Showing posts with label thoughts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thoughts. Show all posts

Sunday, May 31

beauty, here and there

I spent a week in California (mostly San Diego) earlier this month. we did lots of beautiful and silly and fun things.

shiny gold and white castle facade against a blue summer sky

twenty years later, Disneyland remains impressively thorough and dedicated to the task of using plastic fakery (and other material/media) to evoke entire worlds of stories. I will confess that walking through the Galaxy's Edge sections was pretty amazing. the novelty of it. the heat and dust and droids and alien-ness, not to mention the actual model of the Millennium Falcon. I'm not even that much of a Star Wars nerd, am I

ornate organ pipes and some of the outdoor pavillion were they live

sprawling fig tree

mosaic on an outdoor wall

close up of an intricate mosaic mural with tree roots and scraps of kids' writing

many various block and tackle sets hanging

table, dishes, violin, sword, in the dining quarters aboard the H.M.S. Surprise

cloudy sunset overlook

then I came home again. things here are no less beautiful and silly and fun, in their turns.
small purple paint splatters on brown paving bricks

five wooden clothespins hanging from the clothesline

top down view of a large gollum jade plant, vibrant green

remember this gollum jade? he is expanded into a family of 5 separate plants now. the main one is doing so well, and hopefully the others will survive one way or another. 

bushy Thai basil and tomato plants 
a small white china bowl on a blue-and-white tablecloth

Friday, May 22

summer in progress

if only I had known about Audio Flux when the semester began, it would've been great to challenge students to meet the circuit 7 criteria for part of our class. ah well.

my students did some great work anyway. here are a couple of their final projects: 

Social Upkeep 

Everything Breaks (episode 1 and episode 2

I hear that circuit 8 of Audio Flux is coming soon, at least, so maybe I can work it into something for English Composition (our first-year writing class) this fall. in my one 10.35am section I want to focus on listening and understanding and responding thoughtfully. I am not yet sure how, exactly, but hopefully the students will be open to it and cooperative with each other. part of me is skeptical about building real community within the deeply trenched constraints and stretched-out shallowness of classrooms. Dead Poets Societies are not and never have been real, right? but more of me is gonna try anyway. it is worth trying, no matter how slowly and incompletely each little classroom community seems to develop. 

my very intermittent course prep thoughts are mixed in among many, many other plans and ideas and projects and to-do lists. that is what summer is, usually-- a big mishmash of ambition and dreaming and doing stuff and lounging about.

I finished reading (and lazily annotating) John Durham Peters' The Marvelous Clouds: Toward a Philosophy of Elemental Media some several ages ago now. I keep meaning to send my marginalia-ed copy to friend Chris sometime. we'll see if I get around to it.

this week, I'm getting around to posting all the neat quotes and concepts from all the dogeared pages. they are a little grandiose and navel-gazey at times, but maybe that is okay given that all our navels are made out of the same dusty star crumbs anyway. 

as I compile and remix these quotes a little bit here, I'm thinking a lot about place. it's been 6 full years and a bit since we moved to Arizona. a new record for longest-time-in-one-area. and while I never really wanted to settle down much there is something nice about being known and being somewhat settled. 

still, we'll see how much longer we last in this scrubby desert land. I can only be in one place at once, physically. and there are so many places! media can bridge them somewhat (and times also, a little). but old postcards from California aren't the same as actual California. 

"We make meanings, but do not so in media of our own making; our bodies are embedded in climate history, fire regimes, the spin of the earth, north and south, and relations with plants, artifacts, and organisms of all kinds, especially each other. Whatever nonverbal communication might be, it is certainly richer than our bodies' hints and gestures, rich though they are" (p. 380)

"Real meaning is not fragile: it is exuberantly abundant, overwhelmingly so" (p. 379)

"Nature has meaning, but not for us" (p. 379)

"But the human condition is recursive; it is a conditional condition: our actions change the conditions they act in, especially since they change us; we speak and act, and as we do we change the conditions in which we speak and act" (p. 51) 

"Communication is deeper and older than language" (p. 133) 

(that bit reminded me of this little post by Ian Leslie, which I usually ask all of my students to read in any writing or communication class I'm teaching. the communicative force field around us all has an elemental nature, I suppose.) 

"The stars were both divine and cozy" (p. 386) 

"This is what the universe has yielded: another being in your same form, improbable and precious, with whom you may be able to contribute to the ongoing history of life. Love and beauty are the meaning of the universe, and such meaning is not a human fiat imposed on raw and unfeeling matter by the effort of our will, but rather the product of cosmic history" (p. 385) 

"Perhaps the past cannot be tapped in its full immediacy because the present is not fully immediate. There are vast patches of unobserved magnification, for different organs of sense, for minds quicker or slower than ours. Even for the most acute observer, descriptions might be incomplete, not only because of limited tools but because reality is lacking. Just as we often do not know what we mean when we speak, so the universe might not always be so sure of itself. The cosmos is structurally incomplete, as gap-ridden as its files. Such wonderful conditions these are! The universe generously accommodates our every new act, word, or thought. There is still plenty to do. It is open for new events; it is a container with a gracious void. A growing universe is a (retroactively) incomplete one." (p. 354)

"A phonograph record, tape, or compact disc does not really hold sound: sound exists only as pressure in time and space. Acoustic storage media hold recipes that, with the right equipment, can produce more or less the same sounds over and over, but they don't hold sounds the way a cave wall or canvas can hold an image. Everything that happens in time has to be started over and over in real time. The sound does not last, the word flies away, the vibration dissipates. The vinyl record can endure, but the music it plays on a stereo does not." (p. 311)

"All complex societies have media inasmuch as they use materials to manage time, space, and power. Kittler's point, that culture was always already a procedure of data processing, follows confidently in Innis's path. Kittler's word was Kultur, a term that can mean both "culture" and "civilization"-- and, never shy about grand claims, he certainly meant to include both." (p. 20) 

"For [Norbert Elias], the civilizing process involved three fronts in need of taming: pressures inside people, pressures between people, and pressures between people and nonpeople" (p.159)

"There is an old clash between the ethic of detachment, which calms the soul so well, and the ethic of commitment, which calls us to upsetting action." (p. 384) 

"Death can feel completely normal, dull, and expected, as blank as boredom, and also unbearably bitter and impossible, as hard as thoughts of falling. Death is a great revealer of infrastructures, and, like them, it partakes of the habit of coming out of hiding traumatically." (p. 383) 

"... but this blessed earth will live on, and the clouds and sun will continue to radiate for a season, and the beauty that pulses in our senses will continue to pulse to other senses or just to itself, and that will be enough. Knowing that this beauty will persist gives some comfort. When we go, natality might well bring something new forth. There might be long periods of anoxic oceans and arid wastelands, but something will happen and eventually wildflowers might sprout in the ash we left behind." (p. 387)


 

I will blog more this summer. so much has happened already and classes haven't even been over for a full month yet.

Friday, February 28

another spring semester

so far, this corner of the world has felt abnormally like spring for the past eight weeks, save for two days of snow-dust several weeks ago. everyone is dreading how dry and fire-prone the whole area is going to be through the summer. let us hope we have a few good monsoons in store at some point. please?

eight weeks since classes started means that half the semester is over by now. but I can still blog about a new semester even when it's halfway over, right? why not?

there isn't much to say. this semester is basically a repeat of two years' ago's with only minor updates. one section of Technical Report Writing (this time with extra usability and UX flavoring), one section of The Art and History of Podcasts (quite a bit improved since my first semester teaching it), and plenty of other academic work on top of the usual teaching: meetings galore, emails that should not be so draining to read and write and manage, various professional development adventures, research and writing of my own in small snippets.

