orrynemrys

Echoes

One month ago today, I heaved a big sigh of relief. After a difficult season of somewhat abbreviated paychecks, family health issues, a great time at the Wichita convention that cost us a chunk out of pocket to attend… our finances were finally moving the right direction. While we were heading into the holidays with a very limited budget, bills were being paid and we had a little breathing room. When Christmas weekend rolled around, my wife Jonikka and made the trek back to Kansas to spend the holiday with friends and family. We lingered for a time, ringing in the new year with camaraderie and a sense of relative contentment.

When we were on our way home on January 4th, we received the call. My wife’s contract with her employer – which should have given us another six months of rebuilding and finally being able to put money away – had been terminated. We were officially adrift, fluid enough to make it through the end of the month.

As often happens in our lives – so much so that it’s virtually a meme in our family – disaster accompanied opportunity. Just a few hours before receiving the call, a close friend had heard us waxing on about how much further my wife’s salary would stretch if we moved back to Kansas, and my sister-in-law had proposed that a new medication on the market might very well be the solution to Jonikka’s lower-altitude health concerns. Said friend offered to procure us a home, paying a rent that is only a fraction of our current commitment in Colorado Springs.

So with hearts a bit heavy, we prepare to bid farewell to our mountain home, with every intention of returning some day soon. The boxes are already starting to pile up around me as a write this, capturing the contents of our apartment with efficient cardboard sterility. We have two weeks to pack and clean, load our belongings into our cars and a massive uHaul, and make the voyage back to Kansas. Our coffers are dwindling. The cost of the move is staggering. Jonikka continues to look for work as I do my best to bring in a comparatively paltry sum. Our debts, while not insurmountable, are burdensome, and supporting a family of four beyond the next few weeks with our current resources is, in a word, unrealistic.

Invariably, things will work out. We have a seriously uncanny way of emerging from hardship with surprisingly few scars. That doesn’t make the interim any easier, of course, and while I want to be hopeful… well, it bleeds the energy right out of you.

A month ago, when I was heaving that sigh, I was staring at the arbitrary start of the new year with aspiration and a bit of hope. 2024 would be the year I finished the next book. I had plans for my podcasts and my Patreon supporters, and I was thinking about heading to Kickstarter with another gaming project. I was lining out ways to address the damage to our credit in the wake of the Pandemic, and we were starting to talk about buying a car and working toward a house.

That phone call was a serious kick in the teeth.

But we have each other. We have amazing friends and family that have helped where they can. We have games that bring us joy, and my projects – while on a temporary hold – continue to tantalize me with their possibilities. I am optimistic about the next adventure, no matter the hardship, because perseverance is inevitably the greatest tool in our collective utility belt.

And there’s one other thing I want to acknowledge. Over the years, my wife and I have striven to be the kind of friends who help anyone we can. We’ve opened our home and our pantry, our wallets when we could – sometimes even when we couldn’t – and the karmic elevation of that devotion to showing love and respect to those around us is paying off in dividends. It’s not a reward for good behavior – the reward, conspicuously enough, was caring for others – but rather a reminder that your kindness and compassion has a way of being revisited upon you when the need is there.

Good morrow, friends. Wherever you are, we’ll see you soon.

We’re All Part of a Neverending Story…

My friends and I from Exposition Street were discussing the tonal shift between The Neverending Story and its sequel, released some six years later with a completely different cast and crew. While I am typically very much a champion of most films, much to the amusement of my fellow podcasters, I know that this particular switch up was one that I responded to very poorly.

The movie was released in the US in summer of 1984. I was eight years old, and it was one of the singularly most influential events of my childhood. I was absolutely absorbed by the world presented in the film and the concept that it connected to me in my seat at the theater just as potently as it connected young Bastian to the realm he was reading about.

