inconvenient for me to be away for two weeks instead of one, but that I had booked it as early as I could and that the unfortunate timing wasn't really up to me. I even offered to compromise by working some extra shifts in the couple of days I had between the two holiday periods. I got no response at the time, and when I checked in the system just before I left for faraway lands, my second request was marked as "approved".

While I was away, I received an email from the manager in question explaining that they were supposedly still considering my second week of holiday, and that I should go in to discuss it with them upon my return. It had already been approved, remember, so upon getting back home I printed out proof of this approval, took it to my meeting, expected to show it to the manager in question and that be the end of the matter.

It wasn't. Suddenly there was a whole ton of conditions attached to this week of unpaid work experience, the reasons for which I had been completely transparent about. Suddenly I needed a letter from the place I was going to confirming that they were going to offer me a job (I'd never said any such thing was a possibility). Suddenly there were all these hoops to jump through for a week of "holiday" that was, let's not forget, already approved.

I'm afraid to say that I lost it at this point. I was frustrated, tired, upset and angry, so I lost my cool and demanded to know why the manager was seemingly going out of their way to make my life difficult. It was a mistake to get upset — I knew that at the time, and I regret it — but while I was stood there talking about it there felt like no other way to express the frustration that had been building up inside me, the culmination of what had been by this point months of harsh treatment, mistrust, passive-aggressive messages and a complete refusal to listen to the team.

It had the desired effect, at least. The manager was stunned into silence, but unfortunately their next move was to phone up our overall manager who happened to be on holiday at the time. By all accounts, our overall manager was a rather weak, ineffective sort of leader, so I didn't expect him to achieve much. I lost my patience and simply left. Reasonable discourse was obviously out of the window on both our parts. Eventually, I simply left on my work experience week and heard nothing more about it until when I returned, at which point I was summoned into the office and invited to discuss the incident in a "recorded conversation" typed up by one of the other managers. I was totally misrepresented in the course of this meeting and made out to be the aggressor rather than someone simply frustrated by being continually stonewalled, and I was not allowed to leave until I had signed this document which contained numerous inaccuracies that would undoubtedly not look good on my file. Panicking and upset, I signed the document and left, not sure what to do next. I spent the remainder of the day regretting that I had signed the incriminating document, wishing I had torn it up instead.

To cut an already-long story slightly shorter, over the course of the next few weeks, the managers in question were even tougher on me. I found myself accused of various "misdemeanours" when in fact there were legitimate reasons for all of them — lest this sound like "she doth protest too much", let me give you a rather vague example: one client had a question about a particular service, I happened to be in a position to answer a question and demonstrate a solution about said service using my own personal account so I did so. The client left satisfied and happy, but this was ignored in favour of the fact that I supposedly shouldn't have been using said personal account during work.

This feeling of constant surveillance and being pulled up on even the tiniest things was getting to be too much. I was starting to feel the tell-tale signs of stress and depression tugging at my brainstrings, so I knew it was time to get out before I had another nervous breakdown. I tried to bring an official grievance against the management team regarding their treatment of me and the team — specifically regarding the holiday incident — but was unsuccessful. The justification? That I was bitter I had been passed over for a promotion and was thus simply causing a fuss. This was utter nonsense, as I knew the person who did get the promotion (one of my two colleagues who were dismissed, as it happens) was infinitely more qualified for the position than me, and had said so at the time. Thoughts of promotion had not even crossed my mind since I had tried for that position.

That was the last straw. I penned a very lengthy resignation letter and handed it in to our ineffectual wet-lettuce of an overall manager as I left one day. The following day, no staff members saw a single manager outside of the office. At the end of that day, I was summoned to the office and my notice was accepted, but rather than working it — something which I had said I was more than happy to do in my letter as I knew clients appreciated my services, knowledge and manner — I was told to leave and not come back. I was forced to say goodbye to my friends "under guard", as it were, and was specifically directed not to say goodbye to those who were around (not directly engaged with) clients and potential clients. I was escorted from the premises, and it was made very clear that I would not be welcome back. It was the final humiliation in a long line of belittlement, chipping away at self-esteem and insecure exertion of power.

I just hung around the city for a few hours. I remember sitting on a park bench and crying, then going home and crying some more. I was devastated. A job which I had once described as the most positive, supportive environment I had ever worked in had become a toxic, mean and deeply unpleasant place to spend time, and I had been hastily ushered out of the door before I had a chance to say a proper farewell, presumably out of fear that I would sow the seeds of discontent among the staff. They were already there, though; they didn't need any encouragement from me. In fact, a number of colleagues came to me after the fact noting how much they respected me for standing up to the bullying of management, and wishing they had the balls to do the same. It made me feel a bit better, but I was still crushed inside.

I don't normally hold grudges and am a very forgiving sort of person. But I have never forgiven those few people who took an amazing job that I adored and poisoned it beyond all recognition, leaving it a withered husk of its former self. I still remember that last day vividly, and it still upsets me to think about. I can't remember ever feeling so belittled and humiliated, or so frustrated at the fact that so little justice would be done to the people who had made me — and others — feel this way.

If what it takes to get ahead in business is to be a bully who tramples on the self-confidence of others to compensate for their own insecurities, then I'm quite happy toiling as I do in relative obscurity for an employer I like and respect a great deal. I am eternally grateful to the awesome people I have worked with and for ever since the awful times described above.

May you never have to suffer a similar fate.

#oneaday Day 806: Shadow Hearts: Covenant: A Scoreless Review

Shadow Hearts: Covenant (aka Shadow Hearts II) is, quite simply, a must-play JRPG. Whether you're a devoted fan of the genre or a jaded veteran who decries its supposed lack of innovation in recent years, there is a ton of stuff for you to like in this epic PlayStation 2 title from Nautilus (née Sacnoth).

Let's rewind a moment before we get into specifics. Is it necessary to have played the original Shadow Hearts to appreciate its sequel? As you'll recall, I noted that the previous game hadn't aged hugely well, with its pixelated prerendered backdrops, wooden animations and low-budget voice acting bearing the brunt of the ageing process. It's still a solid game, but those who expect a bit more than a PS1 RPG that runs at 60 frames per second may find themselves suffering from culture shock for a little while — whether or not that culture shock is insurmountable depends entirely on the individual.