I enjoy this teaching career, such as it has become for me, because it involves so much learning. or at least I always used to think so and say so. am I still learning anything? am I still enchanted by the process of stretching my brain in new directions, of finding little corners of wonder amongst all the mundanity of things, like it seems I always used to be? well yes. mostly yes. students and colleagues say things all the time that make me think new thoughts and appreciate new things. their questions and my questions often join forces in pretty excellent ways. it's fun.

novelty seems rarer, these days, though. there is a lot of sameness, and it feels far too easy to let the sameness subsume everything else. do older brains prefer more sameness, I wonder? or does accumulation of experience just mean that any novelty we find is easier to handwave away as not-really-that-interesting-after-all-actually-kind-of-just-like-that-other-thing-I-already-know-about? or maybe our comprehensive eyesight starts to fade somehow, rendering us less able to appreciate shining novelty even when it's just as plentiful as ever?

I'm not sure. 

what is new and notable for me lately?

with enough time and energy, and given a wide ranging definition of "notable," I could list so many things. an onslaught of information from news and social media and instant messages. knee-jerk reactions and opinions and maybes in response to all of it. the absurd loveliness of a few calm, rich summery days in February. bundles of anticipation accompanying sprouts and buds and new greenery underneath dried leaves. earlier sunrises and later sunsets. a recent trip for work to Albuquerque, including a not-for-work visit to this cute new fiber arts shop. (I bought 300g of a wool/viscose blend called "crumpet tweed." awesome name, eh?)

also, 'tis the season for (a perhaps ridiculous amount of) excitement about the tournament of books. it starts next week!

I've read only four of this year's contestants (which is four more than I usually manage to read before the opening rounds): 

The Book of Love, by Kelly Link

James, by Percival Everett

The Wedding People, by Alison Espach

and Beautyland, by Marie-Helene Bertino

I read them in that order, because that is the order in which the library served them to me--three in nice new hardcovers and one (The Wedding People) as a short and sweet audiobook. now that I've finished Beautyland, I really need to relisten to the So Many Damn Books episode about it

do I have a favourite? do I hope one of these four wins? it's hard to say. James and Beautyland have the most depth, I think; I read them both quickly and could see myself reading them again someday. the other two were excellently enchanting to me though, and both The Wedding People and The Book of Love delighted me with their neat and just-twisty-enough plots. 

but I don't like to make predictions. if I fill out a tournament bracket in the next six days it will be as random as anything might be, and I will not be attached at all to the idea of my random picks matching up with the true official judgements.

let's just see what happens next.

Sunday, January 19

moments and years

I missed the chance to commemorate the true birthday of this little blog, last Monday. but today, January 19, 2025, marks exactly 20 years since the first actual, fully-fledged post: a response to our first key reading assignment about webdesign and such.

what a different world. such a different place it was. or maybe twenty years ago wasn't so very different, and it only seems so because I and my perspective have changed so much since then. 

what happens if I stitch together a few snippets from all the blogged Januaries of each year since 2005? what new montage will spill into this digital page in between them all?

I tried my best to pull from sections nearest to the 13th and 19th of the month (a thing much easier to do from the posts before 2014ish, when the apex of graduate school + its aftermath slowed down my writing here so much).

what I notice amongst these snippets and what you notice will be different, I imagine. I notice the unending pulse of learning and academia. books and thoughts chasing each other in circles. comments about the weather seem to sit neatly in the background with questions of identity and all its tangly unspooling. these words always have been for me more than anything. does all this pontificating from past amelia still sound like useful advice? mostly yes, I think. but I would say that, wouldn't I?

2006

the fact that energy is behind it all is somehow unifying. simple

...

linguistic structures will be a low-key class. it is full of people i don't see in my other classes. the other english majors. non tech writing people: the lit majors, the teaching majors. it's weird.

2007

get used to the fear and the doubt. get used to being faced with new facets of your own ignorance. get used to the pain. embrace humility. you can't always feel in control.

but really, how comforting is that?

I don't know. I'd take humility over false confidence anyday. but then the humble rarely get much respect.

2008-2009 (a pause.)

2010

the world is big.

there's a lot going on in it. even in this mostly empty house, there's me sitting at the table, typing, stretching a bit of CSS out over a half-built website skeleton, scribbling a few what-ifs, listening to Radiohead. and I made banana nut muffins this morning.

2011

in the beginning, this blog was just a place for all my first impressions--all my doubts and worries about the usefulness or meaningfulness of all the stuff I was learning. after that semester, I decided to keep blogging--mainly about writing (Starcustard and random short stories), school (rhetoric, more webdesign, and Isotope), and life (philosophical thoughts about my job, vague complaints about boys, and so forth). and so it continued. I'm still here. I still blog.

...

what do those stories say about me?

I'm thinking about all the texture of my life. all the patterned and patternless history I've collected so far. telling stories is one way to remember it. and on the other hand... telling and retelling and re-remembering these stories is one way to completely revise the past. after a few months or years, it becomes easy to bend the details. to emphasize the funny parts. to leave out the things that make you look like a bit of an idiot.

how I envision myself is pretty complicated, I guess. perspective is weirdly limited like that.

2012

 

which we am I talking about, anyway? and when? and where? 

2013

it may not make any huge difference in the long run, but even so, the ultimate pointlessness of things should not be dragged up as an excuse for us to stay in bed all day. at least not more than once or twice a year, anyway, right?

2014

this seemingly misnamed semester will inch along to spring in due course. and when that happens, finals and stress will no doubt prevent me from enjoying it as thoroughly as I could, but for now... well for now, the semester is glowing with warm, cozy pillows full of insight and excitement. this might be the best January ever.

2015

I have spent much (but not enough) of this long, mostly-pleasant weekend sitting by the window, trying to focus on readings for classes. 

.... 2015 is here, still all new-feeling. gradually we'll get to see both how it changes my life and how it doesn't.

2016

today it is raining in spurts, like a chilly and unkempt spring. Tuesday's snow is long since melted. it'll be back this weekend. the universe is giving us yo-yo-ing seasons, somewhat drab all the way through, with occasional bright sunset smudges.

the trees are bare. my apartment windows open onto more distant views than they did in summer and fall. at night, more and more streetlights perpetually leak into my bedroom under the edges of the blinds. I notice the faces of buildings I have never seen from such an angle before.

2017

it's empowering to reflect on the background structure of your whole life. to actively participate and acknowledge your role in either accepting/reinforcing or resisting/revising the culture you swim in. and that seems important. that's what it takes to make all of that power and structure more open-book, more readable, more transparent and less like a vice.

2018

if I had the brainpower on this Friday evening to make some additional academicalish comments on how these beautifully-commentated marble races and our fascination with them could link up interestingly with some of the tenets of object-oriented ontology, I would. but I don't know all that much about object-oriented ontology myself, and should probably not let it distract me much more than the Marblelympics already have from writing up nicely finished dissertation chapters about digital ethnography and distributed commons-based peer-production and what that all may mean for technical communication and human culture and such.

2019

and then the speaker said something about facebook hopefully having a major role in someday establishing some kind of global online government. after that, according to my notes, I typed out this:

"eeeeek."

does the world want and need to be connected by a central online platform, really? is the capitalist interest that facebook has in being the medium by which everyone is connected anything we can trust?

