Grace and Learning (and The Devil’s Reach)

I really like learning the craft of graphic design. I set out to teach myself a few years ago, largely so that I could develop more autonomy in game publishing. I’ve had spots of mentorship here and there (thanks, Brad Murray, for sending me that book and walking me through my early crises), but I’ve also spent lots of time clumping through the wilderness.

I’ve come to a conclusion about learning. It’s a messy, sloppy process. Furthermore, it’s supposed to be a messy, sloppy process. And learning graphic design is a weird nut in particular, because you’re designing messy, sloppy products. That’s tricky, because people judge products on their degree of coordination and polish. Good products aren’t messy and sloppy, right? This is especially important when your goal is to create products that you intend to sell.

I suppose one solution is to start by designing things that never see the light of day, unlovable children that you keep hidden in the basement of your hard drive. I am not excited about that solution. I want a solution where knowledge and learning are badges of honour, things you can show people while giddily exclaiming, “Look what I can do!” Another solution is to accept your limits and release messy, sloppy products until your craft improves. But that doesn’t sound like an ideal solution either – the world is regrettably full of messy, sloppy products.

An ideal solution would let you proudly demonstrate your learning at every stage, while creating graceful and polished products throughout.

That’s why I’m so excited to be working with Josh Mannon on Within the Devil’s Reach, and the first installment of the Gears of the Worm God adventure series. See, it goes like this: Josh wants to release a series of slick, high-quality adventure books for Dungeon World. The first one is on Kickstarter right now (with 48 hours to go), and he’s angling for a mid-August release on the resulting book. He wants to develop his graphic design skills and practice them along the way, but also recognizes that taking on the layout for the entire Gears of the Worm God series might be overwhelming and not leave him enough of a timeline to develop his craft with confidence.

So, Within the Devil’s Reach will bear the credit line “Layout by Joe Mcdaldno.” I’ll be developing the visual stamp of the Worm God series, and doing all the layout for book number one. I’ll be documenting my process for Josh, creating a sort of play-by-play report of what I did and why I did it. With the second book, I’ll be mentoring Josh on parts of the layout process and asking him to take on some responsibilities. By book three, that credit line will read “Layout by Josh Mannon and Joe Mcdaldno.” By book five, it’s our goal to have the credit line read “Layout by Josh Mannon, with initial consulting by Joe Mcdaldno” or even a simple “Layout by Josh Mannon.”

With each subsequent book, Josh will have new things to point to and say, “See? I did that.” He’ll be able to proudly demonstrate his learning. And it’ll exist within a graceful and polished product. My goal will be to render myself unnecessary, while ensuring that the Gears of the Worm God series looks as awesome as possible at every step of the way.

Rejuvenation

compass

Winter was a difficult time for me, this year. I was unemployed and in a pretty isolated living situation (in a cabin, up a mountain, surrounded by heavy snowfall, without a driver’s license). My game design energies oscillated from frenetic to exasperated, but just couldn’t find a balanced resting place.

Spring brought with it a lot of hope and opportunity. But unexamined hope and opportunity bring with them their own mania, if you’re not careful. I was dreaming big, but still hitting that blank page syndrome that I’d experienced in winter. The gap between my vision and my practice was widening.

So I made a pact with myself, one that turned out to be a really good one. If I sat down to my computer, or to the table with a notebook in hand… if I wasn’t actually writing and creating within five minutes, I’d get up and do something physical instead.  I cleaned my room. I went through everything I owned and got rid of a bunch of stuff; Salvation Army received an entire car-load of donations from me. I started a garden. I expanded the garden. I expanded the garden again. That garden’s now growing squash, pumpkins, zucchini, two types of beets, radishes, carrots, two types of cucumbers, lettuce, chard, tomatoes, scotch bonnet peppers, and about 10 herbs.

It was feeling really good to work with my hands, to see tangible results, and to know that I was doing something real and good. I decided that if the inspiration didn’t strike me, I’d just not return to any of my writing and design projects. Indefinitely.

And then something really cool happened. A burning need to continue working on The Quiet Year (my newest project) surfaced. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was important. It was vital.

Other projects have been resurfacing as vital, too. Recently, I published a setting hack for Perfect Unrevised, allowing you to play games set in New Phyrexia (a setting from Magic). It was a fun little afternoon project. It wasn’t something I’d even thought about before that day. But when it arrived in my mind, it felt necessary. It felt vital.

I’ve got a couple observations I’m taking forward, from all this. The first is that it’s easy to burn out without realizing it. This is especially true when all of your projects are similar – all creative design endeavors, or all physical labor endeavors, or all experimental music endeavors. Pulling back from your insular bubble helps you see what’s important and what’s not. Contrast is rejuvenating.

On the topic of rejuvenation, I’ve got two Buried Without Ceremony announcements, of a sort. The first is that I’ve begun talking publicly about The Quiet Year, a game of post-collapse community building. There’s a page for it on this site, and it’s worth checking out.

