Lose Until You Get Better: Life Lessons From Gaming
“Because I know this game far better than you do,” Nick told me, “I’m probably going to beat you at it all night. Don’t expect to win.”
Why the hell was he telling me this? Weren’t we both gamers? Yes, this was a new game I didn’t know. Yes, I would lose repeatedly until I figured out what the hell I was doing. Yes, knowing I was probably doomed regardless, I would still play with all my meager skill until I gleaned enough strategy to eke out a win or two. That’s the way it works.
Then I realized: normal people need to hear that shit. For most folks, “losing” is such a negative experience that they get angry and stop playing, or stop thinking about strategy because hey, it’s just a game.
I’m too immersed in Magic: the Gathering culture to feel bad about losing.
It still weirds me out to realize there’s a “pro” circuit for Magic, where people do nothing but play full-time in an attempt to snag this week’s $10,000 prize. It’s a pretty rough life, as Magic’s a very luck-based game – unlike Chess, where the pieces are always in the same position at the beginning of the game and no moves are randomly determined, you can be the best player in the world and still get mana-screwed.
So Magic players expect to lose. A lot. When they’re creating a new deck, they play-test it against the best decks around… And most of the decks they make aren’t very good. So they lose. Then, when they find a deck that seems promising, they swap in new cards to see if that improves their odds – and then they lose too, but this time they lose less because they know how to play this deck, and they have a handle on the weak points in their opponent’s deck. Then they keep refining the deck until they know it’s a winner.
The real pros do not like losing, but they recognize that even the best players will still lose three out of ten games. To quote Tomi Walamies, a former pro:
“The games you lose are a way better learning experience than the ones you win. Positive results in life in general tend to make you blind to improvement. Not only does the winner of a match think they played it great, but they tend to dismiss the loser’s strategy. Needless to say, this kind of shortsightedness is deadly.”
So everyone in professional Magic comes from the same background: when they started playing, they lost. A lot. Rather than getting upset by this, they asked, “Hey, what mistakes did I make that contributed to my loss?” And they analyzed their game, losing until they got better.
Which, I think, is a useful approach to life. I see my daughter, and she hates new things because she’s so frustrated at being bad. She’s embarrassed and flustered because other people are doing things better than she is, and she feels foolish for not knowing this stuff already, and often she quits because the emotional overload of feeling lost is too much for her.
I counsel her with the gaming strategy: When you start out at anything, you’ll be terrible at it. That’s no reflection on you – it’s just that when you try something new, you’re the worst you will ever be at it. And what you need to do is accept that you’re going to lose a lot before you get better – and that you’ll get better a lot quicker if instead of getting angry at each mistake, you instead analyze it to figure out what you could have done better.
I’m not a great writer. Yet. I mean, Neil Gaiman wrote Sandman at the age of 26. I’m 43, and still struggling to get my first novel published. And if I was easily frustrated by losing, I’d probably get discouraged by all the wonderful writers who were more talented than I was, and how hard I have to work just to get one story published when others can pen award-winning novels on first drafts, and then I’d give up.
Instead, I go downstairs, and I write some more. This draft will probably not be very good. That’s fine. I’m not playing to win, I’m playing to get better, and if I lose then I’ll learn from it.
Everything I do is either a win or a learning experience. It’s a nice thought that keeps me going.
Watching Batman, With Special Guest Star Neil Gaiman
I had a Batman movie to watch, and Neil Gaiman was coming.
Our Clarion class had yet to meet Neil, but we’d been warned about his arrival. “Don’t take photos of him near your dorm,” we had been warned, “And if you do, don’t post them on the Internet. If you do, his fans will figure out which dorm he’s staying in and harangue him in his sleep.” Which was my first indication that Neil’s popularity put him more in the category of “rock star” than “popular author.”
We weren’t sure what that meant. At Clarion, the six-week boot camp for sci-fi writers, we had a new author every week. Each teacher brought their own culture with them, as each person had their own teaching methods and ways of hanging out. Kelly Link had been warm and motherly, Jim Kelly had brought raucous watergun fights and stand-on-the-couch energy, Mary Anne Moharanj had brought a scholarly air with her list of assignments and duties.