2020

all this potent potential meaning curled up in to hold. and then there are all these phrasal verbs, too: hold back, hold up, hold out, hold off, hold against, beholden to...

to be held as a parent holds a young baby is to be safe. comfortable. cared for. right?

to be held is also to be restrained. controlled. and to be restrained isn't usually considered comfortable, though... right?

or is it?

2021

and when I listened to this recent episode of So Many Damn Books with George Saunders I felt more affinity for Saunders's love of teaching writing than perhaps I might once have felt. his advice is to remember that you're never just teaching 20-somethings who barely know what to do with their adulthood when you meet them-- you're also teaching the 40-something-year-olds that they'll become. I like that. (not all college students are 20-somethings, but the concept holds. we are all humans-in-progress.)

2022

why does this small saga of knitting woe and triumph deserve documentation in this little blog of mine? I don't know if there's an answer, other than my typical interest in capturing bits of experience and emotion in as vivid and accurate description as I can. I like to write these vignettes of where and when and how, with all the metaphor and adjectives they need to vibrate satisfyingly from my imagination to yours.

2023

I trust that learning is happening, little by little, in all of our spongey-curious brains.

2024

January, perhaps fittingly, seems so very long. all the transitions it spans-- all the shifting, deepening of the dark season, the post-holiday recoveries, the shiny new beginnings of a calendar year and of an academic semester-- all of that is a lot for 31 average winter days.

I don't know if it really did feel longer for me this year, or if I'm only saying that because it seems like an appropriate thing to sigh into this semi-bleak and impermanent world.

- - -

and now what? do I still blog? 

time will tell. if you'll indulge me, I have one more excerpt, this time from May of 2014, when so much of me was so unsettled and rearranging itself and I clung to my love of writing as if nothing else mattered:

from time to time I wonder what it is I'm trying to do here. does it matter what I'm trying to do here? I write. our reasons for enjoying things are seemingly inarticulable. is there irony in that? I claim that words can make everything better. is that true even when the words crumble into meaninglessness as they fail at encompassing feelings? do I mean that even crumbled words are worth something?

yes. crumbled and halfhearted attempts at capturing it all still beats blank silence. I know only so much stuff fits into one life. there are only so many live possibilities. this is the way it needs to be, I guess. but the way everything is carved up now isn't how it'll always need to be carved. our crumbled communications don't stand still; they change.

.... and even if I can't really say I know exactly what writing means, I can try to explain what I like about my practice of it.

I like the pausing and sifting through potential descriptions and the shuffling of parts of speech. I like the dancing of clauses and punctuation and space. I like the starts and stops and backtracking, the meandering fragments that stretch so subtly for their finish. I like the way these little symbols can twist and mold intangible thoughts into a dozen differently shaded shapes. I like unknotting a tangly draft, picking out the pieces that don't belong and pulling away each piece that does, tidying it all into a hopefully-clean curl of interesting prose. sometimes I save the scraps for later. sometimes I can't. .... I write for the writing's sake. I sketch and wonder and experience plenty of other things for the same reason. they don't have to be means to some other end, these creative processes. maybe all the best things are their own ends, or at least neatly wrapped around something like one.

after twenty years, does this blog count as art? as an end in itself?

doesn't matter. it's here. I'm here. for now.

Tuesday, December 17

sidewalk-henge

at a certain time of day, the shadows that fall from the southeasterly sunrise across the somewhat-elevated sidewalk behind our house line up just exactly right with the angles of wide concrete pavement and granite-pebble landscaping and the gully on one side. and for however long the sun and earth match up that way, we get to watch a shadowy parade of me with the pugs, walking with perfect balance on the top of the shadow of the earth against itself. 

I suppose the conditions for this must happen at least twice in a day, whatever times those may be depending on the time of year and the slant of the earth's axis. in the mornings, lately somewhere near 8:00 a.m. or so, the shadows slant northwest. we don't often walk that path during the other half of the day, but I imagine in the early evenings the shadows must slant more to the northeast.   

so what? 

 

it is a thing to notice. a small event-thing among many other variously-shaped event-things. 

I haven't bothered photographing our shadows. it's nice enough to just notice it when we happen to be out walking at the right set of moments. 

the morning pug walks require more layers this month. hats, gloves, fluffier scarves. I crocheted a new puppy pug coat in red and beige for the skinny little Faramir. his old grey pug coat still barely-kindof fits, but it didn't look as warm all stretched out of his lanky body.


these photographed trees and their shadows are not trees near us (we are quite starved for trees in this neighborhood). but they are very autumnal, aren't they. I took these photographs some years ago, mostly in Chicagoland and perhaps a few in a town near the WisconsinIllinois border, October 2022. 

Friday, October 18

bunny vs. fence

the other day, this lengthy stretch of fencing (branded nicely enough with so much black, white, and red to represent the construction company Sundt, whose slogan seems to be three standalone words, "Skill. Grit. Purpose.") went up all along the drive that goes between my academic office building and various parking lots between here and places off-campus.

I'm told that they'll be building a new dormitory somewhere on top of the rocky, scrub-filled gully on the other side. it'll have more student housing and more classroom space. so cool. so necessary. 

some of us in my academic office building are mildly worried that this new construction will block our most excellent west-facing views of Granite Mountain. we shall see, I guess. I remain hopeful that the slope of this gully will mean the top of the new dorm will be low enough for us to look over from our third floor offices.

as I walked back out from my office to my car last Tuesday, I noticed a little grey-brown bunny frantically searching for a way through the fence, up and down the hill in short bursts, back and forth over the blaring red curb, every so often sprinting for its life all the way across the road back to the unfenced rocks and bushes to the east.

I watched it for a solid few minutes. it hopped away in panic from my slowed footsteps, then dashed in further panic across the path of someone's big white SUV driving up past us both. 

I didn't see the bunny come back that evening. so I studied the fencing as I walked. surely one little bunny would eventually find a gap to squeeze under, I thought. (the creatures seem to squeeze through pretty tiny gaps in our back garden gate, after all.)

if the chainlink were bare of this black branded tarp, then could a little bunny more easily get through? or if the corners of each fence panel were less square and more rounded, that would surely help.

I wonder if any of the planners and facilities and maintenance people worried about the impact of this construction project would have on the non-human critters in the area. hopefully at least a little bit. probably not as much as they worried about other aspects though-- the costs of labor and fencing and other materials; the design and the blueprints and the building's whole physical footprint; and the timing and logistics and how soon they can start selling spots in the new dorm.

at the bottom of the hill, the fence merely ends,. for now. the sidewalks remain open and the parking lots in regular use. for now. if the bunnies are persistent enough, they will find their way back into their hideaways in the scrub-filled gully. 

and hopefully they will all find new hideaways once the gully is dug out and filled with a bunch of concrete and whatever else dormitories are made of.

and if not?

they're just bunnies. some of their cousins, whichever side of whichever fence they've ended up on, will replace them soon enough.

Saturday, September 7

unknown or reknown

thinking about my grandmother lately, off and on, I sometimes puzzle over how close and also how distant she seems. her birthday is coming up in a few days.


this painting (well, this print of a painting) hung over grandma's nice upright piano for as long as I could remember. and now it hangs in my office/craft room/guest room. 

