April 16th marked one year since I launched this website! I like it here. It’s my own space, away from social media, where I can craft what I want, in the way that I want, while learning and creating at my own pace. So far, only good has come of it. That’s more than I could have hoped for. As before, there are no goals here, only forward momentum. I’ll see where that takes me. Here’s to another great year.

I spend so much time testing, that I don’t sit and read as much as I would like. It takes months to get through a book, even if it’s a good one! I did, however, finish Revolution: The Quest for Game Development Greatness by Tony Warriner, which charts the journey of Revolution Software, telling the story of the successes and difficulties they shared for over two decades. I enjoyed it. It is honest, detailed and taught me a lot that I didn’t know. There’s also a lot of good advice in this book that matches my own. Some, perhaps, that can only be learned through life experience and the ups and downs of everything it may bring. Well worth reading if you want to know more about the developer who brought you Broken Sword: The Shadow of the Templars; a classic point and click adventure often hailed as the favourite of many fans of the genre.

Speaking of Mr. Warriner’s book, I’ve also been testing UrbX Warriors lately, the upcoming collaboration between Tony and Stoo Cambridge. You may have noticed their Brazen Gameplay logo and Discord link in a previous 15 Days. There’s an upcoming Kickstarter due to launch very soon (link here) and Tony was kind enough to post about my testing on social media. That’s always awesome to see but what was also fantastic and warms my heart, because I doubt myself sometimes, was this reply from a developer I worked with on Darklight last year. It’s very much appreciated. Thank you. ❤️

In addition to this, lucky man that I am, I also got a wonderful mention in Debug magazine, Issue #9, from the developer of Woolley Mountain and Sleepytime Village, the latter of which I did some demo testing in preparation for the Debug Indie Awards showcase in February. I regularly keep track of this one. It’s an intriguing game. Find all socials, newsletter and links to everything about it here!

This’ll be the third 15 Days blog where I mention D6 Learning. I promise I’m not on commission; it’s just that I took advantage of a free one-hour pixel art course on the 24th April. I liked it a lot. Pixel art is something I’d like to do properly in future. I can’t commit to this course right now but if I could, I’d be participating. The link is here if you’re interested.

Now that I’m in this eternal loop of adding Evercade cartridges to my collection, it means YOU are forever doomed to see a photo every time they arrive. I really love the artwork on the cover of the Atari Arcade 2 box. More games for the backlog…

Finally, I want to finish this 15 Days with a significant switch of pace. For those of you who have followed me for a while, you may have some knowledge of my father. I talked about him a little in Part 2, mostly highlighting that I never knew him, and how this has definitely affected me growing up and throughout my adult life. It’s not easy, and the day I found out that he had died, I experienced grief like I had never known. I wept uncontrollably. Ever since, I’ve worked very hard to reconcile the fact I will never be able to meet him. He’s gone. There will be no happy reconciliation, no warm embrace. No laughter, no sharing of pasts, and I will have to live with that for the rest of my life. It is one of the examples I meant when I wrote that I look at the world in a slightly different way. Somehow, within this perspective, I’ve managed to find some peace and for the last four years, on my father’s birthday, I make a point to celebrate him.

I’ve had this mindset for many years; to always remember loved ones long gone on their birthdays. In truth, I cannot tell you the date anyone died, often saying “I think it was sometime in January or November.” but I can tell you, without hesitation, the exact date they were born. I’ve always done that. I’d rather remember people in life than in death. There’s no right or wrong way; this is just how I look at it.

Like I said, over the last four years, I’ve made a point of celebrating my father’s birthday, something I realised I had never done. It’s my way of having some kind of positive relationship with him, even now. I feel close to him when I do this. In years past, floundering and trying to make sense of it all, I grew a beard to see if I looked anything like him, so desperate was I for a connection to my own flesh and blood (he had long hair and a beard in the old photos I’d seen of him). For months, and without provocation, people I knew would make a lot of negative comments about my appearance; some were particularly cruel, some were just concerned, and one or two were complimentary. I remember one day I’d had enough of the negative comments and told them the reason why. They soon stopped and had the good grace to look ashamed of themselves. Be careful of how you speak to people; you never quite know what they’re going through.

Anyway, the first year’s birthday celebration was to have an evening out in town for a couple of drinks with my wife. We talked about what I knew of him, what I wish I knew, how I was feeling, and kept drinking. As we wandered home later, I said we should finally pop into our local pub, considering we’d been living in the area for eight years and had never been there, especially as I could see the pool table was free. I fancied a frame or two.