What would Neil Gaiman bring? We had been told that Week Four was often the boiling point for Clarion, as it’s when everyone was stressed out from a solid month of brain-wringing writing lessons, and psychodrama often occurred. Would Neil be able to steer us through that? He’d never taught before, let alone taught a group of eighteen very different personalities.
So I was a little concerned. Would he step out of a Cadillac, a groupie on each arm, wearing sunglasses and only allowing us to talk to him through intermediaries? It seemed unlikely, but then again it seemed unlikely that someone would track him down by triangulating the background in a picture of him posted on Facebook.
That wasn’t my priority, though. The Dark Knight was. Yes, we were at Clarion, which was the most work-intensive thing I’ve ever done (twelve-hour days of writing and critiquing were common), but goddammit I was mad to see Heath Ledger’s performance. I was a full-on Christopher Nolan fanboy, had been ever since Memento – and even though hacking three hours out of the tangled Clarion schedule was like chopping kudzu, I was hell-bent to see it with friends.
So I asked, “Who wants to go with me?” I expected Dana, maybe Keffy, and a few others – our class had comic nerds, but wasn’t composed of them. I asked on Tuesday, because I knew the logistics of getting eighteen students to a movie theater would be hell (most of us had no cars), and at first there were a few enthusiastic “yea!”s followed by “maybes.” But then people started getting sticky in that sense of “Oh, Kat’s going? Well, maybe I’ll go too,” and by Thursday, it looked like all eighteen of us were probably going to head on down.
Which would be hell. As an inveterate Box Office nerd, I knew this would be a blockbuster movie, and we had to get the tickets in advance. People were all like, “Oh, we’ll just get the tickets when we get there,” and I grabbed them by the lapels, my eyes crazed and bloodshot, yelling, “NO YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS IS A TSUNAMI OF TICKET SALES, IT WILL BE SOLD OUT, SOLD OUT, SOLD OUT.”
They thought I was crazy. I probably was, a little. Because orchestrating tickets for the same show for eighteen people, figuring out what show and then buying them online and then managing payments and then “Oh, Monica wants to go too” kept me busy at Fandango.com for way longer than I would have liked. But they humored me, even if I’m pretty sure several of them thought, “What a nutter.”
Then someone asked, “Should we invite Neil?”
Oh Lord.
I suppose I should have been thrilled that I would see Batman with Neil Gaiman, but at the time I was like, “GAH ONE MORE TICKET.” And Neil would be arriving, as it turned out, perilously close to the theater time. And he did, in fact, want to go!
More logistics!
On the day of the movie, I insisted that we all go an hour early. Many didn’t, mainly because frankly, going and waiting for an hour at a movie theater seemed like a rather boring thing to do. But I corralled three of my Clarion friends, who I think went mainly just to shut me up, and we arrived at the box office to stake out our spots.
The theater was already sold out. The next showing, three hours later, was already sold out too. And the theater was swarming with people.
As it turns out, The Dark Knight was an even bigger box office smash than I’d envisioned, being the fastest movie in history to cross the $200 million mark, racking up six other box office records along the way. And it was crazed there.
I went into damage mode, knowing that I was the only one who held all the tickets, so I had to stand outside to hand them to the other students as they arrived. “Quick!” I said. “Get inside the moment the theater’s ready, and mark off our rows of seats! Get nineteen of them!” My friends sprung into action, three of them running into the theater and scurrying about like ants – I’m told it was quite the challenge, with three people fending off a theater full of eager moviegoers trying to steal their overly-large block of seats. I kind of envision it like a weird videogame, actually.
Meanwhile, I was calling people like crazy, telling them to get down here now, we need people to hold the line. Eventually, more folks showed up, and with seven Clarion students in the theater, I’m told it got easier to mark off our block. But a few folks were running late, which was a problem because with so few cars one person behind schedule caused pileups for everyone, and I had become this sort of insane sargent in a World War I movie where I was blazingly, fanatically, determined to get everyone into the theater. I think at one point I may have stood on a ficus plant and shouted, “NO MAN LEFT BEHIND, GODDAMMIT!”