To answer the question, though, yes and no. That may be a copout answer, but it's true. Shadow Hearts: Covenant's story stands completely by itself as a self-contained tale, but it also follows on directly from the first game's narrative. There are a number of shoutouts throughout the course of the adventure which refer back to prior events, characters and locations, too, which will delight series veterans. In short, if you can't stomach the old-school sensibilities and aesthetic of the original, you can jump into Covenant without guilt, but those who are willing to play the two games one after the other will have an altogether deeper experience to appreciate.

What makes Covenant a more easily-palatable title than its predecessor, however? Many things, starting with the presentation. Rather than taking the old-school approach of polygonal characters on a prerendered backdrop, Covenant features fully 3D environments, albeit with preset camera angles a la Final Fantasy X. The characters have been infused with a great deal more detail, too, with hair and fur looking particularly good, and some excellent animations thanks to motion capture. Alongside this, the voice acting has been given a kick up the arse, with a full English dub, fully-voiced cutscenes for the more important story scenes and none of the original's corner-cutting. Were it not for the lack of widescreen support, this game wouldn't look out of place today being released alongside titles like Xenoblade Chronicles and The Last Story.

Like its predecessor, Shadow Hearts: Covenant revels in the fact it has an eccentric cast who rarely fall into standard JRPG tropes. While protagonist Yuri initially appears to be the moody "Squall" type, he quickly shows himself to be a deeply-nuanced character who undergoes some significant development over the course of the story. As he's joined by the other cast members, who include a puppeteer, an exotic dancer/fortuneteller/aromatherapist, a female German World War I officer (whose nationality and occupation quickly becomes completely irrelevant) and a fricking wolf among others, it becomes abundantly clear that we're not dealing with a conventional sort of JRPG setup here. To its credit, the game plays things admirably straight all the way through, which makes its more humorous scenes all the more effective — and proves that it's not afraid to make its characters suffer a little along the way in the name of drama. It doesn't descend into exaggerated melodrama at any point, and for the most part resists the temptation to get too wacky. Characters occasionally make a few "fourth wall"-breaking comments, though these are spread far enough apart to be effective and amusing rather than feeling like the game is going "LAUGH, DAMMIT!" A few characters are a little underdeveloped and underused over the course of the story (and one in particular is introduced much too late to give the player a chance to get to know them as well as the others) but this is a relatively minor niggle — those who are most important to the narrative are well-defined, deep, likeable cast members whom it's a pleasure to spend time with.

An RPG often lives or dies by its story, and thankfully Covenant provides a good one that I won't spoil here. But those who play for the joy of discovering things and building up an unstoppable fighting force won't be disappointed, either, for Covenant provides a brilliant combat system that puts many recent titles to shame. Based around the cool "Judgement Ring" system of the original game whereby successful actions are determined by timed button presses, and featuring multi-character combos, an array of wonderfully silly character-unique abilities and a flexible but simple magic system that allows for the detailed customisation of characters, Covenant is a satisfying game to play even during plot downtime. While each "dungeon" only contains maybe three or four different types of enemy tops (plus a boss, usually), combat is such a joy and the encounter rate is so finely tuned that it never becomes a chore. The fact that grinding seems relatively unnecessary if you take a little time to go and do some sidequests — which are worth doing, incidentally, as they feature some of the best scenes in the game — is also a pleasing development.

In short, the whole thing comes together to create a joyful whole that will keep you busy for about 40-60 hours depending on how much optional stuff you want to do. It's a good length — while it's approximately twice the length of its predecessor, it never feels like it's outstaying its welcome, with a wide variety of locations to explore, treasures to find and creatures to fight. Completionists who like to explore and find all the hidden secrets in a game will be amply rewarded, while those who simply want to charge ahead with the plot won't find themselves punished for wanting to progress.

As I said at the beginning, Shadow Hearts: Covenant is, quite simply, a must-play JRPG. Should you have the opportunity to pick up a copy, do so. I'm disappointed I didn't take the time to explore this series sooner, as it's shot to somewhere around the top of my list of favourite games of all time. I am, however, very glad that I took some time away from the mainstream, from current-generation consoles and from the shitstorm surrounding Mass Effect 3 to immerse myself in a true, underappreciated classic. You should try it, too.

#oneaday Day 805: Geek and Sundry

I'm a big fan of both Wil Wheaton and Felicia Day. The pair of them, along with people like Jonathan Coulton, Paul & Storm, Gabe and Tycho and numerous others, have done a great deal to make being a geek "cool". And not in a particularly obvious "hey, we're going to make geekdom cool!" way — simply by being themselves and exhibiting an admirable amount of passion in their interests, they've brought numerous geeky pursuits to the attention of a wide variety of people who may not have investigated things like board games, web shows and other eccentricities before.

Today, Wheaton, Day and several others took a big new step in their campaign to provide bored geeks with ways to waste their time. The launch of Geek and Sundry had been teased — particularly by Day — for some time, and Sunday saw a 12-hour Google+ hangout "subscription drive" show to promote the new site, featuring a variety of events and very cool-sounding interviews. As I live in the silly UK time zone, I was fast asleep for most of these, but the good bits are likely on YouTube somewhere.

Anyway, what is Geek and Sundry? It's a YouTube channel. Nothing overly fancy there, but unlike a lot of YouTube channels, Wheaton, Day and their team have made a big effort to organise their work and provide regular programming. And between them, there's a wide variety of different shows that will cater to most (geeky) tastes. I spent a bit of time checking out a couple of the shows today, and I can see myself regularly checking in on them. They're good quality, interesting and presented by charismatic, likeable people. Doubtless not everything will be to everyone's taste — I know for a fact I have a number of friends who find Day's ditzy "Elliot Reed"-style personality quite irritating, for example, so they may wish to avoid her content — but there's a broad mix of things that should, between them, appeal to most people.

So what's on offer? Well, I could spend some time describing each show in detail but they've been good enough to provide trailers for each bit, so let's just explore those, shall we?