For a little background, I’ve played pool since I was fifteen. There is, of course, a backstory to this but for now all I need to say is that I had some success (nothing major) playing in leagues, and tournaments where I’ve won five of the nine I entered. So I know my way around a pool table. My wife had never seen me play competitively, only hearing the stories of the matches I’d describe, the tension I felt, the shots I used to play, the opponents I respected, the easy wins, the difficult wins, and all the rest. But that was many years ago and I hadn’t pick up a cue in a very long time.

It was a busy evening in the pub and it wasn’t long before we started chatting with a group of people who wanted to play Killer Pool, which for those who don’t know, is a game where each player has a number of ‘lives’ and they take it in turns to try to pot one ball. If they miss, they lose a life and if they don’t miss, they keep them. When a player’s lives run out, they are out of the game.

It was all pretty jovial to begin, with about a dozen players, five lives each, adding their entrance fee to the winner-takes-all prize pot. There was another Paul before me so I was given the name ‘Paul 2’. I’ve been called worse. The assembled crowd was watching us, already several pints in, and shouting encouragement or dishing out some early banter. I admit that, at first, I wasn’t too fussed about winning; I’ve already achieved everything I want from playing pool. So much so that sometimes on my turn, I’d throw in a trick shot, the occasional double, and then go back to the people I’d started chatting to and sip my pint, while I waited for the call of “Paul 2!” when it was my turn again. Then, after a while, as half the entrants were knocked out, I started to feel the old pang of competitiveness coming through; the business end fast approaching. I stopped showboating and looked at shots a bit more closely, knowing there was possibly another win within reach and a chance to collect the pot. I remember this older guy, in his seventies and wearing a flat cap, giving me some stick for checking the angles and taking a bit more time with my shots, shouting out “It’s not the Crucible!”. I smiled. I’m used to being heckled; I’ve had more than my fair share in the local leagues in Wales. As the competition progressed and more drinks were quaffed so the mood in the pub changed. The atmosphere got louder and the interest more intense as the crowd wanted to see who would win. I found myself among the last three.

My two opponents were not bad players. You don’t get this far without some skill. One left me with a difficult pot on a red; a shot across the table, cutting back into the far-right corner, needing to avoid the cue ball, which was sitting close to the cushion, naturally shooting off into the middle pocket. I could feel the tension build. Someone in the crowd shouts “Come on, Paul 2!”, which only adds to the pressure. I look at my wife; she’s standing on a chair staring out from the crowd, a look of nervousness on her face. I smile, address the cue ball, breathe out as I strike it, and the red flies into the pocket, cue ball safely avoiding the middle bag. I turn back to my wife, punch the air and scream “Come on!”, just like the old days.

Now momentum is on my side, and another player runs out of lives. It’s just me and my opponent now. My four lives versus his last, the odds are in my favour. I pot mine but control the cue ball so that I leave no easy, clear shot. He complains about that, and sounds defeated. I lean against a wall, watching intently, now measuring him against his choice of shot. What kind of player is he? If he can get out of this, I’ll have to think of something else, and if not, it’s game over. Show me the money.

He chooses a hit and hope but it misses and he’s out. Now I stand there, smiling, calm as you like, another win under my belt. I shake my opponent’s hand, and say “Good game.” As I walked back to my wife, you know what Flat Cap Guy did? He started giving me fist bumps and congratulating me. I guess everyone loves a winner.

When I got home, filled with excitement and nostalgia for tournaments past, I stopped for a moment and quietly said “That one was for you, Dad.”

The second year we went out for a meal. We kept it simple and laughed about the year before. Year three I bought him a book, also realising I’d never bought my father a birthday gift or a card. I admit that I couldn’t quite bring myself to handwrite the card. I found it difficult to know what to say. I guess a simple ‘Happy Birthday’ is enough but having never done that before, I found I couldn’t do it.

Which leads me to this year and his birthday. I have a few photos of him from when he was younger but I’ve never put any up, so his gift from me this year is a frame. It’s good to have his photo to look at, and anything that keeps him alive and brings me some modicum of comfort is welcome. It’s not much but with the way things turned out, I’ll take what I can get.

Happy Birthday, Dad.

With love, Paul.