I feel so grateful to have inherited this art, and I do not care one bit that it is a relatively commonplace mass reproduction. the light and shadow and movement of it say something-- something too immediate for words. I don't think my sense of this is just nostalgia, though there are indeed decades of memories sprinkled on whenever I look at it. 

today I looked up the name and artist engraved on the little plaque, for the first time. Moonlight Sea. Peter Ellenshaw. he did a lot of these beautifully peaceful ocean horizon paintings, apparently. prints like mine seem to have been pretty popular in the '50s and '60s. 

before then, Ellenshaw also worked as a matte artist for plenty of old films, inncluding 1959's Darby O'Gill and the Little People and Mary Poppins too. did grandma know that, I wonder? I only know it because the internet and Wikipedia exist at my fingertips. 

but I'm sure my grandma had so many other ways of knowing things. 

it's funny what our brains remember or don't. or think we remember. 

this grandmother was the first person to wink at me, as far as I recall. the full conspiratorial meaning of it was likely lost on me as a child, but it felt fun and silly and made the moment into a story. 

my other memories of grandma are a montage of bright and faded. so many quilts for the chilly basement bedrooms. green grass and a clothesline. frozen whole wheat waffles. cereal on the top shelf of a gaping deep dark pantry. sitting on the cement steps for photographs. plastic toys on a thick, round, stripey rug. and her voice piping up if anyone looked at any corner of that piano--a little raspy but bright and cheerfully insisting-- 'play us a tune, won't you?' 

and usually someone would. 

perhaps the strongest, deepest memory I have of that house, just a stride or two left from the piano and its painting, is the narrow closet full of toys and games and books (among them, this old woven fairytale). 

maybe the closet still has books and toys in it. newer ones, if any. the whole house looks hugely different now from how it did when I was young. there are no photos of the closets in the listing... but a closet of games and books for visiting tourists could make sense, couldn't it? 

I find myself wishing that I knew more about what my grandmother thought of this painting. where did she get it? was it bought, or a gift? did she see the same things in it I think I see? would she have better words for its movement and shadow and light?

she would have been 96 this autumn. 

if I live that long, I'll get at least 56 more autumns (hopefully, anyway. I hope I always live somewhere with a proper autumn.)

.

in other news, there are twenty standard weeks until this little blog turns 20 years old.

and then what?

Saturday, June 29

favorite conference

last week, my time was taken up by another academic conference.

I presented on semi-academic podcasts and how awesomely they seem to cultivate discussions about scholarly things for the consumption (and perhaps participation) of non-scholarly audiences. such a thing seems pretty rare, but maybe it's less rare than I'm making it out to be. after all, 

“Podcasting’s bridging of knowledge barriers in an intimate manner is one of its key, and most readily apparent, properties. Thanks to the medium’s wide accessibility— given its general affordability and portability— knowledge in diverse domains can be shared by individuals and groups around the world. Thanks, as well, to their intimate, personal and often-conversational natures, podcast episodes can help individuals of different educational levels cross disciplinary boundaries easily. Audience members need not be enrolled in an educational system in order reap their benefits” (Swiatek, 2018, p. 177-178).​

how's that for a minimalist literature review, eh? Swiatek's chapter is in the collection I used as a textbook for my introductory podcast course last year. good stuff.

bridging knowledge barriers can happen across all kinds of lines, not just those of formal higher education, of course. academia is only one of many domains of learning. 

but for my presentation, I concocted a fairly narrow set of criteria for the four examples I showcased. to fit in properly with what I wanted to talk about, the podcast needed to be...

- officially made by/with credentialed, institutionally-affiliated academics ​
- making use of the ethos and/or expertise of their degrees at least a little
- purposefully talking to and/or translating for non-academic audiences ​to some extent

I also limited my examples to humanities/communication-y topics, because that's my discipline, and a 15-minute conference talk cannot be much more comprehensive than that anyway. I am curious to look at other podcasts in this vein though. eventually. Huberman Labs would count. and probably plenty of others I haven't heard of yet.

my observation, as a fairly high level podcast fangirl, has been that most scholarly podcasts don't bother talking beyond their own discipline, much less beyond the academy in general. in a sense, that might be what "scholarly" means-- by, for, and of scholars. but I also knew of a few counter-examples. a few podcasts that managed to feel more openly, accessibly, publicly academic.

for this little starting-place of a conference talk, I looked at these four: Material Girls; Lingthusiasm; Think Fast, Talk Smart; and Professors Play

according to my proposal for the event, I wanted "to highlight these as particularly valuable examples of public scholars demonstrating from the ivory tower how playfulness, connection, and personality are key ingredients for learning, teaching, and thriving as 21st-century humans."

want to see my little digital handout with transcribed bits from each show? there's a link to my slides from there too, which in turn have a few painstakingly chosen, hopefully entertaining-ish, audio clips. 

it is perhaps silly to turn my little presentation from last week into a blog post here, but (now that I'm halfway through doing it anyway) it does seem to match the spirit of my whole point— academia doesn't need to keep all of its cool conversations to itself.

on top of making that point, my other goal with the talk was to have fun introducing whoever showed up at my 11:00am panel to a few very engaging podcasts. I called it "Public Scholarship as Playful Pedagogy," but the title easily could've been shuffled into “Playful Scholarship as Public Pedagogy”— I'm still not sure which sounds better. the lines between all these things are fairly slippery at the best of times.

the lofty version of my whole argument is something like this: podcasts are conversations, usually quite public ones that can shape the cultures and communities of the world we live in. sometimes they even create new communities, which in turn have their own world-shaping power. so it matters who gets to be part of the conversation. it matters how the conversations are designed. 


Computers & Writing is one of the best conferences. next year it'll be in Athens, Georgia. will I get to be there and keep talking about podcasts as scholarship or pedagogy or public pedagogical artifacts or anything like that? we shall see.

Tuesday, February 20

and spring semester 2024

eleven years ago, back at the very beginning of my academic career, I trekked 6 hours west from Lubbock, Texas, in my very old leper of a car (the paint was all but totally peeled way from its poor hood), to attend my first ever academic conference in Albuquerque.

this week I'm gonna trek 6 hours east and attend the same conference, this time in a rental car, with way more academic experience, an institutional credit card for travel-related purchases, and a significantly different research agenda. I'll be presenting this Saturday all about how I designed and get to teach a fun little class on podcasts. 

slide title with these words over stylized soundwaves: Themes in Humanities, The Art and History of Podcasts: Teaching podcasts as pop culture in a 100-level general education course

 {the title slide, so far anway}

 

and I'll get to see some of my old professors from USU. very excited for that bit. 

it'll be fun, hopefully. I hope I'll meet some other cool new interesting fellow scholars along the way, too. we shall see, given how sunny and warm it looks to be in Albuquerque this weekend, how much of the conference I actually sit through.

photo of a couple old issues of The Black Box, black and white covers, circa 1990-something

in the more normal weeks of this semester, I'm teaching a couple sections of technical writing. the same old basic tech writing course, only slightly different every time by virtue of new students and a new me and a new world.

besides teaching, I'm also working on a book chapter about podcast transcripts and leading various faculty from various other programs through a series of mushy but important assessment adventures. friend Caroline and I are still working on soliciting content for a new issue of the campus literary arts magazine (the second since we took charge of it last year). maybe we'll have an official reading event at the library with the creative writing class-- fingers crossed. 

it's all nearly haflway over, this set of 16 work weeks called spring semester. at the moment the halfway point feels encouraging. time ticks onward. work gets accomplished. knowledge is made and shared and reinforced. skills are modeled, practiced, learned, forgotten, re-learned.

in other news, I'm also finally getting to see some work from the past year come out in official publication! perhaps the coolest online academic journal of all, Kairos, made space for my multimedia oral history-ish interview piece all about two colleagues who recently retired.

and then colleagues and I have a co-authored piece in the most recent issue of Programmatic Perspectives (the differently cool but still very awesome journal from the Council for Programs in Technical and Scientific Communication). some awesome Purdue colleagues have an article in the same issue, which is quite cool to see. 

time ticks onward. I've been here 4 years. 2 more until hopefully they give me tenure. 

in the meantime, age and experience accumulate. some days I feel older and other days not at all. 

next January, in the auspicious year of 2025, it'll be 20 years since I started this blog for a class. how will we celebrate that, I wonder?