I read the book a few years later. It was originally published by German author Michael Ende in 1979, and I never saw a copy until a middle school librarian pointed it out to me. The hardback was cleverly printed in different colors to differentiate the reader’s narrative from Bastian’s narrative and the narrative of the novel he was experiencing in the story. It was trippy, to say the least.

I remember being drawn in but unable to wrap my ahead around key differences between book and movie. I was already old enough to understand that, in the way of these things, conventional wisdom provided that “the book was better.” I mean, that’s the way it’s supposed to work, right? But there were definitely things they did in the movie that worked better for the story, including changes like the English translation “Fantastica” to “Fantasia”, for example, or the original visualization of the Ivory Tower as a sort of swirly ice cream looking structure.

There were also a lot of things that they left out when they made the film. That happens. And most notably, the movie ended about half way through the book. So when they announced a sequel in 1990 called “The Next Chapter”, I definitely had expectations.

It wasn’t what I wanted. The new vision combined with a thinner budget and weird conglomeration of elements from the book and the first movie made me dizzy, and I didn’t want a new Bastian and a new Atreyu and a different Mr. Bux and all that. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about. We have a whole movie podcast where we get into the weeds on that kinda stuff.

The central message of the The Neverending Story was that allowing banality and despair to take root in the world around us diminished the power of our collective hopes and dreams. Sure there’s a powerful allegory about childhood and growing up in that, and Bastian was struggling with grief and loss, but after absorbing that message as a child I became a writer, a game master, a musician and an entertainer. I became someone intent on using my power to bring joy and share the experience of life with my fellow persons. I became someone who saw the potential in everything, loved things created by people on their own merit.

I am a terrible critic. I try, but sometimes I am just so overtaken by the magic of creativity and human ingenuity in sharing a vision with others… I love books. And movies. And music. And art. And poetry. And dance. And. And. And. It makes me kinda the object of friendly ridicule by my friends and fellow podcasters, but I have a hard time trashing much of anything. I am constantly trying to convince them of the awesomeness of damn near everything.

Sure, there are exceptions… art is subjective, after all.

So who knows… maybe I should give The Next Chapter another chance.

“I Need to Do More of That”

My friend Jason calls this “a dark incantation that guarantees that I will 100% not do more of that.” Cynical, perhaps, but not inaccurate. It’s like a doomseeker circuit that’s always present in our psyche. We clearly have the power to recognize values that lie outside of our everyday behavior, but change is freakin’ hard. Even with little things.

Lately I’ve been buried. TsunamiCon is looming like it’s namesake against the horizon, an inescapable storm that requires a shit-ton of preparation. It’s a storm I know well; the preparations are rote, carved into the soft tissue of my brain and fueled with caffeine and determination. It’s worth it, of course, but it’s a solitary pursuit. Particularly since I moved 8 hours away from my support system. I navigate those currents with a deft hand, but the hand still grows weary.

I have other pursuits, of course, but many of them grow stale during this part of the year. At least once a week, I open my manuscript for the sequel to Shadow of the Spire and stare at the page. I pick up my guitar for a few minutes nearly every day, but I’m not writing anything new. About the only creative outlet I navigate successfully every week is prepping and running tabletop RPGs for me friends. Admittedly, that’s something I’ve done nearly every week for almost 40 years, so it’s kinda like breathing. I couldn’t shut that part of my brain off if I wanted to.

Creative endeavors can be heavily affected by exhaustion or depression. It is remarkably difficult to find the energy and inspiration to conjure new ideas and expressions from the ether when your brain just wants to curl up in a corner and ignore the world, and if you are a creative by nature then this failure perpetuates a cycle of failures that makes it even harder the next time. It’s a death spiral that can’t be easily abandoned, and even small bursts of creative expression have little effect on the overall conundrum.