Small children quailed from the funny, yelling fat man.
Eventually, the only person left to arrive was Neil, and the group picking him up at the airport. I had to stand out front and dispense the remaining tickets – well, okay, I didn’t, as my Clarion friends were kind enough to offer to swap places with me and let me go and have a rest. But as I said, I was crazed. This job would not be complete until I gave away the final ticket! But Neil was running slightly late, and would he arrive in time? The previews were starting! I scanned the crowd, looking for my buddies.
And there was Neil! He’s much taller than you’d think he is. His mop-headed black hair stood out gloriously in the crowd. And I believe the first words I ever spoke to Neil Gaiman were, “Here’s your tickets, GET INSIDE GET INSIDE NOW!” as I thrust the last of my payload into my friends’ hands and broke into a run towards the theater.
I did not sit next to Neil, which was fine. I sat next to Dana, who squeezed my hand during the intense bits and we shared soda. And when we got out of the movie, I did track down Neil – who I didn’t think had ever written Batman, but as a comics writer I was curious to get his feedback nonetheless – and asked him what he thought. And he pursed his lips thoughtfully and said, “I think I saw a brilliant performance, housed in an ordinary action film… But I’m going to have to think on that.”
Fortunately, Neil was a very nice man, and a very good teacher, and while the fourth week had its share of challenges as eighteen writers were pushed to the breaking point – to this day, it’s a mark of pride that Neil Gaiman called my story “boring” – he navigated it through with grace and charm. Having seen Neil at a handful of conventions since then, I’ve come to realize how remarkable it is to spend a week in his presence – at cons, he’s beset by so many people that you’re lucky to eke out ten minutes even if he wants to see you. We had some long, nice conversations, which I treasure.
But really, my main memory of Neil is me, waiting in a busy theater lobby, hoping he’ll arrive soon with my friends.
And so as the new Batman movie opens, I find myself wishing I was with my Clarion buddies all over again. Neil was there for a week, and wonderful, but in truth I spent six of the craziest weeks of my life with Dana, Keffy, Monica, Steffi, Kat, Gra, Paul, E.J., Emily, Megan, Durand, Dan, Mary, Lauren, Damien, Sarah, and Crystal. And I would stand for ten hours in a theater lobby if it meant I could be back with you guys again.
Picking the Right Fights
I think happiness is thin on the ground, so I usually try not to crap on people’s joy. If you like to get naked and roll around in dead toads, I retain my right to be thoroughly squicked, but I’ll usually keep that to myself. Is your dating relationship a vial of nitroglycerin, poised on top of a teetering stack of rocks located deep in earthquake territory? I won’t say anything to disturb the contentness you feel now unless specifically asked, even if I’m pretty sure the resultant explosions will be spectacular and speedy.
And so I think about a falling-out I had with a friend I had over the disgust he had with seeing a certain kind of people at kink events, wherein I kept calling him out for discussing how those people made him feel uncomfortable.
What I said to him, repeatedly, was that speaking about those people in a judgmental way was a bad thing, particularly in a place where many of those same people – who attend many of the same kink events that you do – might feel ashamed of themselves. When they see you, they’ll remember your writings on your revulsion, and feel bad. So while exploring your virulently negative reaction may be something that’s necessary to getting past your personal dislike, which I support, airing this particular dirty laundry in public will make them feel awkward and ugly. Which I still believe.
Yet there I am, picking on the one-penis polyamory, raging against a style of people in a rather popular rant. When those folk see me, they’ll know that I am down on the whole “You can date women, sweetie, but never men,” and they will feel ashamed.
And the difference?
I’m perfectly okay with having those people feel bad.
I think my friend didn’t mean to cause potential offense; he was just trying to explore a set of reactions he was having, and determine whether those gut reactions were fair. Yet in writing about his revulsion, he was inadvertently targeting people for things he admitted might as well have been his problems. The damage was done regardless.