Wednesday, January 31

goodbye, January

since the eve of 2024 one month ago, it feels like so much has happened. some of it too fast, too soon, too painfully. 

the grief of losing the first little doggo that I ever really shared my longterm day-to-day life with... I cannot describe it. as much as I'd like to keep trying to, the feeling altogether and gargantuanly transcends words. the whole experience is impossible to talk about in any satisfying, accurate, indubitable way. "losing"? "letting go"? that we "had to" say goodbye? what kind of stupid, broken euphemism circus is this? everything about our language-cloaked expressions of such pain just feels utterly inadequate.

pine trees silhouetted against a morning sky: blue above white above orange glowing above the mountain horizon
{ I suppose we can't have sunrises without some sunsets. }

a happy pug, white fur with darker ears and nose, his mouth open as if smiling for the camera
{ and nothing lasts forever; dog-years are too extra short. }

it is probably irrational to think no one else could ever know what I mean, even if the words and metaphors feel so flimsy. it's not like I'm the only person to ever experience this sort of sadness. nor is this the first unexpected loss in my life. but it has been the closest and the sharpest. so far.

on new year's day I wrote something about how the world (a world so embroiled in hate and genocides and ugly senseless conflict!) is an absolutely crushingly horrific mess, how my heart hurts and hurts and hurts, and how this loss seems to prefigure and to threaten-- or, even more, to promise-- every other inevitable loss I will ever have to face for as long as I live.

it's one thing to philosophically observe, in general, that nothing can last forever. okay. of course. to confront and deeply feel it-- specifically-- as one solitary ending to the life of a inimitably cuddly goofy fuzzy little domesticated animal... that is different.

other aspects of this January were plenty normal, whatever that means. most of my activities seem to come with rather suitable words with which to sketch them into sharable imagery: going to bed early and sleeping in. checking out library books. reading and ignoring and sorting and replying to emails. seeing friends. enduring snow and rain and cold. demonstrating crafts at the museum. putting birdseed in the feeder in the backyard. talking with family on the phone. eating quiche. drinking tea. making soup. needing a haircut but not yet ever managing to go out and get my hair cut. sweeping the floor. running errands. craving hot chocolate. writing lists and syllabi and assignment sheets. spending money. making things. existing. 

{ eclipse shadows from October, 2023. Wesley's last weekend camping trip with us. }

sure, nothing lasts forever. change is nature. this too shall pass: all of these phrasings alternatingly as full of solace as they are of tragedy, representative of a fact more solid than perhaps any other so-called fact. death and endings are, from one point of view, more normal, more mundane, more irrefutable than any of the other relatively comfortable, unassuming, smoothly proceeding lifestuff I might casually document and remember about this particular month of the year. that's what feels so difficult and impossible about it.

the vortex of this heartache felt immeasurable, indescribably vast and infinite, from the inside. 

even so, from a day or two or ten beyond, it begins to shrink and fade. all future moments frame it into something more manageable.

but again the words seem to balk and fail me. "manage"? is that what we are meant to do with these feelings? this grief? is that actually possible? the stringy, endless paradoxes curl up inside of each other, confounding my basic little human brain with ineffability.

{ classic pug-under-the-table photo, new year's eve 2023 }

January, perhaps fittingly, seems so very long. all the transitions it spans-- all the shifting, deepening of the dark season, the post-holiday recoveries, the shiny new beginnings of a calendar year and of an academic semester-- all of that is a lot for 31 average winter days.

I don't know if it really did feel longer for me this year, or if I'm only saying that because it seems like an appropriate thing to sigh into this semi-bleak and impermanent world. 

one month ago, as the cold moon began to wane and the spinning earth began to tilt just barely back towards the sun, our little old dog ate his last breakfast and went on his last stumbling walk and took one final car ride, sitting on my lap. I only knew him for half his life. I wasn't sure if I'd get along with such a beast at first. but we did get along, so well. I loved that pug and I'm glad he was here to share so much of the too-short day-to-day of my life for a while.

Monday, November 6

gateway dungeons

quarterfinal match 1: 
Dungeons & Dragons
5e vs Pathfinder 2e

does the result of this one seem obvious?

it feels more and more obvious to me the more I think about it. honestly, as much as I keep saying to myself, 'okay let's revisit this properly-- fairly-- as evenhandedly as anyone possibly can...' it just seems to tip the scales further to one side.

after all, there’s a whole chorus of 7 years of games and beloved roleplaying characters on one side, with just a single, simple, half-finished duet on the other. what else are we to expect? 

I will say, however, that there is plenty I do like about Pathfinder. its flexibility and openness, plus the more-pleasing-to-me organization of the book’s sections all come together to give it a bit of an edge in this fight. if I'd met this version of Pathfinder sooner, before pandemic times, and had the chance to play even half a dozen more sessions of it, this match would be much less unfair overall. I can see myself liking the system a lot. 

unfortunately, all these alternate universes of what-if maybe possibilities are not the one I'm sitting in right now.

right now, in this universe, I miss the reliable, accessible fun of D&D. I'm intrigued by all the Baldur's Gate 3 chit chat flying around (including the chit chat from these colleagues of mine who have a podcast all about video games). I have epilogues of three or four past games percolating in the dusty creative sections of my brain. I'm seriously pondering the idea of wrangling friends and family in various batches to run or help run a short one-shot adventure during upcoming holiday breaks. 

so it just has to be D&D that wins. it's not so popular for no reason, even if its general popularity does seem like a fairly self-perpetuating engine at this point. if we need a particular RPG system to serve as a gateway into the hobby as a whole, this one serves fairly well. 

which of the other 6 quarterfinalists will D&D have to face next? we shall see.


SYSTEM Dungeons & Dragons(5e) Pathfinder (2e)
cover tagline = "Arm yourself for adventure."
"Advance your game."
publisher =
Wizards of the Coast
Paizo
pub. date =
2014 2019
original cost =
$49.95 $59.99
length =
11 chapters / 320 pages
11 chapters / 638 pages
my exp. level =
very much lots
some

 

any predictions? I have plenty, but the rules say I have to keep them to myself for now.

as an end note here, I speculate that Nyva the half-orc paladin and Damlyn the snow goblin bard would make a very interesting pair. and their systems of origin are similar enough that we could have them adventure together easily enough, couldn't we? perhaps I'll write a little vignette about them one of these days-- a short story evoking some Good Omens meets Daredevil meets The Witcher vibes, where the pure-hearted tough one and the more cynical artsy one are mostly able to follow a shared vision, but not without plenty of amusing conflict along the way. 

 

next match-up review: 7th Sea vs Star Wars: Force and Destiny

Friday, October 27

tournament of TTRPGs: opening round review

here we are, at a midpoint in this somewhat random tournament of roleplaying games. in this post, I'll summarize the opening round matches and finally, unequivocatingly, declare winners for each.

this all started almost six months ago with a tournament introduction. since then, I've played half a dozen new RPGs and tried to articulate my opinions about them all. it's been fun. 