So what we have is little things. Tiny behavioral efforts that may not feel like much but break away from your S.O.P. And they don’t have to be the same things… you have to avoid pressuring yourself to meet an impossible standard. It’s like cleaning out your closet or wiping down the kitchen counter suddenly becoming a New Years resolution. Do it once and be happy, then look for other opportunities to break the cycle. And if you can find a way to hook into something that inspires you, ride the high and see if you can create a new pattern of behavior. But keep it small. Don’t punish yourself if its falls flat… it’s a little thing, not an impingement on your character.

I had said to my friends: “Actually find blogging very therapeutic. I need to do more of that.” So here I am. Keeping it small.

Here’s a picture of my cat.

Dystopia

My friend Vanessa just shared this with our friend group, with the caption “I feel like this is the dystopia genre as a whole.” I laughed. It’s kinda true.

Then I realized something that tasted weird about that statement: the idea of “dystopia” as a genre.

Dystopian fiction has its roots in the very underpinnings of utopian science fiction. In the early era of sci-fi literature, authors imagined the future as an idealized state managed by political and social structures that reflected the author’s ethos. Dystopian evocations naturally portrayed the opposite, often with very cynical or subversive undertones. While utopian concepts celebrated mankind’s ability to transcend petty differences and transform their world into a realm of enlightenment, dystopian tales revealed the soft white underbelly of utopias built on corrupt and dangerous supports.

Needless to say, the latter evaluation is an outgrowth of the former and has become far more commonplace today. Which takes me back to the very foundation of the concept. Expressions of dystopia – corrupt power centers, inherent moral decay, the illusion of equality, and warnings about the trajectory of our social order – now pervade so many levels of modern entertainment. While initially developed as a means to provoke deep thought regarding the potential future of mankind, dystopias have now become an acceptable standard by which we measure the present. Even those of us who expound on a frightening look at the future we may very well be hurtling toward at terrifying speeds generally accept that our priority is to adapt and survive, that systemic change is a complete fantasy.

**Eloi** Yvette Mimieux off to be the **Morlock**‘s supper.
From *The Time Machine* (1960).

If you think about it, that is the polar opposite of the point of dystopian fiction.

I would propose that relegating dystopian fiction to “genre” status – which it certainly is! – marginalizes the art form. When it becomes passe and overwrought, we don’t actually see ourselves in the narrative. Sure, we see the extension of our society by proxy, but less as a thought experiment and more as a pickling kettle. We soak up science fiction and judge the story more than the premise. After all, we’ve seen nearly every plot structure and character evolution mulched over and again; the premise is either too far removed from the currency of everyday life or a foregone conclusion.

I grew up loving Star Trek. Roddenberry’s vision of the future of humanity was purely utopian. We lived in a world of peace and plenty. We had fought our wars and come out the other side stronger and ready to expand our personal horizons. We made giant space vessels for purposes of science and exploration. When we fought it was with violent cultures that had yet to achieve a similar state of enlightenment. As the franchise advanced the clock further, however, into the era of grunge music and the Gulf War, we saw increasing stories of subversion and human failing. The levers of power would fall into the wrong hands, and well-written episodes would often raise ethical questions with no clean answer.

Cpt. Benjamin Sisko investigates a coup attempt involving several Star Fleet officers.
From *Deep Space Nine* ssn4 episode “Paradise Lost”.

While Star Trek routinely held us to a higher standard from the very start – a position that has admittedly wobbled quite a bit from one entrant to the next – the lessons are now less visible to younger fans who no longer see the franchise’s alien warmongers, social stressors, profiteering, terrorism and intrigue reflected in today’s society. At best it starts to feel like an informed plot point we’ve seen a million times before, at worst it’s virtually satire.

And to my previous point… we are so inundated with dystopian story beats today that we no longer find as much value in entertainments that don’t have them. Corruption, manipulation, and inequality are part of our world, and stories that don’t reflect that are just unrealistic. I host a podcast where we talk about our favorite movies, and while sometimes we range into discussion about the implications of a filmmaker’s vision, our conversation typically rounds the maypole on performance, visual effects, and story choices that are made to move it along. I mean… why focus on the dystopia. That’s just normative.