The Guild

Many of you will be familiar with The Guild by now, as it's been running since 2007 and has appeared on YouTube, the Xbox Live Marketplace, Zune Marketplace, MSN Video, iTunes, Netflix, Hulu and DVD. For those of you who aren't, it's a comedy series about the lives of a group of online gamers who all play a massively-multiplayer online RPG together. Exactly what game they play is never revealed, with them referring to it only as "The Game", but the focus is more on the quirky "real people" who make up the titular Guild rather than their online personae.

Day stars as Cyd "Codex" Sherman, who has to attempt to do her best when a guildmate — previously only known online — shows up on her doorstep. Hilarity, as you may expect, ensues.

Geek and Sundry will be showing the fifth season of the successful show.

The Flog

Fans of Felicia Day, this is where to go. The Flog is a weekly "vlog" show in which Felicia Day babbles nonsense for a few minutes and then goes off to do something interesting. The first episode sees her going to visit a blacksmith so she can better appreciate her Skyrim character's level 100 blacksmithing skill. She gets very excited about hammers, which is kind of adorable.

Tabletop

This has been the highlight of what I've watched so far. Wil Wheaton hosts a half-hour show devoted to a specific tabletop game. Throughout the course of each episode, he and his companions explain the rules of the game under scrutiny and play through it. (You don't see the whole game — just "edited highlights". Probably for the best, given the lengthy playtime of many board games.)

The format looks to be a great way to find out more about various tabletop games, and the banter between Wheaton and his guests is entertaining. The first episode demonstrates Small World, which is a game I've been interested in for a while.

Sword and Laser

Those who enjoy those strange tablet devices with paper pages will want to check out Veronica Belmont and Tom Merritt's show Sword and Laser. Based on the duo's podcast, the show focuses on sci-fi and fantasy and features interviews with authors, reviews of new releases and discussion of recent news in these genres.

Written By a Kid

This has the potential to be a lot of fun: original sci-fi, fantasy and horror stories by kids aged between 4 and 9 are turned into live-action and animated shorts by a variety of directors including Dane Boedigheimer (Annoying Orange), Rhett & Link (IFC's Commercial Kings) and Daniel Strange (Between Two Ferns with Zach Galfianakis).

LearningTown

Fans of "nerdcore" music will be right at home with this one, as dynamic musical duo Paul & Storm "blend vocal harmonies with comedic scenarios as they are tasked with reviving the flagging educational show of their childhoods".

If you've ever witnessed the majesty of Paul & Storm performing "Frogger: The Musical", then you'll likely know what to expect from this one.

Dark Horse Motion Comics

Finally, comic book fans will want to check in on the Dark Horse Motion Comics show, where a number of Dark Horse Comics properties including Hellboy, The Goon, The Umbrella Academy and others will be brought to live with motion graphics. The first episode is already up, based on "The Secret" by Mike Richardson, with art by Jason Shawn Alexander. (I know nothing about comics. I include these names for the benefit of people who do!)

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I've subscribed already, as several of these shows sound like they're going to be great. The first episodes of some are now available, with others to follow in the next couple of weeks.

To find out more, check out the official website or subscribe on YouTube.

#oneaday Day 804: Watch Your Mouth... Uh... Fingers

Today saw another shitstorm online. There seem to have been rather a lot of them recently, and this one wasn't helped by all the people feeling crabby about the inevitable fake news stories that April Fools' Day normally generates.

In this case, it was the turn of Draw Something creator OMGPOP to be in the spotlight, and not, for once, in a positive way. The phenomenally popular app is the new hotness in asynchronous gameplay, and it seemed like everyone and their dog was playing it.

Then Zynga bought OMGPOP for a frankly astonishing $180 million. Warning bells sounded for a lot of people as they became concerned that Zynga's corporate culture would come to the fore. The publisher is known for forsaking innovation — and sometimes outright stealing ideas — in favour of turning a quick profit. And to be fair, they're good at what they do. It's not as if OMGPOP was the innocent little virginal maiden about to be deflowered by the multi-phallused tentacle monster that was Zynga, either — Draw Something is monetised out of the ass, with even primary colours being unavailable to players unless they either play a whole lot of matches, fork over some money for an in-app purchase or buy the paid version of the game.

Even so, there was concern that the things that made OMGPOP an overnight sensation with Draw Something would be quickly lost as Zynga started to assert its influence. One employee known as Shay Pierce — who did not work on Draw Something — wrote a guest editorial for Gamasutra explaining exactly why he was going to be the only one not coming along for the ride on the Zynga train. The crux of his decision was to do with an iOS game called Connectrode which he had created. Signing up with Zynga may have meant signing away the rights to his creation, and he didn't want to do that. He was not directly asked to give up control over his game, but when he worked with an attorney to draft an addendum to his proposed job contract with Zynga, it was rejected outright.

Alongside this, Pierce also felt that his values conflicted strongly with those of Zynga.

"I believe that developers are at the front lines of game development and deserve to be treated well," he wrote. "I didn't trust Zynga to do so. It's not easy to pass up a lucrative salary and solid benefits, of course. But I realized that ultimately I was letting myself be guided by simple inertia. I was part of a herd, and that herd was all going in one direction (and doing so with great urgency). I would really only be doing it for the sake of going with the flow, and responding to pressure to either conform to corporate expectations, or be left behind. These are not good reasons to join a company whose values are the opposite of your own, or to compromise your ideals, or to give up control of something you rightfully own."

Pierce also noted that the word "evil" had been bandied about by industry pundits and former employees when discussing Zynga — a claim which he believed to be accurate.

"An evil company is trying to get rich quick," he wrote. "It's not making things of value, it's chasing a gold rush. An evil game company isn't really interested in making games, it's too busy playing a game — a game with the stock market, usually. It views players as weak-minded cash cows; and it views its developers as expendable, replaceable tools to create the machines that milk those cows. Zynga is not the only one of these, but yes, they fit my definition."

In short, his reasons for joining Zynga were genuine, heartfelt and well justified. He noted that he harboured no resentment towards his former colleagues and accepted that not everyone was in a position to be able to pick and choose the job offers they took. It simply wasn't for him, however, and since he was in a position to be able to choose supporting his ideals over a stable salary and benefit package, he did so.

