Ledoux 1 Ben Ledoux Ms. Lindgren Creative Non-Fiction ~ Period 6 8 April 2016 “You're Filled With Determination” had gotten less than four hours of sleep that entire week. My eyes, already bloodshot themselves, had developed dark, blue rings around ther )ke they had sunken into my skull ither by some error of my own, o through forces beyond my control, it was the final day 1 had to work( it buld have just es, Satan oon cor aad wtii, 2 done the project as it was assigned. Instead I had to make the choice to ‘go the extra mile’ and Auten over complicate things. Glancing to my lef, attempted to find and eliminate the source of my distraction. The ““zebeccapurple” light emanating from the display of my atomic, Sony DREAM MACHINE ‘had dimmed to a dull “amethyst.” ‘The brief change in the darkness of the room ‘hour louder than church bells. Realizing that, despite my best efforts ‘to control the flow of time, and how, though I played the ‘ocarina did not bave the same magical powers asLedoux 2 ‘became more and more apparent as the hour hand on the nearby clock seemed to slow to an ants crawl. One by one, our eyes glossed over as each of us stumbled into our respective daydreams. As the normal scuffle of backpacks and scraping of chairs began to arise, | slowly broke free of ‘my stupor and retumed to the waking world with a brilliant idea. “I spend my lunches in the ATL, I’ve been studying this stuff for a year. Making a game ‘would be fun.” “Oh Past-Ben, you naive idiot.” With a quick snap back to reality, I realized that my position could only be made worse by taking time to dwell on these thoughts. Massaging the weariness out of my eyes, I retumed my focus to the laptop screen sitting in the foreground of my bleak landscape. ‘Music was blasting in my ears. Just quiet enough to not awake my slumbering parents in ‘the room adjacent, but loud enough that it would be impossible for me to accidently drift off to sleep. ies sgn ning, ar ch roe Silt Comedy, eto ‘repeat for hours on end. The near-spoken lyrics and repetitive base drumbeat reminded me of the : in every war move, Where the protagonist and is brothers in arms are inLedoux 3 what little I could in the time given, but nothing I could do would change the fact that the. So why bother then? (y An here ty Bring Ka ra need Aomethine Til Lie lary haat nicecing wits people Unlike Qrograming or math, Can situations and small talk just don’t come naturally to me. It’s like putting a Latin student in a ‘Spanish class: sure they may understand some of what's going on, but in the end, they're sesso 0 ie ngage ‘This is not for a lack of trying on my part though, I do truly ‘want to communicate with people, but I just never could. But when you pour hours and hours of your life into something, when you put everything you are into a single entity, something incredible happens. When you give and sacrifice so much of yourself in order to create a game, the computer evolves from a simple machine into a sort of ‘vessel. Pieces of me reside within the game, we share the same flaws and qualities. As you have ‘trouble controlling the character, I can't seem to ever grasp control of my life. As you try to wrap ‘your mind around the confusing level design, I try desperately to comprehend the world around As you look and critique the poor, thé crude design of the game, | look and critique myself, Rep iaran sin acetate eae from. ‘video games, tells you more about my interests. The fact that | attempted to make a game, aeasa ‘My want- my need for communication: it’s what filled me with determination. That's ‘why making video games is important to me. It allows me to connect with people on an emotional level without the need to directly interact with them. | pu meed pom ey They probably didn’t realize it, but only a few hours after my internal tumeatsiect ) th ue futility, my classmates learned more about me in ten-minuts than if they had eaten lunch with é) wm wd ‘me every day that year.pene - a Ben Ledoux Developed Memoir 1 Thad gotten less than four hours of sleep that entire week. My eyes, already bloodshot themselves, had developed dark, blue rings around them. Like they had sunken into my skull. was the final day I had Either by some error of my own, or through forces beyond my control. to work. It could have just been a simple PowerPoint, I could have chosen the easy route and just done the project as it was assigned. Instead I had to make the choice to “go the extra mile’ and ‘over complicate things. I glanced to left, eager to find and eliminate the source of my distraction. The “gebeceapurple” light emanating from the display of my atomic, Sony DREAM MACHINE. alarm clock had dimmed to a dull “amethyst,” marking the change of the hour as glaring as church bells in the darkness of my bedroom. Realizing that, despite my best efforts as a child, 1 did not gain the superpower to control the flow of time, and how, though I played the song of time on numerous occasion, my replica ocarina did not have the same magical powers as the aDeveloped Memoir Music was blasting in my ears. Just quiet enough to not awake my slumbering parents in the room adjacent, but loud enough that it would be impossible for me to accidently