We understand the inherent risk of the surveillance state recommended by George Orwell’s writings and the elements of social control we’re rebelling against in A Clockwork Orange and Hunger Games. We get the threat of totalitarian governments a la Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale or even Lois Lowry’s The Giver. We get it. And we rate it for it’s entertainment value.

Because crying ourselves to sleep at night f’ing sucks.

So, yeah. Dystopia is a genre.

The Citadel

I get a strange sort of exuberance upon first entering a shopping mall. I’m not entirely sure why. They somehow seem like a relic of a bygone age, indicative of a childhood spent living in small town America where the mall was a symbol of the big city and all the shopping opportunities that we didn’t have; an idiom made honestly more confusing because malls offer very little specific shopping interests for me, which I’m sure was just as true when I was a kid. But what they did offer – bookstores, music stores, arcades, and so forth – felt like a trip to f’ing Disneyland.

Admittedly, it’s a fleeting sensation.

Today I am visiting the Citadel Mall in Colorado Springs. I’m alone on my excursion; my lady wife doesn’t particularly care for buildings with people in them, and my kids demonstrated markedly little interest in shopping in meatspace. And to be fair, the exterior of this shopping complex promises little innovation for the excursion to follow.

One place that does still retain some of the magic for me, however, is the almighty food court. And this one is quite simply gorgeous. And immediately accessible to the outside! Like somehow the mall knows that the food court is what’s going to bring people in the door. And frankly, on a Sunday afternoon, it’s the only area of the parking lot with much in the way of business.

A walk around the most accessible section of the mall from this location reveals numerous staples like Hot Topic, Spencer’s, Claire’s, Bath & Body Works, a bulk candy store, and a Game Stop. Happily, I also found an arcade tucked behind the stair! It wasn’t a particularly fabulous selection of games, but it still conjured pleasant memories of a youth spent plunking quarters into machines and wasting hours with my friends.

I picked up some candy – they had a small variety of sugar free offerings, but nothing to write home about – and grabbed a couple of pretzel dogs on my way out, my curiosity largely sated. I kept my visit short so that there would be plenty of new things to see if I swing by again sometime.

Ultimately, that initial enthusiasm dims very quickly without willing it to stay alive. Shopping malls are fairly banal, and while I long to see the shine beneath the surface, I know very well that I’m looking at the possibility of it all from the perspective of a boy who had very little to compare it to in life. During the course of my adult life, malls have held little more than nostalgia for me, and while living in the city I very rarely partook. We had a small town mall where I spent my early adult life in Dodge City, and it was home to our town’s biggest movie theater and only arcade. But it wasn’t big enough to support a food court, so it didn’t count.

Although there was a steak house there for a while where my band would rock the proverbial house, set up on a stage in the mall corridor facing the restaurant. That was pretty dope.

I’ll talk a little bit about some of the other, more interesting shopping experiences offered by the Springs when I have some time.

Stories are Signposts

I first met Kevin in 2006. He was a dear friend of my future wife’s and lived with her in this old Victorian place just left of downtown Wichita. He was actually in the process of buying the place – not because he was driven to own a home, precisely, but because Miss Jonikka had fallen in love with the house when her Ex purchased it. Now the relationship that secured the domicile was in its death throws, and Kevin knew that staying there would keep a roof over their heads and make Jonikka happy.

Sadly, the house that Jonikka truly loved wasn’t the one they lived in, but what it was capable of being… But that is definitely a different story.

What’s notable is that this kind of passion for simple joys was something that drove Kevin in many of his endeavors. He had much of the depth and wisdom that comes with age, but tempered with childlike wonder and a playfulness that left little question in my mind how he had become such an important part of Miss Jonikka’s life. He could go from prattling on about his favorite childhood television serial or comic book hero to stunningly deep philosophical meanderings without ever stopping for gas along the way. He loved to explore ethos and pathos of the stories that shaped our lives, and he penned a blog that dove head first into the way stories affected our lives over the generations with themes that appeared again and again in different cultures, era, and mythologies.