Jeremiah asked me which of the new one-shots we played were most enjoyable, and at the time my answer was Cyberpunk RED. looking back now, I'd want that one to share a three-way tie with The One Ring and A Song of Ice and Fire. Cyberpunk was certainly the most fun in a wild hijinksy way. The One Ring was fun in a simply beautiful and heroic way, and A Song of Ice and Fire was fun in a  sweeping, majestic way.

the others were fun too, in their ways-- just a little bit less for me: Exalted in an almost frighteningly epic way, Werewolf, in a mystical have-we-bit-off-more-than-we-can-chew sort of way, and Scion, in a extremely bombastic and colorful way.

making final decisions about all these pairs has not always been so fun or easy. a few were really very hard to choose, but I had to. for the tournament. so without further ado, here are the winners--

match #1 "Dark vs. Grimdark"
(World of Darkness vs. Wrath & Glory)
I haven't changed my mind about this one-- World of Darkness still wins for its artsy storytelling approach and flexibility. but I will say, we've played a bit more Wrath & Glory since May, and it has grown on me a little.

match #2 "Power Fantasies"
(Dungeons & Dragons 5e vs. Werewolf: the Forsaken)
I thought this might be a close one, and while Werewolf was a great experience and I'd love to play more of it, the thrills of Dungeons & Dragons pulled ahead for me in the end. is it still unfair? yeah, it kinda is.

match #3 "So Much Potential"
(Pathfinder 2e vs. Mage: the Awakening)
given than neither of these systems left me with the greatest first impressions, it was hard to choose between them, but Pathfinder wins out for thus far having provided more enjoyable gameplay overall.

match #4 "Fatefully"
(Changeling: the Lost vs. Star Wars: Force and Destiny)
this one was absolutely the most difficult. the enchanting style of Changeling still holds plenty of sway over me, but ultimately I couldn't let it win just on vibes and potential; thus, Star Wars takes it.

match #5 "Two Flavors of Epic" (Scion vs. The One Ring)
at least we can't say this one is so very unfair-- as limiting as first impressions may be, The One Ring wins for simply being so thoroughly cozy and inspiring and marvelous.

match #6 "Masked and Unmasked"
(Vampire: the Masquerade 5e vs. Exalted 2e)
not many RPGs, in my view, could stand up against V5 and expect to do all that well. both it and Exalted are intense games with some complex elements, but I find Vampire more engaging.

match #7 "Once and Future Risks" (7th Sea 2e vs. Cyberpunk RED)
this one was so, so close as well-- I had the hardest time weiging the epic historical adventure against the flashy futuristic excitement, and 7th Sea does kind of win for mere stylistic preference, all else being way too even.

match #8 "Here there be Dragons"
(Shadowrun 5e vs. A Song of Ice and Fire)
A Song of Ice and Fire truly does deserve to win here for deftly evoking a really neat and engaging world and providing mechanics for a truly sweeping game; I promise I'm not only using this as a chance to snub Shadowrun.

and a few honorable mentions:
Changeling and Cyberpunk RED earn my top tier honorable mentions. I love them both quite a lot despite the less-than-perfect-fit I feel with their mechanics. one tier down, Exalted and Werewolf earn some brownie points for just feeling really cool to roleplay in. it is not their fault that they got matched up against the two games I've played the most and have the fondest memories of.

and so we continue on into a new round. here are the new match-ups--  

Dungeons & Dragons 5e vs Pathfinder

7th Sea vs Star Wars

The One Ring vs A Song of Ice and Fire 

I almost do want to play them all again for the quarterfinals. wouldn't that be fun?

for the sake of time, however, I'm afraid we'll have to imagine all the gameplay we can and work with the experience I've been able to glean so far from these 8 potential champions. only one pair of the lot includes systems that were brand new to me when I started this thing. those two being matched together seems fair enough. 

how will I approach this second round? I think I'll revisit each book directly and reconsider aesthetics, mechanics, and approachability in context of the new contrasts of each match. I'll likely draw on my prior reviews a bit as I do so, but I'll avoid as much repetition as I can possibly avoid.

Friday, September 8

once and future risks

opening match #7: 7th Sea 2e vs. Cyberpunk RED

this one is quite the contrast, isn't it? I almost can't get over how strikingly different these games are. we have one all about heroism and romantic adventures on the wide open seas, where explorers will risk their lives for honor and glory to stand bravely against the shadowy villains of a preindustrial, magical world. and then the other, a game of cybertech and surveillance and hacking and drugs and shady alleyway deals, set in perhaps the most hectic, grimy, yet also sparkly version of the future, where a bunch of tortured, damaged antiheroes emerge from however much generational trauma you want to imagine, just trying to make it through the night under the echoing buzz of a corp-ruined, crime-ridden, chaos-loving city. 

while I didn't have any prior experience with any Cyberpunk RPG before this, there is plenty of cyberpunk-ish content in the world that I have seen. a handful of Gibson novels, of course. various hacker shows and hacker characters. Mr. Robot, Altered Carbon, (still need to finish watching both of those series, someday.) and even The Matrix films in their way. on top of such general pop culture exposure, I've played a little Shadowrun (more about that in the final opening match, soon-ish), and I watched husband Jeremiah playing Cyberpunk 2077 once upon a time, but none of that counts as playing the RPG of Cyberpunk RED. this one was totally new. 

7th Sea, in contrast, is a game I've got some experience with. not a ton, but some. and while we're diving into relevantly themed pop culture, surely I have ingested even more swashbuckling-esque content than I have cyberpunk, since it is often more "mainstream," we might say. all those charming Johnny Depp movies about pirates. The Mask of Zorro. Casanova. Master and Commander. The Princess Bride, even. practically any good classic adventure movie could fit the bill, from Indiana Jones to The Mummy. I'd even count the tv show Firefly, at a stretch. (and could this reenactment gun show festival thing count too, somehow?)

for this penultimate opening round, I've yet again used a similar outline of sorts: quick table of metadata, summaries of prior characters and experience with each system, new characters, then thoughts on their aesthetics, mechanics, and approachability. as I write and revise this post, I'm still deciding which way my preliminary verdicts will lean.

SYSTEM     7th Sea
Cyberpunk RED           
tagline =          
"The roleplaying game of swashbuckling and intrigue."
"The roleplaying game of the dark future."
publisher =
John Wick Presents / Chaosium Inc.
R. Talsorian Games
pub. date =
2016
2020
original cost =
$59.99 $60.00
length =
9 chapters / 304 pages
14 major sections / 456 pages
my exp. level =              
some 
none prior


previous characters + pop culture and such

our online gaming group began a grand swashbuckling 7th Sea adventure somewhere in the murky months of 2020, in which I played the young totally-not-Scottish scholar Effie McIntyre. we sailed from totally-not-Great-Britain all the way to totally-not-the-Caribbean and started exploring some spooky ruins. our storyteller wasn't loving it though, so we switched back to D&D after a bit. 