That looked to be the end of the story, until a couple of days ago when OMGPOP CEO Dan Porter decided to shoot his mouth off on Twitter:

This followed another piece on Business Insider where an anonymous OMGPOP source claimed that Pierce was about to fired at the time Zynga took over. Pierce claimed that an offer of employment was extended to him, however, and his discussion of contract negotiations certainly make it seem as though the anonymous source's claims were somewhat spurious.

Predictably, Twitter blew up with this news — and with good reason. Public behaviour of the sort displayed by Dan Porter is simply unacceptable and bad form. Pierce's piece on Gamasutra was both passionate and respectful and he made it abundantly clear that he did not think any less of his former colleagues who chose to go with Zynga. While referring to Zynga as "evil" is arguably a little strong, Pierce did at least go to the trouble of defining what the term "evil" meant to him — by his definition, it's certainly hard to argue with his view on the social gaming giant.

Two things happened as a result of this spat: a lot of people stopped playing Draw Something, and a lot of people downloaded Pierce's game Connectrode. It was a potent example of the power of social media to affect one's reputation. One careless tweet can have far-reaching repercussions — and deleting it won't help, since someone somewhere will have screen-captured it.

Porter has since apologised for his harsh words, noting that "the struggle to build and support Draw Something has been an emotionally draining and hard one" and that both he and the OMGPOP team found Pierce's comments hurtful. He attempted to justify his words by noting that "the 41 other people who made [Draw Something] happen… are the people I would throw myself in front of the train for and those are the people I want to celebrate."

The thing is, though, there's a marked difference between the things Porter said and the things Pierce said. Pierce was speaking his mind and standing up for his principles in a world increasingly dominated by big business. He didn't stoop to personal insults and he remained respectful throughout. Porter, meanwhile, spoke without thinking, quickly descending into personalised attacks without even stopping off for a bit of passive-aggressiveness on the way. No amount of backpedalling, apologising or making it sound as if he was actually doing it for his employees can change the fact he acted unprofessionally and inappropriately towards a former employee. Speaking to VentureBeat, he claimed that he felt Pierce's moment in the spotlight on Gamasutra was unfair, while the Draw Something team toiled in what he seemed to think was relative obscurity.

The thing is, Draw Something is hardly an unknown niche title. According to AppData, 31 million people have signed up for the game using their Facebook accounts, and there are doubtless many more who are playing using an email-only account. People already know about Draw Something, they already know about the outrageous amount of money Zynga paid for OMGPOP and are starting to get to the stage now where they're a bit sick of the whole thing. Pierce's piece, conversely, provided an interesting insight into the mind of a developer having to make a tough decision about his future career path. Given a choice between that and "Draw Something Continues to Sell Millions of Copies", I know what I'd rather read — in these business-dominated days when carefully-orchestrated PR plans regularly gag developers from speaking their minds and being honest with the press and public, I'd much rather take a rare opportunity to hear the truth straight from the horse's mouth.

Draw Something and OMGPOP generally will not be getting any further support from me. The industry can do without toxic attitudes like those displayed by Porter, and as far as I'm concerned, an apology doesn't make up for the regrettable fact that this whole situation arose in the first place.

You should, however, download Connectrode, because it's a rather nifty, original little puzzle game.

#oneaday Day 803: Why Teaching Sucks Redux

I've been trawling through my blog's top search terms recently and besides this post, which has been a permanent fixture on that list for somewhere around two years now, one of the most consistent things that people find me through is the simple, clear phrase "teaching sucks".

I have touched on this subject before — hence the presence of the search term — but perhaps haven't described the extent to which I suffered in particularly great detail. This was for several reasons, chief among which was the fact that I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to go back into that particular career path. I spent a year of my life earning a professional qualification to prove that I'm allowed to stand up in front of children and tell them things, after all, so I didn't want to rule it out entirely.

Having found myself doing things that I actually enjoy now, however, I'm pretty certain that I won't ever be jumping back on that train. So here, then, are just some of the many reasons Why Teaching Sucks.

My first teaching position was at a comprehensive secondary school somewhere near the Surrey/Hampshire border. I was hired as a music teacher, though had also agreed to take on some additional responsibilities because I'd been advised that making yourself out to be somewhat flexible was The Thing to Do. Specifically, I'd said that I'd also be happy to take on some English and ICT teaching as appropriate, though with the proviso that I'd not been specifically trained in those subject areas.

I was offered the job, and it was something of a relief as it was getting rather late to be applying for positions. I had been feeling a growing sense of unease — was I doing something terribly wrong at interview? Was I not cut out for this career? Was I a bad person? Some of these thoughts were unreasonable and irrational, of course, but it's the way my brain works. So when the headteacher offered me the position, his only criticism of my interview and observed lesson being the fact that my tie was a little bit creased, I accepted with haste. (As a matter of fact, in most cases you don't have any option but to accept with haste when being interviewed for a position at a school — most seem to expect you to give an answer there and then.)

The time came to start. My heart was in my mouth as the fateful day in September approached, though I was pleased there were a few days to plan and prepare before the kids actually showed up. I took the time to get to know my colleague in the Music department, and also discovered that I'd been signed up to teach "Key Skills" lessons. The exact nature of these lessons wasn't entirely clear, but I was promised that all lesson plans and relevant material would be prepared for me.

By the time the kids arrived, I was starting to feel reasonably positive. I could do this. I was trying desperately to ignore the things some of my new colleagues had said about the local squaddies' families having semi-regular violent altercations with local traveller families, and felt pretty much prepared for what faced me.

Things got underway, and to cut a long story short, it wasn't exactly plain sailing. Year 7 classes were mostly manageable, as the kids were generally fairly bright-eyed and fresh from primary school. Above that, though, and things got difficult. There was the kid whose mum said he didn't have to attend detentions, making all punishments effectively worthless. There was the kid who liked to climb bookshelves. There was the kid who threatened to knife me when I politely asked him to be quiet.