Kevin was a multicultural enthusiast who loved to see people celebrated for who they are. He saw a bit of the world when he was younger and even married a lady from China. They had four children, and he would often share stories of their youth; he clearly loved being a father. He also shared stories of his time in the Navy, likely watching the skies as much for changes in the weather as for signs of UFO activity. He would teach a course on UFO sightings and the possibility of other life in the universe on Tuesday, and then another debunking extraterrestrial testimony on Wednesday – and he reveled in the paradox. Kevin was someone who sought to penetrate the illusions and lay bare the truth of men, but still saw beauty in both the illusions and the truths.

Kevin was 61 years young when my son was born in 2008, and I think the only reason I didn’t recognize the radical metamorphosis Gabriel brought into his life was because I was busy contending with my own. He became a caretaker, then an earnest playmate. In many ways I had never been a child – I’d been so intellectual and introspective as a kid that I didn’t really connect with my peers, and my only real playmate was my younger brother. Conversely, in many ways Kevin had elected to hold on to the child inside, and now he finally had a way to indulge in it. He shared his passions with Gabriel, and celebrated his passions in return. He bought the kid about 17,000 dinosaur toys over the years, and even as Gabriel grew into a preteen and later a teenager they spoke almost every day. They would tell stories together, make up fanciful worlds and heroic adventures…

*Ahem* Not unlike, well….

Strangely, I was never jealous of their connection. Perhaps because I couldn’t have been that person in my son’s life, and I was just truly overjoyed that somebody else was. I know Gabriel and I would find a balance of our own – and we have. He’s a remarkably loving and compassionate child, thanks in no small part to his best friend.

KEVIN PATRICK BREEN passed away on Friday, April 14, 2023, surrounding by his children and grandchildren and in the company of his best friend. He has touched the lives of my family in ways that will never fade, and he will always be remembered for his passion, his love of life, and the joy he always tried to shoehorn into everybody’s lives – whether they were ready for it or not.

Gen Con 2021 | Denouement

Day Four of my Gen Con experience was a somewhat subdued affair. I had other commitments to attend to – primarily schoolwork, with weekend deadlines that cared not for my extracurriculars – but it also gave me a much-needed opportunity to reflect on the week thus far.

I received more than a few sad glances this weekend from contemporaries who learned that this was my very first Gen Con. Admittedly, I rather expected more, though I can’t be sure it would have significantly altered my plans, such as they were. Many events and features that would have stood out in previous years were absent or compromised this year, often simply because the organizers were not present. In some ways, that really did enhance the feeling that this was just a very large-scale version of what we do at home. There was gaming, vendors, VIGs, demos, cosplayers, more gaming, and even Mikey Mason – though I sadly didn’t get the chance to catch a show or even hang out with the dude.

On the other hand… scale matters. I purchased a few games that I had never seen, perused arts and crafts from dozens of amazing exhibitors, caught up with industry friends like Bruce Cordell, Chris Pramas, and Phil Reed – and made new friends in Tammy and Charles from Monte Cook Games, and Will and Annie at the Steve Jackson booth! – had a chance to game with some gentlemen Peter met at a Kansas City con (who may make it out to TsunamiCon next year), had a chance to sample a few of downtown Indy’s excellent restaurants, and spent a few days hanging out with an old friend whom I haven’t seen in several years (and then only via webcam!). Not to mention, I had a lovely weekend hanging out with Peter, listening to stories and sharing ideas; he harbors a deep and abiding passion for Gen Con – which he shared generously – and was an excellent guide in unfamiliar waters.

On Day Four, I took one last lap through the dealer room, in the final hour it was open. I made a few more purchases – marked down at the very end of the con – and picked up some more gifts for the kids. Peter and I wound down the evening with an excellent cognac and a little of the amazing cheese he drives to the Wichita Costco to procure and turned in early, and now I am restless and awake after only a few hours of sleep. But I’m not really doing much of the driving today, so it’s cool. I’m just ready to be home.

