Akting Out

I had to take a quick break to write this, because Mass Effect is just that freaking awesome.

I respect Square-Enix’s decisions to adhere to the old-school philosophies of game design, but Bioware is clearly where it’s at. The lengths they have gone to create an immersing experience are just beyond belief. It’s also cool how quickly you pick things up. I’m currently on Feros, my map signal gets jammed, and just like that, I’m in a firefight. And I’m using the force (ahem, excuse me, dark energy) to hurl geth around…and I can’t get over how real this all feels. Even politics and racism are well-fleshed out. The Krogan don’t like the Turians, the Turians don’t like humans, hell, no one seems to like the humans.

Characters don’t have to say anything for you to know what’s going on, and I’ll be damned if the VO work is believable. No, check that, it’s great. So far, Shephard is a little bland, but he has to be, since that’s who you play as and they want to keep you as connected to the protagonist as they can.

Bottom line, I can’t believe I scored this game new for ten bucks. I love it. I want more. I wanted to take a brief moment to post this, and now I have to report to Fai Dan that the geth have been cleared from the tower.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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The past weekend already feels like a lifetime ago, although it has the tangibility of a dream remembered vividly.

We had roughly thirty hours together in her city. I’d rather be there than have her come up here; St. Louis is rich, culturally diverse, and vibrant, especially compared with the black and white “cultural desert” of Jefferson City.

At the end of our time together, she chose to accompany me to the train station. The station is uncomfortably crowded, and four women feel the need to share their conversation with the entire world as though they’re auditioning for “The View”.

We hold onto each other, not saying much. We dread this time from the moment I arrive; knowing that soon, we will be back to the business of our lives, back to extensive, late-night phone conversations and yahoo messenger.

It has been storming all weekend and today has been no exception. The skies are gray and dreary and the clouds churn slowly overhead. The rain that is produced comes at a pace gentle enough to be refreshing instead of uncomfortable. I hold Molly close to me, and she leans into my chest, her arms tightly wrapped around me. I kiss the top of her head and try to hold tight to the smell of her hair. She cracks the occasional joke, trying to lighten the mood. She’s great at breaking silences with clever little jokes.

It’s a little less than a mile between my house and the train station, and I’ve been unable to secure a ride home. Molly is concerned for my well-being and offers me her jacket, hoping I wear on my head during the walk home. Initially, I’m thinking that I have this heavy backpack and a shopping back carrying Stephanie Meyer’s “Twilight” series (a gift from Molly’s extensive book collection). The jacket would make peripheral vision impossible, and carrying so much stuff as day turns to night, I might as well spray-paint “Please Mug Me” on my back.

I push the jacket away a couple of times; I’ll be fine. Molly can be insistent, and I refuse politely, again, two more times. She lets the matter go for a moment.
Minutes before the train arrives, the rain has not let up. She pulls away from me and raises her eyes to meet mine. She holds the jacket in both hands, offering it up to me and says simply; “Please.”

The only thing she cares about at this moment, my conscious sounds off, is your well-being. We should all be so lucky.

I chuckle because not many people can reach me the way she does. I’m still bewildered by the fact that she figured me out so quickly. We’ve only been dating four months. Maybe I’m not as hard to read as I think I am.

I thank her, and accept the jacket. I don’t want her to wave to me as the train pulls away–saying goodbye is hard enough. So I ask her to leave now. She protests, and I don’t blame her. Shifting my mindset from being with Molly to being alone is difficult–very difficult. She concedes the issue. One last kiss, and I watch her exit the train station and walk left, vanishing behind the exterior of the station. I won’t see her again for weeks.

Ironically, it is not raining by the time I get back to Jefferson City, and I cling the jacket tightly as I walk home. As I get in, it’s good to be home, and the jacket smells like her. Blessedly, Molly doesn’t smell like any other girl I know.

I drape the jacket over the back of my office chair. When I lean back, it’s like she’s right there.

And so we fall back into the routine of text messages, nightly talks, and our work. Unless she asks for it, I don’t think I’m going to return the jacket. It’s about to be summer. She won’t need it.