drift off to sleep. The music itself was actually a single song, Bartholomew by The Silent Comedy, set on repeat for hours on end. The near-spoken lyrics and repetitive base drumbeat reminded me of the cliché scene featured in every war movie. Where the protagonist and his brothers in arms are in basic training, marching up the mountain, singing in beat to the pounding of their boots. Every beat was a click on the track pad or line of code. The chorus, the symbolic culmination of all the ‘game developers, my brothers and sisters in arms, working overtime alongside me, vibrated ‘through my bones. ‘Despite all the long hours into the nights and the effort exerted on my part, the game was, forlack ofa beter term, utter sh*t, and I knew this. | knew it sinee a particularly frustrating 1:00 nights prior. I had beaten myself up over it, cringed whenever | tested it, and improved eae Carer amen reat so bad? KOA serteret: 4Ben Ledoux (ae : De qualities. As you have trouble controlling the character, I can't seem to ever grasp control of my oped Memoir 3 design, I try desperately 10 n of the life. As you try to wrap your mind around the confusing level comprehend the world around me, As you look and critique the poor, the erude desi game, | look and critique myself, which, like the game, often appears to be a low effort attempt and gives the sense of being poorly put together. The music, all from specific video games, tells you more about my interests. The topic matter, the inside jokes, and just the fact that 1 attempted to make a game, all of it paints a picture of who I am, Bartholomew wasn't keeping me awake for hours past midnight, the threat of bad | project grade wasn’t motivating my actions, and it sure as hell ‘wasn't the idea of creating a good ‘game that drove me, because I knew inthe end it would have flaws, No, it wasn’tany of those things. My want: my need, for communication, It's what filled me with determination. That's ‘video games is so important to me. It allows me to connect with people onBen Ledoux ones Developed Memoir 1 Thad gotten less than four hours of sleep that entire week. My eyes, already bloodshot Almost OS Ub themsetvts, had developed dark, blue rings around them, Like they had sunken into my sill. Either by some error of my own, or through forces beyond my control, it was the final day ! had to work. It could have just been a simple PowerPoint, I could have chosen the easy route and jus done the project as it was assigned. Instead I had to make the choice to ‘go the extra mile’ and over complicate things. » u! Flashbace to Specific | N ye points I glanced to left, eager to find and eliminate the source of my distraction. The GebeccapurpleDight emanating from the display of my atomie, Sony DREAM MACHINE Wasa meneeck ‘alarm clock had dimmed to a dull&methy$> maekemethe change of the hour ‘chuseh-bellein the darkness of my bedroom{ Realizing that, despite my id not gain the superpower to control the flow of time, and bagpeshoughBen Ledoux Developed Memoir 2 Music was blasting in my ears. Just quiet enough to not awake my slumbering parents in the room adjacent, but loud enough that it would be impossible for me to accidently drift off to sleep. The music itself was actually a single song, Bartholomew by The Silent Comevy, set on repeat for hours on end. The near-spoken lyries and repetitive base drumbeat reminded me of the TH Scene Were cliché scene featured in every war movie, Whrerethe protagonist and his brothers in arms are in basic training, marching up the mountain, singing in beat to the pounding of their boots. Every beat was a click on the track pad or line of code. The chorus, the symbolic culmination of ell the game developers, my brothers and sisters in arms, working overtime alongside me, vibrated through my bones. Despite all the long hours into the nights and the effort exerted on my part, the game was, for lack of a better term, utter sh*t, and I knew this. I knew it since a particularly frustrating 1:09 ‘am four nights prior. Thad beaten myself up over it, cringed whenever I tested it, and i ‘what little I could in the time given. Why even ote ht? Why aso mush ine mf {nto creating something that's se(Gadd} °C ; have had issues interacting with people. Unlike programingBen Ledoux oye? qualities. As you have trouble controlling the character, I can't seem to ever gra8P control of my Developed Memoir 3 life. As you try to wrap your mind around the confusing level design, | try desperately 10 comprehend the world around me, As you look and critique the poor, the crude design of the game, [look and critique myself, which, like the game, often appears to be a low effort attempt and gives the sense of being poorly put together. The musi, all from specific video games, tells you more about my interests, The topic matter, the inside jokes, and just the fact that | attempted to make a game, all of it paints a picture of who I am. Bartholomew wasn’t keeping me awake for hours past midnight, the threat of « bad project grade wasn't motivating my actions, and it sure as hell wasn’t the idea of creating a good “game that drove me, because I knew in the end it would have flaws. No, wasn't any of those yeasuns?