All in all, this has been a really enjoyable weekend with old friends and new, and I’m eternally grateful for the opportunity to visit Indianapolis and my very first Gen Con.

Salut.

Gen Con 2021 | Day Three

Saturday was unsurprisingly the busiest day yet. Though still not thick enough to inhibit traffic, social distancing was a significant challenge in the dealer hall. I dutifully spent some time navigating the shoals and surveying the nearby shores for ports of call and a chance at more booty. I stopped at a few places to chat about their product, get the occasional quick demo, and record conversations with some folks. The crowds were frankly exhausting, however, and I was just as happy to make some final purchases at the Dryad Teas booth and pick up a few enamel pins that had caught my eye, then catch up with Dan for a long overdue podcast.

One of the nice things about having a room at one of the hotels attached to the con was that it was an easy walk to somewhere quiet. Dan and I took some time to organize our thoughts and discuss our Gen Con experience, after which we parted ways – presumably for the last time – and I took a much-needed siesta.

I met Peter for dinner at the Weber Grill. I won’t be gauche enough to post pictures of my food, but I don’t think I’m overstating it to say that I had the best burger of my life. If you’re ever in downtown Indianapolis, do yourself a favor… it was pricey, but an experience all it’s own.

After dinner I realized that I had committed the unforgivable sin of neglecting to grab a selfie with Dan. This was our very first meeting face-to-face after nearly a decade of friendship, and I was devastated until I discovered that he had not yet fled the convention center. I quickly made my way back following dinner, and we relaxed in a quiet corner of the con for another hour or so.

So while I didn’t play any games on Day Three, I collected a good deal of media to share with friends and fans and spent some valuable time enjoying the convention. I don’t know if I’ll even have anything significant to discuss on Day Four, but I’m more than content with my first – and quite possibly but hopefully not, only – trip to Gen Con.

Gen Con 2021 | Day Two

My second day of Gen Con was kind of a blur.

In the morning, Peter and I had breakfast at Le Peep, a provincial cafe just a mile’s walk from the hotel. And walk we did. After the travails of the prior day, I was frankly astounded at my ability to keep up. On the way there, anyway… I was quietly grateful when Peter felt the need to rush out a bit quickly following breakfast, making for the hotel to grab the gear for his high noon festivities. I took the opportunity to mosey toward the convention center at my own pace, enjoying the morning air as I snapped photos of downtown Indianapolis.

Back at the convention center, I hit the dealer hall and made some more gift purchases I had been eying the day before. Mostly supporting artists and indie game designers. I ran a 12:00 game for Monte Cook Games with a fun group of players who, despite having to shout through the masks to make themselves heard in a noisy room, took to roleplaying their random group of dungeon delvers with enough personality and wit to quite simply amaze me at how efficiently they tackled the adventure scenario. It was a four-hour slot, and we were done in three.

Riding the high of a great game with folks who genuinely seemed to enjoy sitting down with a few strangers and pretending to be the best of friends for a few hours, I made arrangements to connect with Dan and we hit a nearby pub for a late lunch. Or early dinner. Whatever it was… the convention center food was pretty awful, so walking the extra two blocks seemed like a kindness to our bodies and our souls. Had a barbecue blue cheese burger, incidentally, that was a fascinating and very satisfying blend of flavors. Good stuff.

Our evening game was a Savage Worlds Victorian pulp adventure Peter has run at TsunamiCon previously, and this was my very first chance to sit at one of his gaming tables. I definitely enjoyed his thoughtful approach to getting characters involved in the story and his openness to creative – and sometimes tropey and hilarious – innovations from the players. It was the same group of participants from the night before, and we had a good time.