But in my solitary moments, I might.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I’ve been studying martial arts for over twenty years. I don’t think it’s fair to say that I am a martial artist. There’s nothing artful about what I do, or how I move. I see something, I react, normally in violence. Recently, I have learned not to react with the maximum amount of violence to every hostile situation, but I still have a long way to go.

Without going into too many details, yesterday, I got into a brief altercation. In hindsight, I was probably set up. Someone in my building stepped towards me from around the corner very unexpectedly, and I knocked him down. I was not looking for a fight; it was a reflex action to respond to a perceived threat with violence.

I could list the problems I’ve had with this guy before, but nothing changes the fact that I felt horrible about it. The man is forty years older than me.

So…that made me think.
I was always criticized by my various teachers for not having any form to my technique. I never saw a point to form, to be honest; form never got me anywhere in a fight. Also, I have never understood (nor tried to) the idea of learning to fight so you don’t have to fight. To me, that just doesn’t make any sense.

Isn’t that why we study? To defend ourselves, and those we love?
I learned how powerful techniques can become the more you practice them, and as such, I’ve learned to control myself in a fight, so I don’t do mortal damage to someone. I’ve always thought that it was awesome; to be able to hone your body into a lethal weapon, just as destructive as a bullet. Even more awesome is your ability to control your power, and use it to other achieve other means. My training plays a big role in keeping my blood sugar down.

I figured that once I learned to knock someone out, instead of shattering their jaw, I had a pretty good grasp on martial arts.

But I still have a long way to go, don’t I…?

I claim to want peace. Then again, I’d have no idea what to do with it.

If I’m not training to fight, then why am I training? And why do I still enjoy it so much?
What does this whole “training so you don’t have to fight” mean?

These are questions I seek answers to as I continue my training. Usually I work on speed and power. Today I slowed things down (not used to that at all), allowed my techniques to come slowly, and went through the forms I’d been taught. As I did this, I could feel the answers at the edge of my mind, trying to break in.

I know this ties into my future success, too; learning to approach the world peacefully instead of waiting for an adversary.

And so, as my training continues, I hope for peace and answers, praying I’ll be ready to accept it, knowing I won’t be aware when I do.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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The end of 2008 was not a high moment in my life. I had just lost my damn job and my tumultous, volatile relationship had just come to a very permanent end.

Before I became involved again, I went on a few go-nowhere dates. This was the most memorable.

The day I turned in my uniform, I struck up conversation with a co-worker who became excited when I told her I was a writer. Turned out she was too (fell for that) and asked if we could go out later that night to compare notes, exchange techniques, all of that. Sure, why not? It’s a meal, I don’t have to cook.

Oh, what I was in for.
She comes to my house to pick me up and as a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, confesses that she’s married. She got a little ahead of herself, blah blah blah. I was a little surprised, but it wasn’t a blow or anything; I wasn’t looking to get back into a relationship. She suggested we go dutch. I agreed; I’m always up for a burger and fries.

Dinner is awkward but pleasant. Turns out she really is a writer, and we trade a little bit about our backgrounds. I omit darker details.

We pay our two separate tabs and she asks if she can come back to my place so we can continue our discussion. Have you ever seen one of those cartoons where every warning under the sun suddenly appears and blares audibly to go running in the other direction? Good.

I have a code, I keep telling myself. I’m not going to be intimate with a married woman. Period.

I keep telling that to myself when I allow her to enter my apartment. She surveys the walls, her eyes coming to rest on my Marvel poster  (you know, the one that features all fo the heroes and villains, the most recognizable ones prominent at the center?). She turns to me, in all seriousness, and says; “You know, you’re going to have to get rid of that when we move in together.”

They have not yet invented the words in the English language for me to articulate what went through my head. What I said was; “Excuse me?”

She repeated her statement, just as plainly as before. I promptly called it a night. She became the first person I ever threw out of my apartment.

She tried to contact me a few times beyond that (mysteriously, I never seemed to be near the phone) and after about a week, she got the idea.