Effie and her compatriots were fun while they lasted though-- we all sailed out from the troubled Highland Marches on the Righ Eileen, a merchant brigantine captained by Effie's uncle, crewed by a trio of cousins and other NPCs. Effie's brother (Baltair-- played by dear Jeremiah) served as first mate. I remember encounters at sea and along the coasts of the pirate-ruled Atabean Islands. there was vengeance afoot, and secret societies, precious ancient artifacts and supernatural skullduggery.

some years later, we got another 7th Sea game going, this time set more firmly on the continent of Théah and its various totally-not-European nation states. for this one, friend Chris and I created and roleplayed a pair of noble cousins from Castille (i.e. totally-not-Spain)-- Zetallia Fierro Greca de Tomas de Rioja y Carleon (yes I stole her first name from Catherine Zeta-Jones because of Zorro, so what?!) and Baltasar Cabello de Carlos-Miguel de Monte Ciervo (known to and loved by his close friends as Baz). the third in our trio was a mysterious Vodacce (i.e. totally not Italian) woman called Andolina di Amati, Lina for short, played marvelously by friend Alyssa. 

same friend Alyssa happened upon and recommended to us a neat little 7th Sea podcast about the time we were getting the game started, and I jumped into that wholeheartedly. it's not live-streamed/raw-footage play like the Critical Role folks do, but for me the editing and shorter episodes make it far more digestible and enjoyable. do check it out if you like pirates and fabulous voice acting. 

our adventures with Zeta and Baz and Lina only featured a few teaspoons of pirates, relatively speaking. but what a range of adventures we did have! lavish feasts with drinking and dancing in the old castles of the Glamour Isles, deadly intrigue in the dirty streets of Carleon, voyages alongside selkies, and desperate fighting against monsters, inquisitors, and worse. somewhere inbetween all the adventure, Zetallia was given a holy vision of Theus and chosen as a prophet. I wrote a little bit about her reactions to that, and her feelings about home and family and priorities, over here.


new characters

my new 7th Sea character for this tournament is a duelist from the heart of the totally-not-France country of Montaigne. I named her Irène Valois; she is a tall, toned, somewhat vain woman-- a skilled fighter with frizzy dark hair and deeply olive skin. having been raised with all the privilege her noble family could provide, she has trained hard to become a Musketeer, to protect and serve the capital city of Charouse. she also nurtures two competing dreams: to venture east and hunt monsters in the deadly Lock-Horn Woods, or-- perhaps the safer path?-- to join the highly selective Lightning Guard and keep even the mere shadows of any revolutionary assassins far away from l'Empereur's chambers. when she has a night off duty, she loves to spend much of it looking up at the stars.

for Cyberpunk, I made two new imaginary protagonists: Cortessa the lonely, moody Tech and Jaq the brash, vengeful Netrunner. any romance they come with is surely of a very different texture than the classic swords and sorcery of 7th Sea.

Cortessa also goes by Cortex or Tex in their closer circles. I imagine them like an incredibly androgynous mix of Benedict Cumberbatch and Tilda Swinton-- curly, silvery mohawked hair, pale skin with grease stains up to the elbows. as a Tech, Cortessa tinkers and breaks and fixes and builds stuff with bits and wires, hardware and software and cyberware, scraping by as a freelancer and hoping someday to move out of the dingy streets into an actually nice, actually safe apartment somewhere in a corp arcology. will such dreams ever come true? hard to say. even if they do, they might not be as dreamy as anyone hopes.

Jaq "the jungle queen" Aranda is the Netrunner character I decided to play in our very awesome one-shot two Fridays back. she's from the streets too, but not quite so whiny or desperate about it. she is tough. or at least she looks tough enough that it amounts to the same thing.

a photo of a half-colored sketch, in ballpoint ink, sharpie, and highlighter. she's got spiky blue/purple hair, pink sequined overalls, and a chunky gold leather belt
{ a sloppy sketch of Jaq }

Jaq's only ambition is to get by one day at a time and brutally punish anyone who gets in her way. for the last several months she's been tracking down the rotten Arasaka execs who must have been behind the kidnapping of her family and the death of her 4-year-old daughter. she's going to make the corp let the survivors go or she's going to burn it all down.

our one-shot was quite an enjoyable rollercoaster of violence, hacking, stealth, and playing dress-up. it was great. maybe we will write some spin-off short stories someday.

aesthetics

Cyberpunk RED evokes all the slick and glitchy neon you might expect. crazy punk hairstyles. strobe lights. mirror shades. implants and biotech of all shapes. plus a ton of cutting-edge slang, of course. the single best word to describe Cyberpunk is 'attitude.' and we must acknowledge that attitude can never just be a regular, innocuous noun. there is far too much connotation in it now-- it is a word bursting at its seams with tension, negativity, and conflict. that vibe infuses the whole setting of Cyberpunk, setting the stage for some pretty intense stories.

and 'intense' is another good word for Cyberpunk. it is loud. bold. unabashed. aggressively nonchalant. the book itself blends the look of graffiti and old-school monospace computer console typography. there is heavy use of all-caps and small-caps and drop-caps. the setting and the system also seems to be a bit of a catch-all-- this rebooted cyberworld is to Gibson and sci-fi as D&D's ever-expanding world is to Tolkien and fantasy. from its first pages the book takes up a very "choose your own adventure" kind of layout; all the thumbnailed cross-references in the intro chapter want to be hypertext. they want you to click on them and be whisked to the right page.

every little thing has a place here in this overcrowded futuristic hive. but it feels chaotic anyway. there's too much. it will burst into dark and senseless violence at any moment. I'm seeing Cyberpunk RED as a flashier, more disco, more in-your-face version of World of Darkness. of course, it's more high-tech and futuristic, too. there's not much hope, not much safety or goodness-- just survival.

7th Sea may dabble in chaos and darkness, but it's not the senseless kind. it's a dramatic, sweeping, perfectly orchestrated sort of chaos. like the perfect long-take chase scene across a crowded ballroom. there may be villains and darkness in these stories, but none of it stands a chance against our heroes. I was describing this game to a friend last week as "Zorro + Pirates of the Caribbean + a handful of stereotypical renaissance faires" and I think that conjures plenty of the right vibes: swords. ships. lots of nautical imagery strewn about. maps and compasses. coastlines and courtiers and caped crusaders. many fancy costumes, masques, intriguing magical trinkets, and maybe a few fairy wings if you're lucky.

rich shades of brown and sepia, with touches of copper here and there, all keep the relatively simple book design feeling cohesive and authoritative. chapter headings are in nice big loopy, swishy handwritten type. the art is glowing and neat-- almost-but-not-quite like a bunch of actual portraits from the actual 17th century. it's all more like snapshots than portraits: candid moments of drama and danger, a dash of the mystical here and sprinkles of the mythical there, all laid out to evoke vast possibilities for exploration and adventure.

photo of the chapter 3 art from 7th Sea: two figures dueling against a backdrop of a palace room on fire
{ photo of one of 7th Sea's chapter spreads }
 

mechanics

character creation for 7th Sea is fairly involved, but really fun at the same time. there are no templates or sample quick-builds or other shortcuts. instead, the book invites you to start with a concept: a national origin and a shred of personality, and then build from there using a full 20 questions about their backstory, psychology, and connections in the world. from this deeply creative foundation, only then do you move on to choosing Traits and Skills, Advantages, Quirks, a virtue and a hubris, etc. characters are pretty customizable despite the relatively simple set-up of 5 Traits and 16 Skills. the range of backgrounds and advantages to choose from feels just about right-- not so many that it's overwhelming, and not so few that it's boring.

part of the variety comes from the setting itself. there are 10 nations your character might call home-- from the island nations of Avalon and Inismore to Vestenmennavenjar in the far north and Vodacce off to the south-- each one roughly based on some actual part of 17th-century Europe, but far more mystical and far less racist and misogynist, thank goodness. each nation has a few exclusive backgrounds and a few favored advantages, too.

