On Corporate Blogging, PR, and The Slow Demise Of Passion

What seems like a lifetime ago, I was a game journalist. I was one of the few who enjoyed the luxury of zooming around the globe to play the latest games, chatting casually over drinks with the industry’s key players, and getting a chance to make an impact on the way that the gaming industry moved forward. I consider myself lucky for having said opportunity, and I’ve done my best since to help others break in.

“Breaking in” is a topic of conversation that has been coming up a lot in my daily readings as of late. Twitter, in particular, has been abuzz with talks of what to do—a recent back-and-forth between Destructoid and the One Up’s Dale North and former Shacknews writer Aaron Linde jumps to mind.

It’s not an untouched subject by any means—it seems there’s a wave of posts and talk in the blogosphere about breaking into the game industry on a yearly basis—but for many reasons, the topic of breaking in always seems to drive a bit of traffic, even though the advice is almost always the same: don’t think about the money, enjoy the exposure, do it because you love it, and so on and so forth.

What I find most interesting about these discussions, though, is that the topic rarely turns to the subject of what comes after one has made it as a journalist. Unfortunately, in that profession, the money isn’t great. A few key figures make enough to survive on from just their main gig, but the rest of us usually float around on a contract or freelancer basis in an attempt to earn end’s meat.

For many of these people, game journalism is a passion that is worth fighting for. But for some, that passion ultimately dies due to simple numbers. If you don’t earn enough to survive, how long can you really chase the dream before reality catches up to you? Perhaps I’m a defeatist, but I ultimately opted to jump ship once I saw the chance. Many writers do this out of necessity. Some begin to write for more general tech outlets or rags. Some change subjects altogether. Some even begin to write books.

One of the more interesting but lesser-mentioned career changes for games journalists, though, is to jump to the opposite team and enter public relations. Given that we as journalists spend so much time dealing with the industry’s PR people, we get to know the PR side of the business quite intimately, and we develop a Rolodex of PR people and firms. When I ended my time with Ars, the most valuable contacts that I walked away with were not the industry’s lead designers, programmers, artists, and creative folk: they were the PR and marketing reps who I’d talked with, drank with, and worked with.

And so, with that in mind, I entered the PR side of the gaming industry. To me, it seemed the perfect transition from a job that never truly seemed “real” and “legitimate” into a profession that would hopefully provide a stable future. Sadly, I soon came to realize the old cliché remains true: the grass isn’t greener on the other side.

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My New Gig, or Why I’ll Rarely Post Here For A While

Allow me to apologize: I’ve been M.I.A. for quite a while on this here blog. The combination of holiday games, the girl who is effectively my faux wife now, and my new job are depriving me of time to wax poetic. After about 10 months of working as a Creative Writer for Ganz, writing up technical specs and functionality and designing parts of a large-scale project, I’ve moved into the realm of marketing, public relations, and community management. I’m in the process of taking over this role at Ganz now for Webkinz.

So what does that have to do with blogging? Well, part of my job is to blog for Webkinz. Any and all news, previews, interviews, and features pertaining to Ganz from the official first-party source will be penned by me, so my blogging itch will largely be scratched by that. I’ll likely post some random musings here once in a while, but otherwise, you can catch me over at Webkinz Newz, where I intend to bring more depth and insight into the surprisingly-rich world of Webkinz.

Aural: An Anagram and a Narrative Experiment

Music has an incredible power. This is common knowledge. Music can instill emotion just as easily as it can trigger floods of forgotten memories. And like everyone else, I too am deeply affected by music. But my love for music is strange in that I happen to feel obscenely strong emotions from music that very few actually listen to. Thus, I present an experiment: “Aural.”

Turn your speakers up. Turn the lights off. And read.

People usually balk when I say that the music that moves me most is “trance.” They usually say something along the lines of, “Oh, you like techno.” Trance is a very different beast than most electronic music, and yet it is incredibly hard to pinpoint why exactly. I have a terribly tough time trying to articulate the reasons why I like trance. That’s why I’ve decided that I’m going to try a small experiment here.

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The Story That Made Her Love Me

There once was a girl who had an apple tree. Every day, she would visit the tree. She’d climb his limbs, swing from his arms, and nestle in his trunk to sleep in the sun.

For 10 summers, she continued the ritual. She’d return every summer to see him—her tree. Until one year…

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1986

The Spring of ‘86

Waves crashed on the coast’s dark banks. “White sand is overrated,” I’d heard more than a few times already in my days. Ultimately, there were more wrongs than rights—on the trip, and in life.

The wind playfully carassed my burnt face as I lay peacefully on the beach one day, her fingers draping down my cheek to my neck before being drawn away. How good her touch feels, I thought, even if it was phantom and fleeting. No one stepped in to take her place as she drew calm and left the beach. “Ca va mal,” I responded to her abscence in the spirit of the vacation. But she was already gone, and my words fell to the soft, hot sand below. (more…)