It’s a story that always gets people to raise their eyebrows, and I felt like sharing.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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When I started this post, it was originally going to be written out of fear and uncertainty. I’ve been a ‘serious’ writer for about four months now. It’s hard work, and yes, it’s absolutely terrifying, considering that I want to do this for a living, full time.

Honestly, though, I don’t think I’d have it any other way. I’m distrustful of anything that is handed to me. Working–fighting–for something makes me feel like I’ve earned it, in the end.

My goal in life–now–is to become a full-time, bestselling author. Despite the overwhelming odds against this happening (this blog post didn’t help; she has a community of hundreds, if not thousands), I’m confident I can make this happen. No one thought I’d last as long as I did on the street, either.

I’m still wrapping my mind around the fact that people think I’m good at this. I was even invited to write a blog post for a friend that comes out tomorrow. Yet, I still go over my work and wonder just what the hell I was tripping on when those words escaped me. It’s not that I dislike my work; I just always think I can do better.

My main problem is that I loathe the idea of having to ‘sell myself’. I’ll have to figure out how to get past that eventually.

My point is this; I have never approached anything in a half-hearted manner. If I don’t succeed as a writer, it will not be because I gave it everything I had; it will be because it was not my intended destiny.

But it will be far from the end of the world. I’ve been in way worse situations than I am now, and I mean it when I say I’m grateful every single day I can get up and do whatever I want. If I don’t make it, I will still have my drive, I will still have my ambitions, and I think I can safely say I will have someone who loves me unconditionally.

If I do the very best I can, and that’s still not good enough–I can live with that. But this venture is still going to get everything I have.

And I have high hopes.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I started Universal Warrior: Uprising (Book One) when Chris Tejeda (@ChrisTejeda on Twitter) introduced me to the world of Web Fiction. I was fresh off of Nanowrimo, having completed the 50k words in one month. I had at last found my calling, and was eager to begin work on something else.

Three months, sixteen posts, and sixty-two comments later, Universal Warrior: Uprising celebrated hitting the 1000 mark. At the time of this writing, the site had garnered 1,005 hits, and more people are picking up the story at its beginning every day.

I don’t consider the story a success; rather, I see this as laying the groundwork for my future. I most certainly never expected the story to take off the way it did, and it always makes me grin to see people tuning in every Monday before the story goes live. I enjoy the fact that people enjoy my work.

I will consider the story a success when I am paid to do it. I’ve had people ask me lately how I get paid to blog (which I don’t) and what methods I use to get the story out to the public. So I thought I’d take this time to illustrate the methods of my madness, most of which were loaned to me by someone far more experienced.
Enjoy.

1). Know Your Story.
Universal Warrior has been in my head, in one form or another, for the past twenty years. I know each of the 500+ characters that inhabit this world, I know where they’re going, and I know where everything ends up. Even so, I outline each chapter long before I type the first word. I recommend everyone do this, unless you’re extraordinarily talented. Planning your work in advance is a great way to avoid writer’s block. If you get stuck, refer to your notes. It’s okay if you end up with something far outside of what you planned, but at least you have your plan to fall back on.

2). Get Into Social Networking.
You don’t go cliff jumping without a parachute. You don’t launch your epic without having someone know about it. These days, you should spend almost as much time networking as much as you do writing. What good is it to put all this effort into your hyper-mega epic if absolutely no one was aware of its release?
Never, ever dismiss any social networking site. You never know who’s there, and who might promote your work. If you’re not using twitter, you should be. You should be using Twitter if you’re in any creative field. You should be using Twitter if you get out of bed in the morning. If you’re not on Twitter, stop reading this right now and go sign up. Then check out this site that lists people you might want to start following.
I release Universal Warrior through Twitter, MySpace, Friendfeed, Facebook, and I’m starting to post announcements through Web Fiction Guide, and next week I’ll do the same on Muse’s Success. Get your work out there. It’s better to be hated than unknown; you can always improve.
Okay, now, the flip side to this coin is this; don’t get on these sites and speak only of your work, rambling on aimlessly about how great your stuff is without interacting with anyone else. This is the quickest way to get blocked.
Network. Meet people. Establish genuine connections. Then talk about how great your work is.