It wasn't all bad times, of course. My GCSE Music class were a joy to spend time with, and while some of them weren't the most gifted musicians in the world, they were fun to hang out with and always tried their best because they liked what they were doing, and they liked me. There were other students who brought a bit of light into the darkness, too, some of whom I've discussed on this very blog. And the school production of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers is a particular highlight that I doubt I'll ever forget — even if it meant me staying up until 3 in the morning arranging music on several occasions. And my colleagues were consistently super-awesome — what I discovered in that school was that people tend to stick together in adversity to support and help each other. I made some good friends, and without them I probably wouldn't have made it as far as I did.

It wasn't to last. The previous headteacher retired and a new head came in — oddly enough, he was an ex-teacher of my housemate at the time, though that's somewhat beside the point. The new head had been brought in to "fix" things — the school was about half a million in the red, behaviour was awful and clearly Things Needed To Be Done. So he did — he immediately expelled a selection of the worst kids in the school (and expelling kids is not an easy process these days), which made him look like he meant business. And he then set about tackling the budgetary problems.

Unfortunately, this meant redundancies. And it became abundantly apparent that the Music department was going to be on the chopping block. As I was the last in, I was also highly likely to be the first out, and sure enough, I was informed that my job would likely no longer be there after the end of the year.

Although I regularly went home cursing the names of the students I taught for the stress they caused me, I sort of enjoyed the job, and very much enjoyed the financial security of having regular income. I didn't want that to go away, and broke down in tears in the Music department staffroom one lunchtime. It was not a pleasant feeling, though it was somewhat cathartic to let out the pent-up emotions while surrounded by sympathetic ears. It didn't help that I was then invited to effectively go and plead for my job to the board of governors, a soul-destroyingly humiliating experience which I hope I never have to go through again.

By the time the end of term came, however, I'd secured a new position at a nearby school and was feeling a little more positive about things. My first impression of the new school had been a positive one, and I felt better about the whole "security" thing. I even managed to give a memorable leaving speech, during which I was able to slip in a saucy joke at the deputy headmistress' expense, offer some earnest thanks to the colleagues who had made my time at that school bearable, and wish them luck for the undoubtedly tough times ahead.

The summer holidays came and went, and I found myself at the new school. This was in a more affluent area, but it was still "the shit school" in the town in question. Once again I went in, got to know my colleagues and prepared for the coming storm.

And once again, all was well to begin with. In most schools, new teachers can enjoy a few weeks of relative calm as the students acclimatise to the new regime, occasionally push the boundaries but mostly seem to want to get on with things. As time passed, however, things declined somewhat. It became more and more difficult to control the classes as the children became more and more confident — overconfident, some might say. I had several pieces of expensive equipment stolen from my (locked) classroom, I was verbally abused on a regular basis, the equipment in the department hadn't been refreshed for a good ten years and there was no money to buy any more, and I was starting to feel the "cracks" from stress.

In the case of this school, there was no sense of camaraderie — at least, I didn't encounter any. No-one talked to me in the staffroom. Even my own departmental colleague preferred to hang out with her friend from Maths than talk to me. I found myself feeling unsupported, unliked and unappreciated. When things went well, I felt like I didn't receive recognition for them. And when things went badly, I felt like I didn't get the help I so desperately needed. I ended up taking quite a few days off sick when I felt I couldn't cope or face the day ahead — and still had to send in work for my classes to complete when that happened.

One particular day I was teaching a class, and had just set them off on an activity to compose some music. I had divided them into groups, I had set clear expectations as to what I wanted them to do and when I expected it to be done by, and I had the equipment set up ready to record their work at the end of the session. In short, there wasn't much else I could have done in order to make that lesson run any smoother.

Unfortunately, it was that day that several groups of students decided to kick off. No-one was concentrating on the task, despite my going around and helping them. Group members were arguing, disagreeing and in some cases threatening to get violent with one another. And they would not respond to me at all.

I could feel the pressure building in my brain like a pot slowly coming to the boil. I knew that something was going to give. I felt it happen as I was standing out in the main hall trying to convince the children who were using the piano to get on with their work rather than thump each other with percussion instruments. Nothing was happening. Nothing was working. I couldn't cope. I wanted out. I couldn't escape, and right at that point, there was nothing I wanted more than to be somewhere else.

I ran off and broke down in tears, thankfully out of sight of the students. It's a blur as to what exactly happened — I think I hid in the equipment cupboard. Somehow someone found me — either my departmental colleague or the Drama teacher — and gently escorted me into our office, away from prying eyes.

I was sobbing uncontrollably by this point. "I can't do this," I remember saying. "This isn't me. This isn't me." Over and over. At the back of my mind the mostly-dominated rational part of my brain was thinking "so this is what a nervous breakdown feels like", and my body was certainly providing an apt demonstration. It took a long time for me to calm down, by which time someone had gone and placated my class, or removed them to somewhere else — I didn't know. I didn't care by this point, either.

I escaped the premises as soon as I could, went home and cried again. I had got myself into this situation, and I didn't know how to get out. I was scared. I was sad. I was angry. I didn't know what to do — but I knew what I didn't want to do.

I made an appointment with my doctor. The time came to see her and, voice shaking, I explained how terrible I was feeling and how I had suffered my embarrassing emotional breakdown. I was terrified that the doctor would judge me, tell me I was being stupid, refuse to do anything and force me back into that hell. But she didn't. She gave me a sympathetic look and asked me what I wanted her to do for me.

"I can't go back there," I said. "I just can't."

She nodded, clearly understanding, and wrote me a sick note signing me off for "work-related stress". I couldn't face handing it to someone in person, so the next day, I wrote a brief letter to the headteacher apologising for my absence, attached the sick note and took it into the school one afternoon when I knew all the staff would be in a meeting. I left it there, swearing I would never set foot in that place again.

The next day, the headteacher's personal assistant phoned me, saying that the head was concerned about me and wanted to come over to my house and talk later that week. Panicking and not knowing what to do, I said that would be all right and immediately regretted it the moment after I put the phone down. I took to a teachers' forum I frequented and picked the brains of the community — was this normal, I wanted to know? Was it something I should be allowing?