Which is why, before I write a rant, I think: do I mind if these people feel icky when I’m done? Is this just me? Are these people all that bad?
And if after considering all these topics, I believe that these folks are the enemy of the kind of world I want to see happen, then I will fire.
With an audience my size, I try to choose carefully; as the years go by and I’ve gotten some experience in managing a mid-sized audience, I’ve learned more about what hurts people, and have modulated my approach quite a bit to minimize accidental harm. I’ve made a lot of mistakes that I regret in picking on the wrong people, mistakes which sting me to this day. So when I fire my tirade-cannon, I try to be certain that it’s never “Oh, it’s not you, it’s me” – no, buddy, I think it’s you.
Now, my essay could have been written better, as several people responded with, “…We’re starting off with one-penis policy as we dip into poly, but my husband acknowledges it’s unfair and is working on it.” And that, to me, is a very different kettle of fish. Yes, it’s an unfair jealousy, but there’s a distinct difference between “You don’t date men because I’m your boyfriend,” and “You don’t date men, because I’m insecure about that, and I’m trying to better myself on that front.” So my torrent hit some folks who are using the one-penis rule as a way to move into alternative fidelities… and that I do feel bad about. I was aiming at a very specific kind of relationship, and was a couple of degrees off on my aim.
(And there’s an interesting comment left by Katranna, who muses over some of the distinctions between men and women and wonders whether men are clingier. Also good food for thought.)
All of that feedback will be taken into account before I rant again. I don’t do it often, or lightly. I care about the opinions of strangers – since as I said, happiness is hard to find and I think people owe it to the world to think carefully before minimizing the joy of others.
But that doesn’t mean that I never take aim.
And if I call someone out, then some people will dislike me for being judgmental, or too angry, or misguided. And I will spread open my arms and drink in their hatred. Because by the time I’ve decided to complain, I’ve already decided they’re not the sort of people I’m going to respect heavily in the first place, and at this stage in my life I’ve thought it through enough that I can accept a negative backlash. Even the bits of negative backlash that are uncomfortably true. I’ll sort through those negative reactions to see what I might have gotten wrong.
And I acknowledge that I might be wrong. I don’t know it all. I’ll make mistakes, and if I do, then I’ll do what I can to clean them up.
That’s how I sleep well at night. I’m comfortable with it.
It's In My Head Now, So It's In Yours Too
After the season premiere of “Breaking Bad” last night, all I can think of this – sung to the tune of Cat Stevens’ “Morning Has Broken“:
Badness has broken, like the first meth lab
Walter has spoken, what a huge turd
Crazy-ass killers, crazy-ass dealers
Sane but sad Gale now, so long you big nerd
Watch Walter’s space crawl, searching for money
Watch Jesse’s bling sprawl, stoned off his ass
Praise for the sweetness of Vince’s writing
Praise for the blueness of Walter’s smooth glass
(Seriously, if you want analysis, Perich has a nice write-up of the Premiere over here. Me? A little underwhelmed, but last season ended so explosively that I don’t mind starting slowly. And Walter’s “Because I say so” was brilliant.)
All Women And Never Men: A Rant On A Polyamory I Dislike
“Baby, we’re poly; you can date all the women you want. But no guys.”
That’s the kind of polyamory that drives me crazy.
Look, if your guy is such a brobdignagian studmuffin that after shuddering in the shadow of His tremendous cock you need no others, then great! As the woman, you’ve made the choice not to seek other menstuffs. I support that. What I do not support is the polyamory model where the guy, majestically, allows his woman to date all the chicks she wants, but never men.
And it’s fucking everywhere. As a blogger with a reasonably sizable audience, I usually enstate a cooldown time between “a friend of mine does something that vexes me” and “the day I blog about it,” just so they don’t feel like I’m picking on them. But it never stops. Every other fucking week, I have a good pal who meets a guy who’s wonderfully encouraging, because he wants her to have all the loving relationships she can handle – as long as they have boobs! And no penis. That penis is scary, y’all.
It’s so everywhere, and I just fucking hate it.