Friday at Gen Con was a much busier affair than the previous day, and the gaming hall was pretty packed. The space between tables kept it from feeling unsafe, but we also started noting a more lax stance amongst participants concerning the masking regulations, particularly when you could invoke the consideration of eating. We roleplayed through our masks, but many people seemed to adopt a sort of restaurant etiquette at the table – that is, despite the policies posted by the con, once sitting down masks seemed to be optional. Because the place was so crowded, this felt like a poor decision… I was imminently relieved that the table Peter had grabbed – the same as the night before – was somewhat remote and removed from much of the population. I could see that he was distracted by it while running the game, however, even to the point of mentioning my own dangling mask after I failed to put it back promptly following a pull from my soda.

And I think that’s what bothers me the most. While it feels like it is possible to make relatively safe decisions and avoid the majority of risky situations with a little conscientious care, we shouldn’t have to walk that edge while trying to enjoy our time at the convention. Though I am enjoying myself immensely, it casts a bit of a pall over much of the experience.

That being said, I am looking forward to whatever comes next.

Gen Con 2021 | Day One

One of three Chessex booths at Gen Con 2021

After wandering to wakefulness at around 4:00 in the morning (would have been 3:00 back home!), I finally gave up on sleep and resolved to begin my day with a clear head and a cup of Lapsang Souchong. Nice face full of wood smoke and happiness. I hadn’t had a chance to test it, but my new little travel tea kettle worked beautifully.

I eased into my first day of the con. Though events were starting at 8:00, my primary interest for Day One was the exhibit hall, which opened two hours later. Also, given the COVIDs, I didn’t want to risk the traditionally packed opening ceremony shtick and gave it an extra half an hour or so. I took my video camera and started recording immediately as I was leaving the hotel via one of the skywalks over toward the convention center. No one seemed to give me much thought as they maneuvered around me or trudged in my wake, but I did find it interesting that conversations would die as people ventured near, so as not to disrupt the production I assume. Or be caught on tape being an insufferable nerd or something.

All in all,, folks were terribly polite.

And masked! And largely keeping their distance. This was – and still is – my biggest concern about this trip. Beyond a mask mandate and a general attempt to space tables further apart, the convention has taken no extraordinary measures toward crowd control or health and safety. The up side (depending on whether you sit on the convention board, that is) is that the crowds are significantly diminished per their expectations – and they had planned to limit capacity to half of the previous in-person convention. Word is, it’s nowhere close. Although that hardly means that the crowd is small – we’re still probably talking between 15 and 20K, but the immensity of the convention halls and additional spacing allows for much greater freedom of movement than I was given to expect going in. And like I said, the attendees are generally taking the mask thing very seriously.

That immensity, by the way, made my first day at Gen Con a truly surreal experience. I was floored by the expanse filled with gaming tables, walls so far away that I could barely register them as such. I spent hours wandering the dealer hall, stopping occasionally to snap a few photos, purchase some gifts for my gamers, and visiting with industry folks I’ve known for years but never met in person. Truly, I only stopped when I did because I was starving and my feet had registered a complaint with home office.

After a brief nap, some lovely thai food, another brief nap… I geared up for my first game of the con. And by geared up, I really just meant a bag of dice, as I wasn’t running this one.

The game was Deadlands Reloaded, and my character was a great explore / big game hunter named Rufus who talked through his mustaches and acted absolutely fearless in the face of exploding dice. The best part, I got to game with the Honorable Peter Hildreth, my guide on this sojourn to Indianapolis, and my friend Dan from the Carpe GM podcast. Dan found out I was going to Gen Con and made the trek from St. Louis – admittedly a less harrowing trip than ours – to hang out. We’d visited many times over the past six or seven years and used to have regular rap sessions over Google Hangouts, recorded bits for each other’s shows, shared industry information and guest contacts, and even collaborated on some jams! But this was our first face-to-face meet ever. And sharing a game table was a fantastic way to start the weekend.

It was midnight before I turned in, still riding high just a bit from the Day One experience.