The second announcement, much more visually obvious at this point, is that I’ve redesigned the look of the site, including making up a new logo. The old one presented some difficulties as a brand logo (difficult to place on a variety of backgrounds, too textured), and I feel like I’ve outgrown the dandelion. So, a rejuvenated look. What do ya think?

Departure

I’m just taking a break right now from packing. Packing for a 2+ month trip down the Pacific NW. I’m also packing up the rest of my stuff and putting it into long-term storage.

It’s an interesting feeling. I feel there are two dynamics that compete for attention in my life. The first is being excited about potential, and wanting to really jump on it. The second is being excited about establishing deep and purposeful roots, of reaping the rewards of invested energy. Whenever I think about traveling, especially the type of free-as-the-open-road traveling I’m about to depart on now, those two dynamics go to war.

Often, the purposeful roots dynamic wins. But, without that “excited new potential” underdog getting the upper hand now and then, those roots have nothing to grow for.

So, here’s to new enterprises. And to figuring out what you want to bring back home with you.

Oh, also! Speaking of new enterprises, Perfect is done. Expect the PDF to go on sale the moment I figure out how to host/distribute it. Finishing a big project right as you cast off on a big journey is a really good feeling.

And the winner…

The winner of the Perfect colouring contest is Craig Wayling. While all 4 entries were awesome, Craig’s had this air of mystery and danger to it. For a game about crime, that rung true in a big way! His coloured art:

All four pieces can be clicked to from here. They’re all awesome.

Craig, I’m going to hook you up with a free PDF the moment it’s released. Which is going to be this week – the PDF is done, and I’m just figuring out some hosting/distribution decisions.

Thanks for picking up your pencil crayons/tablets, people!

New Project

Because I am proud of it, I want to show you all my new stationary set. I made it!

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I chose out that paper colour and envelope colour myself. I cut the letter pages down to size. I chose out, cut out and glued on those little nautical adornments. I hand-cut those envelopes and sealed their edges myself. I went out and bought a brown pen that writes really nicely and echoes the brown of the envelopes.

It feels really good to mail letters. There’s something triumphantly social about dropping an envelope in a mailbox, of besting the hundreds of miles separating you and your correspondent, that email just doesn’t seem to have.

The act of writing by hand is a very clarifying experience, as well – one that I feel like we might be losing, as a culture.

And so, this stationary set! It feels triumphant and real to me.

Not Knowing, and Not Needing To

Today I was walking with Kaleigh and the family dog, through a trail in the woods. It used to be a railroad track, long ago, but it’s been converted to a lovely walking trail.

So, we’re walking through the forest, almost back at home already. And the dog, Moxie, she disappears for a minute. And comes back with some big, ugly looking bone. There’s meat clinging to it, and it’s disgusting. We’re like two minutes away from home too, and Moxie doesn’t seem to want to let it go. She’s got this big, hulking animal bone with rotting meat stuck to it.

And we’re throwing sticks for her, hoping she’ll abandon the bone and chase them. Of course, she doesn’t. We tell her to drop it, and of course, she doesn’t. We’re worried she’s going to try to bring it back to the house, and we don’t want to try to pry it out of her mouth or anything.

So, it’s not a crisis by any means, but there’s this looming feeling of dread for those last few minutes as she trumps towards the house with a hefty bit of carcass in her mouth. And then, just at the last minute, before we break free of the forest into the quiet cul-de-sac where we live, she trots off the path and begins burying it. It takes her a good couple minutes to dig and bury it, but she comes trotting back with a big stupid dog grin on her face.

I don’t think Moxie planned that burial all along, because I’m positive that she’s one of the dumbest dogs ever. I think it just occurred to her at the last minute, that she should save it – that she had better food at home, but maybe, some day, this bone would be useful out in these woods.

It reminded me of a certain feeling. When I’m writing a poem, or designing a game, or working on any of a thousand ill-thought-out projects, there’s this feeling of joyful vigor. If asked to explain why I was pouring so much energy into such a project, I’d be hard pressed to come up with a good explanation; most of my projects are flights of fancy, or things that only reveal their importance much later.

Later, I’ll likely abandon the project, but that doesn’t feel like a bad thing. It feels like I’m burying another bone at the edge of the forest, that it’s not gone, that it’s set aside for when I want it again. And if that’s never, that’s fine. Moxie doesn’t really think she’s going to need that bone some day. I don’t really think I’m going to need that half-finished project some day. It’s just… nice. It’s nice to feel invigorated by work, and not feel the need to justify that vigor. It’s nice to have the luxury to bury your work, without ceremony, and only ever return if you feel energized to do so. It’s nice to feel accountable only to your own spirit.

And those bones that litter the edge of your forest, they’re not waste. Because it doesn’t take completeness to feel accomplishment. For Moxie, the very act of carrying that bone around was an accomplishment. Burying it was an accomplishment. Moving on was an easy and joyful task.

It’s nice to not know. It’s nice to feel okay about not knowing. The bones will still be where you buried them, should you ever need them.

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