It was recommended that I contact my union representative, and I did so. They told me that it would probably be a bad idea to have that meeting, so, not being able to face any more phone calls — telephobia, remember — I sent an email to the head's assistant saying that I was sorry, but I didn't think the meeting would be a good idea. I then closed my email program and promptly became terrified and paranoid about what the response would be. I was too afraid to look at it for most of the rest of the day, but when I did, I found that I had actually received a rather understanding response. I realised that in my mind, I was building up a feeling that everyone was out to get me, that I wasn't safe, that I couldn't escape. But it transpired that people were just worried about me.

This story has already gone on a long time — longer than I perhaps intended — so I'll just say at this point that I, unsurprisingly, resigned from my post while I was signed off sick. I sent a lengthy letter explaining exactly why I was resigning, taking the opportunity to share a number of concerns that both my colleagues and I had. I received a response from the head thanking me for the time I had served at the school, and noting that my concerns were valid, warranted and shared by many other members of staff, including him. That made me feel a bit better.

Since that time, I haven't really looked back. I spent a short time working in a primary school as an experiment to see if working with younger kids was any easier, but no — all the same stressors were still there. Behaviour, threats of violence, government interference, endless bureaucracy and the constant feeling that you're doing a Bad Job even when you're not. It didn't help, of course, that I was working at a school that was failing so hard it was in "Special Measures", meaning that government interference was even higher than it usually was. But that's a story for another time — in fact, the way that particular sorry episode made me feel is chronicled extensively at the start of my "oneaday" entries.

Fortunately, in that case, I was on a temporary contract rather than a full-time permanent position. As such, I was free to walk away — even though at the time I didn't have anything to go to. To date, I sometimes wonder if I made the right decision, as it proved to be the catalyst for a fairly cataclysmic Heroic BSOD in my own personal story.

But looking at where I am now… I'm in a better place. (No, not dead. Though it's not an exaggeration to say that was, at a number of points during the story above, a very real concern.) I'm doing a job I enjoy, living with a person I love and leading a life which may not be perfect, but it's certainly pretty good. Had I stayed in teaching, I'm not sure I'd be able to say the same thing.

If you read all that, thanks for listening.

TL;DR: Don't go into teaching. It'll fry your brain.

#oneaday Day 802: On 'Entitlement', and How the Games Industry May Have Brought This on Themselves

Yet another op-ed discussing the controversy of Mass Effect 3's ending dropped today, this time from Gamesindustry.biz. In it, author Rob Fahey notes that "the advent of the Internet generation has done something deeply unpleasant and disturbing to the word 'fan'", going on to describe how the word has gone from meaning "I like this, it speaks to me on some level, I enjoy it, and I'm willing to spend money on it and advocate it" to "I like this, and thus it belongs to me, I own it, and I deserve a say in its future and its direction."

I don't argue with Fahey's key point here — that there are people out there who believe that they should have a say in the way their favourite franchises are run — but I do object to several things about this article. My main point of contention is that the tone of the piece is yet another example of the games press being unnecessarily confrontational towards members of the public, lumping everyone who disliked Mass Effect 3's ending together into one homogenous group. In reality, it's rather different — while it's true that there are people who have gone to the extremes of setting up petitions and complaining to official bodies over the ending, there are also people out there who dislike the ending because it's badly written, because it feels half-finished, because it feels like an excuse to tack on the obnoxious "Hey! Buy DLC!" dialog box after the ending, and many other valid reasons to say it is a bit poo. (I'm paraphrasing from discussions with several friends and podcasts I've listened to here, as I have not played the game and, as you likely know very well by now, will not be doing so.)

Fahey does, however, then touch on an important subject which I believe is what has led us to this whole mess in the first place over the course of the last few years.

"Game companies are excited, delighted, by the idea of having loyal fans," he writes. "Game companies have engaged with their fans, closely and directly. They nurture their communities. In BioWare's case, and God knows they're probably regretting this now, they openly talked about how important fan feedback is to them, about how Mass Effect was a series driven by its fans. It's become a creed, a mantra. The fans are important. We love our fans. We listen to our fans. Tell people that often enough and they start to believe you — and on the Internet, there are a whole lot of people who don't need much of a push to believe that they're important and must be listened to."

This is correct, but it is not the fault of the fans themselves. Rather, this situation has been exacerbated by the direct engagement with the audience that Fahey notes above. Fahey does concede that the industry has "forgotten that creativity isn't about the audience, first and foremost, it's about the creator" but seemingly shies away from what has actually caused this problem.

Two words: social media.

In BioWare's case, their seemingly exemplary social media strategy of direct, personal engagement with fans has actually turned out to be their downfall. Let's take a look at a bit of background to this.

For starters, a while back the company's own social media coordinator Erika Kristine took the bold step of providing an open link to her own personal Facebook profile. Fans were able to befriend her and talk to her directly — though, disappointingly, as an attractive female, many of the comments she ended up getting on her page and photos tended to be of the "ur so beautiful" creepy variety rather than people wanting to engage with her. Perhaps unsurprisingly, her personal Facebook presence appears to have vanished, to be replaced by a "fan page" which hasn't been updated since November of 2011. The damage was done, though — longtime fans knew that Erika, a human being, was in charge of BioWare's social media, and thus opened the gates for "negotiation".

Then there was the FemShep incident. What was previously a quirky subculture of the Mass Effect community — the cultish love for the female incarnation of Commander Shepard, voiced by Jennifer Hale — was adopted as a marketing tool by EA and BioWare. We started to get promises of FemShep trailers, FemShep art on the box, FemShep this, FemShep that. The whole thing came to a head with the odious "beauty pageant" public vote where subscribers to BioWare's Mass Effect page on Facebook were able to vote on which of a variety of computer-generated hotties — very few of which are actually possible to create using the in-game character creation tools — would become the "official face of FemShep". When the community objected to the fact that a "predictable" blonde, blue-eyed FemShep was winning the competition, the company opened another round of voting, this time providing a choice of hair colours for the same model FemShep. (We ended up with a redhead — a decision I applaud, but that's beside the point.)