7th Sea uses all d10s, which is familiar enough to us at this point-- 8 of the 12 systems I've reviewed so far do. but in this system they do not work the way dice work in most other RPGs. rather than simply adding up numbers and comparing them against some kind of difficulty level, a player in 7th Sea will roll their handful of d10s (based on ranks in a given Trait + Skill + any bonus dice) and then tally up how many sets of at least 10 can be made from the results. each set of 10 is called a Raise, and that's the important number. bonus dice can come from all kinds of places-- using one of your advantages, spending your own Hero Points, enacting a virtue or a hubris or a quirk, or in receiving help from other characters.

depending on where your story is at, you'll roll dice for either a free-flowing Dramatic Scene or for a more structured Action Scene. each character in the scene will have so many Raises to use to effect change. narrative control for Dramatic Scenes is shared however it makes sense. for Action Scenes, it starts with whoever has the most Raises, then in descending order. how you spend those Raises depends on how your character views the scene, its risks and consequences, opportunities, etc.your traits and skills will guide your approach to any given situation, but the system rewards narrative prowess more than it rewards having a lot of dice to roll (though of course more dice = more Raises = more potential for showing off your narrative prowess). the idea is to spur creative, narrative storytelling and build a dynamic, collaborative epic of your own. maybe it's also less math? or maybe it's just different math. 

over multiple sessions, character advancement happens in lockstep with the narrative-- each character is writing their own story, outlined in smaller "story steps." accomplishing all the steps in your story will let you level-up a Trait or a Skill related to it. Zeta's first story involved finding a mentor to teach her a bit of dueling. once she did, her Skill in Weaponry went up from 1 to 2. 

mechanically, that's pretty much all there is to playing 7th Sea: roll, count up your Raises, and tell a cool story. all the rest is true roleplaying.

-

Cyberpunk RED is also all about the d10, though some d6s show up here and there. we have three options for building a character in this system: one fully custom/from-scratch process and two shortcuts or character templates, which are quite nice as scaffolding, because holy cow there are a lot of aspects to consider. to start, you choose your character's Role, and most things follow from that first decision. there are 10 Roles altogether, from Rockerboy to Nomad (and who on earth knows why they are in the order they are in-- Rockerboy, Solo, Netrunner, Tech, Medtech, Media, Exec, Lawman, Fixer, Nomad-- it's not alphabetical and I can't quite suss out any other organizing principle. is it pure random chaos? who knows). there are nifty flowcharts and tables to help you build your character concept from basically nothing but vibes: pick a Role > Run your Lifepath > Buy your Stats > and so on. it's a pretty fun process too, but does drag on a bit. some of it reminded me of the Wrath & Glory system, where you can choose and archetype and build from there. 

thankfully all the flowcharts and template options make it a little easier to make decisions about all the rest. on top of the 10 different Roles, there are 10 key Stats and like an impossible number of Skills. 30? 40? I don't even want to go count them all again, it's so many!

gameplay proper is a bit more straightforward overall, though there can be plenty going on if you've picked up lots of gear, fancy cyberware, or lots of hacking abilities. each specific Role comes with a key Role Ability. for my Netrunner, Jaq, it was the Interface ability. she starts at rank 4, which unlocks a certain number of sneaky, hacker-y "Net actions" (in contrast to "Meat actions," which are normal actions anyone can take in meatspace). Jaq has a cyberdeck with 7 programs installed-- some offensive and some defensive. in our too-short 3-hour one-shot, she used them to divert power from her sketchy landlord's defense systems, infiltrate a hospital's records and surveillance cameras, and switch a stolen helicopter into autopilot for a while. super cool. 

hacking aside, the basic mechanics of gameplay involve taking your base rating for each skill (the relevant stat plus your skill level) and then adding the result of a d10 roll. rolling a 10 is a critical success, meaning you can re-roll that d10 and add that result to your total. if you roll a 1, that's a critical failure. same deal, but in reverse-- you'll re-roll the d10 and subtract it from the total result. depending on your character build, and how lucky they are, you'll also get a pool of Luck points that you can spend to add, 1 per point, to your result.

specific stats for weapons and armor and other equipment may add bonuses or change the damage for some actions-- those are the trickier things to keep track of along the way (though no tricker than weapons or spell slots and such in D&D, really).

  

approachability

I mentioned the "choose your own adventure" layout of Cyberpunk earlier. in some ways, that makes navigating the many many sections and options in the book a fairly flexible process, provided you're paying attention to those cross references and the other wayfinding signals in the margins. I didn't always see or properly parse those things until I'd already flipped through three other sections looking for the information I needed. the order of things is a little confusing at times, so I'm glad the writers put some good thought into breaking it down and signalling where to turn. the book does work hard to make itself accessible in plenty of different ways for players with different levels of familiarity. does it always succeed? I think that depends on how each reader's brain works.

{ photo of the margin thumbnail cross-references in the Cyberpunk RED book}

with so many options for character builds, this can feel like a complex system. but much of the complexity is front-loaded, so once you get yourself set up the game itself can be pretty straightforward. basic dice, basic math, lots of fun. my view of this may be a tad skewed, given that our one-shot barely gave us a chance to get used to how our weapons and damage and health points all worked, but so it goes. 

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7th Sea has its own intricacies, but you can take your time uncovering them as you play. the 20 questions character creation is the most in-depth part of the set-up. with the core book, you've got everything you need in a relatively simple, readable layout. it's a fairly different system, but I'd hardly call it intimidating. it invites a fairly hardcore style of roleplaying and collaborative storytelling, which may not be for everyone. but still, everyone is invited.

if in comparison to other RPGs, 7th Sea seems more difficult or unwieldy as a system, I'm gonna put that down to a general oversaturation in gaming culture of d20 systems like D&D. the abundance of information out there on those systems doesn't inherently make d20 systems easier or more accessible-- it just facilitates an invitational feedback loop of "hey most people are playing these kinds of games, so maybe I'll join the party," on repeat. based on that, D&D may seem easier for most people, and it may in fact be experienced as easier, but mostly for structural reasons rather than game-design reasons (here I'm gonna attempt to cite this scholar on twitter who has made similar arguments somewhere in her feed but I cannot find the exact specific posts).

I suppose it may or may not be useful to talk about structural access vs. inherent access in my review here. but I wanted to mention it. this game is beautiful and it is well-loved and it can be awesome for players who really gel with the roleplaying style. the game seems especially designed for folks who love the voices and the improv and the in-the-moment seeing what a character will do, taking time for describing actions and faces and lines of conversation, reveling in those dramatic moments. it is different from the more broad-strokes, action-for-action's-sake sorts of RPGs in the world, and that means it might require some significant mindset adjustments for players who aren't used to it or who are expecting more quantitative dice-rolling momentum.
 

preliminary verdicts

it's almost hard to imagine more heightened contrast between any two games. no other match thus far has captured such extremely and intensely different worlds and different vibes. 

my 7th Sea experiences have been complicated a bit by interpersonal ups and downs, while my Cyberpunk adventures seem minuscule and rushed in comparison. how to choose? 

there is a sense in which the roleplaying style of 7th Sea is almost-but-not-quite as intimidating and discomfiting to me as the huge, superpowered contexts of Scion and Exalted. its invitation to creative flair within a simple matrix of approaches and dice hasn't totally gripped me as a roleplayer. and yet its setting is intensely alluring. 7th Sea is all the thrilling legends from all my favorite old stories. I think my heart wants this one to win out, even against the attention-grabbing silver chrome neon styles of Cyberpunk, just for the romance of it.

next match-up review: Shadowrun 5e vs A Song of Ice and Fire