3). Keep your Word
Universal Warrior comes out each Monday by 1pm CST, no matter what. I have only missed the 1pm deadline once, and I have never once missed a Monday deadline. I sincerely believe that this is why I’ll have up to ten hits every Monday before the story is released.
Before you even have a story, you have your reputation. Build it and they will come.

In conclusion, I have to say that I spend anywhere from one to three hours churning out words on various projects. You have to be dedicated or your lack of it will show up in your work. I haven’t had a day in weeks where I didn’t put out at least a thousand words (of course, this is because I have no job).

I also have to say that you probably have to be a little lucky. There isn’t a week that goes by that I wonder whether or not I will do irreparable damage to my fledgling fan base. Is it too long? Is this in character? Is this too much backstory? Is this enough action? Not enough action? Is this explained well enough? Am I revealing too much? Is this the story I should be telling?

Welcome to my world.

There are other methods I use, which include:

*Keeping a Thesaurus and two Dictionaries at my desk at all times

*Having a window to stare out of during ADD moments

*Taking a break every hour to read, play, do pushups, or anything not related to the task at hand

*Having appropriate music on at all times

All of this is just what works for me. There is no miracle cure. There is no magic formula that will turn you into the next Stephen King. In the end, you have to find what works for you, and then stick with it. Even more importantly, if you’re finding that your methods don’t work, you need to be open-minded enough to realize that something needs to change.

Ultimately, you decide your own fate.

Thanks for reading, and good luck.

Special thanks to Molly (@bookwormm21) my unflaggingly detail-oriented editor (and girlfriend), MeiLin Miranda (@MeiLinMiranda) for the tutelage, Chris Tejeda (@ChrisTejeda) for introducing me to this world, and Dianne (@keikomushi) for her work advancing in advancing Universal Warrior (and introducing me to podcasting!)

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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It is a setting fit for new, pimply-faced teenagers and the children eager to reach that stage. For those that may not understand, it may be the worst type of sensory deprivation, but for those that do, we can imagine nothing better.

Our senses are blissfully and endlessly stimulated in this place; a place of electronic madness, poorly-lit hallways lined with cabinets that assault your eyes and ears with a constant barrage of flashing imagery and seemingly random beeps, tinny tunes, and sound effects from worlds being obliterated for lack of one quarter. The smell of day-old cheese sauce and hot dogs that should’ve been thrown out ages ago are unavoidable if you get too close to the front counter, but still resonate in the rear room. And everywhere, there is the barrage of taunts, jeers, friendly insults, and challenges as rivalries are born, settled, and laid to rest. This, my friends, is the arcade.

On this night, I’m eleven years old, and this is my second home. Unfortunately, I have long since lost track of time.

Not that I’m eager to get home, knowing what I’ll face regardless of my time of arrival. Presently, the Mad Gear gang has kidnapped Jessica, the Mayor’s daughter, and my sole priority is saving her. For the first time, I’m nearly at the end of this journey, and I plan to see it through.

I’m so engrossed in the game that I’m completely oblivious to my surroundings, save for what I know to be there.

So when the presence of darkness overshadows me from the rear, my stomach bottoms out through my groin, my throat goes dry, and I wish I could disintegrate into nothingness. It’s the cologne that gives it away, and I wonder if everything will finally be made public. Will he lose his temper in public? Will everyone finally see him for who he is?

Not today.
Today, there is only an uncharacteristically gentle hand in my right jacket pocket. I know the voice as it leans into my right ear, but its warmth is unfamiliar to me. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear a stranger was propositioning me. His words are an invitation, not a warning. “Come home when you’re ready.”

I count to ten. When I turn, I’m alone.
I fish a twenty dollar bill out of my jacket pocket. I have no idea what to think—except I’m suddenly hungry.

First, I rescued the Mayor’s daughter.

Then, I took part in defeating Shredder with three other strangers.

I had my traditional meal of two Big Mac’s, Large Fries, and a 20-Piece McNugget set.

I received no blowback when I got home that night.
The rest of the money went to a jacket I have to this day, although I outgrew it long ago. Far and away, that was the best twenty dollars I ever spent.