These aren't isolated incidents, and they're not limited only to BioWare and EA. Most major game publishers these days have hopped on the social media audience engagement bandwagon and regularly post questions, invite feedback and hold votes for everything from which athlete should be on the front cover of this year's Madden game to what colour Serah's panties should be in the inevitable upskirt scene in Final Fantasy XIII-2. All right, I made that last one up, but given that Konami promoted NeverDead with an interactive picture where the game's heroine Arcadia stripped off more and more clothing as more people Liked the page, it's not beyond the realm of possibility. This revolting marketing ploy has thankfully disappeared now the game's page has moved to Timeline view.

Given the way developers and publishers interact with their fans, though, is it any wonder that some have started to feel like they have the right to exert some degree of "crowdsourced control" over their favourite franchises? If they can influence what FemShep looks like, why can't they influence the ending of Mass Effect 3?

In short, the industry has backed itself into this corner and no amount of complaining about how "entitled" the more vocal fans are is going to change that. These fans may well have a sense of entitlement, but that has come from somewhere — it hasn't just appeared from thin air. And no-one seems willing to acknowledge this fact, perhaps largely because it's much too late to do anything about now. Pandora's Box has been opened, Liked and Shared with eleventy bajillion people around the world, and it's going to be very difficult to close it again.

In order to fix this, developers and publishers need to take a step back from their audience, to stop engaging with them quite so directly and to stop soliciting feedback on every little irrelevant detail of, say, how many tassels there should be on the new Assassin's Creed dude's hoodie. If developers don't want a repeat of this whole Mass Effect 3 fiasco, then they need to stand back behind a barrier that carries a big sign reading "Look, chumps, we made this, and we hope you enjoy it. You're free to not enjoy it if you so please, but it is what it is — finished, complete, tied up with a pretty pink bow. If you enjoy it? Great. We'll keep making more if you keep buying them. If you don't like it? Don't buy it, then we'll know we need to do something else."

"This isn't a situation that'll change overnight," concludes Fahey's piece, "not least because immense inertia defines the role of 'fans' in our industry — but it's important for game creators to realise that things don't have to be this way. Engagement with fans doesn't have to mean letting the lunatics run the asylum, or even giving them the impression that they've been given the keys to the office."

His conclusion here is valid — this is exactly what game creators need to do. You can't crowdsource a big-budget game and expect it to come out coherently, so don't encourage people to think that's an option. However, the fact that some people have already come to that conclusion thanks to social media oversaturation doesn't make them "sociopaths", as Fahey calls them — it means that they have been brought to that conclusion via precedents set by the people they are complaining to. Similarly, those who simply dislike the ending on the grounds that it's just not very good — particularly when the rest of the series is used as a yardstick to measure it against — aren't being "entitled" or "sociopathic", they're just rather unfortunately finding their opinions lumped in with those who are taking more extreme arguments.

I hope the industry learns from this experience, but I have a suspicion it won't.

#oneaday Day 801: Long-Term Memory

It's funny what sticks in your mind and what you subconsciously decide to purge on the grounds that it's completely unimportant. It's not always a case of big life events staying in your mind and the day-to-day stuff disappearing, either — often the strongest memories are those from seemingly irrelevant happenings.

For example, I can think back to my own primary school days and have vivid memories of doing shoulderstands on the field with my then-best friend because we thought it would allow us to make ourselves fart. (It didn't. And to this day I'm too scared to try and make myself fart on the grounds I might shit myself instead.)

I also remember the fact I used to get very angry with one of the dinnerladies and regularly kicked the bin that stood in the corner of the playground. I do not, however, remember the reason I got so angry with her — though it was probably an attempt to exorcise the pent-up frustration I felt from being pretty ruthlessly bullied throughout most of primary school.

Or how about the time I discovered the word "shit" was a swear? I must have been about six or seven at the time (I was in "Class 2", anyway) and I was sitting on the "Blue" table with the other clever people, most of whom were rather fickle about who they were friends with — some days they'd accept me, others they'd specifically exclude me. We were doing some sort of spelling exercise, and Natalya Forrester (all names in this post have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent) was spelling out the words out loud as she wrote them down. "Ship… S-H-I-T…" she said. "Shit?" I responded. "UMMMMMM." replied my compatriots, who promptly reported me to the supply teacher covering the class, who in turn threatened to wash out my mouth with soap and water.

Once we'd left primary school and were going to our secondary school, which was seven miles away, we had to wait for the bus outside our old stomping grounds, which suddenly looked very small. Oddly enough these occasions of waiting for the bus provide some of my most vivid memories from the time. It was during these periods that I learned how to make myself burp under the expert tutelage of Dave Oyster, who could sustain an ejaculation of oral flatulence for an impressive ten seconds or more at a time — loud, too.

Other secondary school memories include sitting in our tutor room and my then-best friend (the same one I'd been attempting to fart with some years previously) sneezing all over his hand and spraying stringy snot all over himself — and then eating it. Urgh. It was also at this point that I decided that my then-best friend might not be best friend material any more. The final breaking point was when he inexplicably sat in his seat miming masturbation and muttering "I'm a wanker! I'm a wanker!" at me, presumably hoping I'd find it funny. I didn't. Next registration, I went and sat next to my new friend Ed and never looked back. The thunderous look I got from my former best friend burned like fire, but then I remembered that he thought he was a wanker, so I silently agreed with him and moved on with my life.

I don't remember a great deal about specific lessons at secondary school, though I do have oddly fond memories of GCSE Maths class — not because I liked the subject (I fucking hated it) but because of the various ways we used to mock our possibly-an-alcoholic teacher. His first initial was A — to this date, I don't know what that stood for — and we decided that this must stand for "Abraham" because that would be funny. There was also a group of three girls whom he often called on to answer questions (also I fancied two of them) who became known as "Abe's Babes". Also he liked to add context to the mathematical problems we were working out, so often referred to himself doing unimaginable things for his age and demeanour, such as windsurfing and hang-gliding.

There are plenty more memories lurking in there, too — both good and bad. And I have no doubt that these bizarre, seemingly irrelevant mental snapshots will continue to stay with me for a long time to come. I can't help feeling that maintaining these memories in my mind is what helps me call upon "childishness" or "immaturity" (for want of a better word) if the occasion demands it — for contrary to the way the world works these days, seemingly requiring kids to "grow up" at younger and younger ages, being able to draw on your "childish" side lets you enjoy life in a way that stuffy old adults can't. In my case, it's the side of me that lets me enjoy My Little Pony and colourful Japanese role-playing games; the side that lets me fantasise and come up with amazing stories that I rarely finish (or, in some cases, start); the side of me that lets me sit around with friends and casually insult them for a whole evening without anyone getting upset.