Now, not every poly relationship is the same, and I’m sure that YOUR poon-but-no-peen relationship is based on factual evidence that men are the crushers of dreams. But what I usually see, when I look at these restrictive gardens, is a monstrous selfishness: Oh, you can have all of the sex you want, so long as it turns me on. I think lesbian sex is the spice, and maybe if I’m lucky I’ll end up as the filling in your slut sandwich, so go on and have your fun. Besides, we all know that women’s relationships aren’t nearly as deep or threatening as guy relationships, so it’s fun to indulge you – it’s like watching two kittens play! You girls are so cute.
The reason I hate it is because that’s a form of polyamory, but more often than not it’s one that’s selfish, misogynistic, and dysfunctional. It’s often a way of saying, “Everything in this relationship needs to serve my needs.” Because I’ve talked to a lot of those women while their man is out on a date with a new girlfriend, and it’s not like they don’t get the usual poly-quivers of jealousy and terror (as these dude-types are invariably a) arrow-straight and b) always willing to find just one more woman to fuck, as long as she’s cute). The women sit at home, not at all turned on by this new potential threat to their relationship, trying bravely to be fair because, “Well, this is an open relationship, this balancing of affections is just part of how it works.”
Except it doesn’t. Does he ever sit at home, worried about her on a date with a guy? No. It’s a one-way street because when she’s flirting with a hottie male at the club he gets all OMG HIS COCK WILL SUPPLANT MINE, and that shit is just too terrible for any man to deal with – so no, just fool around with harmless little women. (If you’ve read some of my previous rants on how dumb guys approach penises, you’ll know what I think of the whole ubercock routine.)
Look, my wife dates other men. Is it always easy on my ego? No. But even the best polyamory involves a few inadvertent shots to the self-esteem. There are people who will tell you that good polyamory involves never being jealous or insecure, and I’ll say fuck those inhuman robots right in their crankcase. Poly has a lot of benefits when it works – but even the best of relationships will occasionally have these monkeybrain down times of, “If she’s having a really good time with someone else, can she really love me?”
Yes. Yes, she can. But walling off a whole fucking sex just so you don’t have to have your dark night of the soul is selfish. Just go fucking monogamous, dude – there’s nothing wrong with that. But no, you want your hot threesomes, and you want to sex up as many chicks as you can, and she’s conveniently bisexual so you can just let her have her explorations as long as it’s not threatening to you.
I shall repeat: If you’re the woman, and you really don’t want any men, then I say that’s great. (As witness this excellent essay a friend of mine wrote on her trouble with “The ‘H’ Word” over on FetLife, which should be required reading.) But if the reason you don’t want any men is because he’d melt down in jealousy, then that’s a marker of potential problem – and one where, in my experience, the woman will jump through hoops to avoid bruising his ego, but when he eventually finds someone who threatens her, suddenly he’s all “Baby, you’ve got to learn to be more open-minded!”
Generally, that means, “You have to be more open-minded about doing only things that make me happy.” And “All the sacrifices in this poly are going to be yours.” And “Women can’t really get attached to other women in a meaningful way.” And I hate that. Hate all of it. Hate it, hate it, hate it.
If You're Not On LiveJournal, Then Where Are You?
Monte Cook leaving was the final straw.
See, right now I’m running my old Planescape campaign, and Monte (who designed Planescape) has been writing increasingly interesting thoughts on game design. Which he’s posted, mostly, here. And yesterday, he said, “I’m not posting on LiveJournal any more, this is why I have a blog. See you there.”
As have many others. And LiveJournal’s RSS aggregation is kind of crappy, so what I need to do is now go out and find all the good blogs and enter them into Google Reader so that I can catch up.
Which brings the big question: What non-LiveJournal blogs should I be reading? Short lists, please, as if you give me more than three blogs my eyes will glaze over. But if you’ve gone off-site and think I should be reading you, speak up! If you love a blogger, let me know! I’m looking for interesting reading here, so let me know!
(And when I say “blogger,” I mean “People who blog.” Aggregate collection sites like PostSecret and FailBlog are fascinating in their own way, but I’m looking for people actually writing on their own topics about their own lives.)