Good morning, Readers!
I have long been stressing about this episode, since Sam and Henry were introduced last episode. I know precisely how this is going to end, and I’m not looking forward to it at all… While also looking forward to it a great deal. We don’t have time to unpack that. Let’s get on with it all the same.
Why hello! I’m back with another episode of The Last of Us. By the time this post appears, the series will probably (if I’ve done my math right) have completed its first season. Rest assured I have watched it already, I just haven’t written about it.
Let’s crack on, shall we?
And we’re back with the next episode of The Last of Us. As I outline this piece, the episode has aired a few days ago (vastly different from when this article will be published, I know), and the internet is absolutely buzzing. Most of the chatter I hear is about how devastatingly wonderful this episode is, which makes for a nice change. I’ve curated my social media well.
Let’s get into it, shall we?
Good afternoon! Well, we’re currently well behind the actual airing of the show, so if you aren’t prepared for spoilers for episode two of this show, you should probably stop reading now and go watch the episode. It’s a good ‘un.
I should also note that other than this intro, much of this article was written shortly after the second episode aired, largely because I don’t want future episodes to influence what I write about each episode. So even though I am actually caught up, it will read like I’m not. Alright! C’est parti!
[Read about episode one here.]
Hello! It’s me. Your wildly introverted author/gamer, who is very excited to be sharing my thoughts with you regarding HBO’s recent adaptation of The Last of Us from the perspective of someone who absolutely loved the game on which it is based. I’ll be examining each episode independently.
Unfortunately, due to my working an obscene amount, I have limited time, so I’ll only be able to post every second week or so. For that reason, though they’re written shortly after each episode airing, each review will be far behind the episodes as they’re released. That’s alright, though, as I reckon it will leave plenty of time for you to watch each episode and I won’t have to worry about spoiling it for you, because there absolutely will be spoilers.
So, with that out of the way, let’s just dive right into episode one: When You’re Lost in the Darkness.
My love of gaming is well known amongst my friends and friendly acquaintances, and has since before I could afford my first console. In news that would surprise absolutely no one, my preference has always been for narrative games; where the story plays as much a role in the gaming experience as any tests of skill or intellect. The best games for me strike a delicate balance between challenging gameplay — combat and puzzles — and narrative. In short, I game for the same reason I read. I game to find myself immersed in another world, diving into a story that will delight and move me.
Good morning, Readers!
Floating around the Twitterverse yesterday was a long thread of new authors bemoaning all the extra stuff they’re expected to do — all of that extra work extraneous to their craft — that writers are expected to engage in if they have any hope of being successful with their publication.
It’s true. When I first started on this publishing quest oh, some [indistinct] years ago, my research revealed that I had a lot of things to do if I wanted to be successful. I had to be on several social media site. I had to belong to several writing groups. I had to blog. I had to do a book blog tour. I had to secure book reviews and interviews (but good luck getting either if you’re self-published or published by a small/micro press, and entirely unknown). I had to create a launch party. I had to create and maintain a newsletter. The list seemed endless and entirely overwhelming. I understand the dismay and frustration expressed on Twitter yesterday.
It’s valid. There is a lot of hidden work behind being a successful writer (unless you’re very, very lucky).
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When I was a young(er) person, I was a voracious reader. I blew through books all the time. Once, during a school reading challenge, I read so many books that I ran out of books to read, and ended up doubling up on some titles. I read so many books, my teachers didn’t believe me. They thought I made up the lot. Reading so much, and loving every minute I got to dive into another world; that I got to escape my reality for a little bit is in no small part of why I’m a writer now.
But I will admit, that I’ve been struggling to read of late. A combination of a time-consuming job, several side-hustles, and the added stress of a global pandemic, and all the stupidity of (some) folks regarding it, losing a long-time flatmate and having to move…. It’s all added up. The result was that I could barely pick myself up, let alone a book.
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Last weekend, I splurged a little and bought myself a ticket to see the new Mortal Kombat film. Film is giving it a bit much, to be honest. I saw the new Mortal Kombat movie. Here is my review:
Silly nonsense that was nonetheless very entertaining. I do not regret the splurge.
Look, this movie isn’t great. It’s barely good. I’d so so far as to say that it’s bad. However, it’s precisely because it’s bad that it’s good. Hear me out.
One of the best things about Mortal Kombat is that it leans heavily on its own silliness. It doesn’t shy away from the ridiculousness of the video game premise: that there are multiple realms, and every realm sends forth champions to fight in a high-stakes tournament. As part of the rules, if one realms loses enough times, another realm has permission to annex it. The film opens with Earthrealm (us) on the verge of invasion from Outworld. If we but lose one more tournament, it’s over for us.
Image by Сергей Катышкин from Pixabay
Growing up, I had no heroes.
I’m not sure if this is a sign of anything in particular that might be wrong with me, but growing up, there was no one in any field — sports, literature, politics, or life — that I considered a hero of mine. There were certainly people whose skill and success I greatly admired. My favourite artists come out of the surrealist movement, and they are remarkable, both in how well the portray realism and how expertly they undermine it; twist it and make it strange. I have always loved Tolkien and regularly stand in awe of what he built. I feel the same way about Steven Erikson, a more contemporary writer. Martin Lass was my favourite violinist, and Tommy and Phil Emmanuel my favourite all-time guitarists. I was enamoured with the skill of tennis stars Pat Cash and Pat Rafter…
If you needed proof of my Australian-ness, I think that’s it right there…
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