Of course, it's also the side of me that doesn't really understand what insurance is, how economics work and what the fuck the stock exchange is for, and the side of me that always forgets whether cream-coloured clothes with small bits of colour on them go in the "white" or "coloured" laundry load. But I think I can live with that.

#oneaday Day 800: 800 Days of Nonsense

So, 800 days of daily blogging it is. I feel like I should have some sort of celebration or something, but since it's 1:15 in the morning and I'm rather tired and achey after a gym session earlier, it can probably wait.

At this juncture, I feel it would be nice to just say a big "thank you" to those of you who have been reading my regular gibberish, and an especially big "thank you" to those of you who contribute comments and engage in discussions. The last couple of months in particular seem to have seen a few new people coming my way, so welcome to those of you who are newcomers.

I may regularly protest that I'm not writing this blog "for" anyone and I actually stand by that — I write these posts each day as an outlet, a form of escapism or, at times, catharsis. They have proven very effective on that front over the last couple of years. I'd go so far as to say that surviving some of the trials and tribulations my life has thrown my way would have been considerably more difficult — possibly insurmountable, though we'll never know (unless dimension-jumping technology gets invented) — without this faithful old WordPress page to empty my brain onto.

That said, it's fun and — I won't lie — a little bit exciting when people leave a comment and start a discussion. I believe most bloggers feel that way. Getting comments is a sign of "approval" — not necessarily of your opinions, but of the means through which you've argued them. Inspiring a comment, be it an "agree" or a "disagree", means that you've moved someone to actually say something rather than just click the Like button. (There's nothing wrong with that, incidentally — if you just enjoyed/appreciated a post but have nothing further to add, a Like is always gratefully received.) And so far as I can remember, most (if not all) comments on this here site have been respectful, interesting and showing willingness to engage in conversation. Also people who read this seem to be able to spell and punctuate correctly, which is always a massive bonus in this Facebook-dominated world where everyone seems to think that capital letters are just an inconvenience.

So after 800 daily posts, what now? 800 more, of course! Though I must confess in recent months it's been becoming harder and harder to think of things to write about. Oddly enough I feel that some of my most creative work on this blog was done during possibly the worst period of my life, perhaps as a means of escaping the crushing depression of what was going on in "reality" at the time. They say that artists produce their best work when tortured, and while I certainly wouldn't refer to this site and these 800+ posts as "art", it's clear that whatever Shit I've Had Going Down at various points over the last 800 days has affected the things I write about — whether consciously or subconsciously. In that sense, I often find it interesting to skip back to a random post and not only read it but also picture the context of what was going on in my life at that time. It's an interesting — if sometimes painful — journey that I've taken, and to have chronicled it quite so exhaustively (if not always explicitly describing exactly what happened each day) is something I can look back on with a degree of pride and satisfaction.

As I approach my 31st birthday (April 29th, please send money or gifts to the usual address) I don't know what the future holds for me — personally, professionally, physically, mentally. But so long as I've got this text editor window and a "Publish" button I'm confident I can deal with whatever comes this way.

#oneaday Day 799: Um, Fluttershy

A discussion with my friend Lynette earlier today (who, it has to be said, squeed rather enthusiastically at the news that I have been watching My Little Pony) saw us pondering, as so often happens with strong, character-led pieces of work, which My Little Pony was the most "us" — or at least the one we felt most able to relate to.

My answer — Fluttershy — is apparently one of the more popular ones, for a variety of reasons that I haven't explored as yet and am mildly terrified to, given the deep, deep rabbithole that sites such as knowyourmeme and TVTropes can be.

I imagine, given her timid nature, that there's at least an element of crossover between Fluttershy fans and Hanako fans — a category which, if you recall, I count myself firmly in. Her endearing meekness, anxiety and loyalty are character traits I can well and truly understand, and I know I have more than a few similar traits myself.

Take the fact that she has a clear case of social anxiety, and is nervous about showing off her talents except when absolutely necessary or in a situation where no-one can judge her. When taken along on a perilous journey to use her talent for "parenting" (for want of a better word) to convince an unruly, belligerent dragon to go and sleep somewhere else, she's (understandably, I feel) too scared to go in there and do her thing, even in front of her friends. And only partly because she's dealing with a fucking dragon.

I know too well how all that feels — of the difficulty and anxiety which surrounds using your talents and abilities in "public", even in front of people you love and trust. (Not the "dragon" bit.) I know, for example, that I'm a decent writer and that people enjoy reading my stuff, but I hate hate hate anyone watching me write. I have absolutely no idea whatsoever why this is — whether it's anxiety over people "backseat editing" or judging the things I've written before I've finished is anyone's guess. I just know that I hate it — but I like showing it off when it's finished, namely when I can hit "publish", light the blue touch paper and just walk away. (At this point, my fear of negative, destructive feedback comes into play, but that's a whole other matter.)

Same thing with music, really. Practicing is a necessary part of being able to play complex pieces of music, but I hate people listening to me practice. Performing? Fine. Playing the same bit over and over and over again until I get it right? Well, that's something to do with headphones or when no-one's in the house. Something of a combination of perfectionism ("if anyone's going to hear this, I want it to be right") and worrying about the judgement of others ("they won't want to hear those three bars repeated over and over and over! They'll tell me to shut up, or hurry up and get it right or something"), perhaps? I don't know.

Same with doing anything vaguely creative, in fact. I hate being watched doing something like that. Perhaps it's because doing something creative puts you in a vulnerable position where your "soul" (or whatever) is on display, and anyone could quite easily strike it for massive damage with an unkind word or an ill-timed snigger. It's something I could really do with Getting The Hell Over, but it's also one of those things that has indelibly stamped itself onto my personality over the years.

Whatever the reasons for it all… Um, Fluttershy? I feel your pain, girl.