Or received.

del.icio.us Tags: Arcade,Dad,$20 Childhood

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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San Francisco, California

Fourteen Years Ago

If you catch the last train running to Colma and exit Civic Center, you may find yourself directly in front of a 24-hour Carl’s Jr. You may call it Hardees. I called it home.

There is a waist- high, gray concrete, u-shaped border that surrounds the staircase leading to and from the underground station. You could almost feel the unsettled energy as you stepped onto the red brick pavement between the train station and the restaurant, some fifteen feet to your left. By day, hundreds of tourists pass through. By night, the residents made it a battleground. It was my first.

This night, as always, the restaurant is not so busy. The truly homeless seek reprieve from the streets by hustling up enough to buy a meager burger, hoping they can sleep all night. The security guard, a robust, soulful man named Daune (pronounced Dau-Nay, but you can call him D) Paul Colvin III, usually doesn’t care about the homeless sleeping as long as they don’t stink.

As always, Daune’s post, to the immediate left of the store’s entrance, is surrounded by the usual crowd.

There’s Terry, who would be in his forties now. He was struck by a bus in his youth and lost partial use of his left side. He also had the common sense knocked out of him, you’d think, because it wasn’t uncommon to see him suck the toes of random women–before he took them home. Tall, lanky, black, eternally hilarious and relentlessly loyal, he was the mainstay of the group. His mother insisted he get out of the house each night, and he’d end up here to shoot the breeze. There were worse places to go.

Terry was also the best scrapper I’d ever seen. He could throw that left like it meant nothing. Once, during a sparring session, he knocked me straight to the ground. It was the last time I ever underestimated someone because of a physical disability. Other than myself, Terry was the butt of everyone’s jokes, but he could give it right back.

There was Chad, who, for some reason, I always likened to Guile in the Street Fighter series. Save for the hair, they could’ve been brothers, and Chad could take some monster shots. Come to think of it, when he fought, he very rarely took a step back. He never had a use for kicks, but had supreme use of his fists and no end to the amount of punishment he could take. He was my first real boxing influence.

There was Lee…and Lee, well, Lee was a trip. He was a high school teacher. He was bisexual and thought we all didn’t know (Funny story there). He was black-white, in excellent shape, very easy with the ladies and could shoot his legs to Heaven. He took me as kind of a little brother and sharpened the tae kwon do I already had. He was always smiling.

Christian was a wannabe goth, but he was one of the most decent people I’d ever met. He could only fight, but when he was angry. Then again, when he was angry, I saw him get this eerie, toothy grin that would’ve made the Joker shudder. Half-asian, six feet tall and always dressed in black. Christian didn’t fight as much as he inflicted pain on people.

Emalio, a young hustler who had endured a horrible childhood. He was quiet, shy, and the smallest of us. If you brought harm to him, you had to answer to D. You didn’t want to answer to D.

And me?
I had known the group about four months. I was the rookie, the untested one. I could fight, but these guys were on a whole other level, who happily kicked my ass repeatedly. D would randomly reach out and slap me. Didn’t matter where I was in proximity to him. He always a polite little smack upside the head. When I learned to block, it didn’t make a difference. D was an aikido expert. He taught me well.

So this night, things are a different. It’s Thanksgiving.
This night, we’ve all compiled our money and created one big pot to order a bunch of food. D went out of his way to inform me that my homelessness did not make me exempt. If I wanted to eat, I had to contribute. Luckily, the bang-on-the-change-machine scam had worked well that day, and I had fifteen bucks to my name.

We ordered KFC, Pizza,chinese food from right across the street, BBQ from across town, and enough stuff to where we had to unite two tables. Something for everyone.

Naturally, I was the first to reach for all of the food (slap). D ordered us all to take hands, lower our heads, and pray.
This shocked me; D was muslim, I was Christian, Chad was agnostic, and I wasn’t even sure what some of the others were. I asked D who we were supposed to pray to.
He looks me in my face and says; “Does it matter?”

I remember how good I felt when I heard that. I didn’t understand until I had seen more of the world.
We prayed. We prayed to who we believed in.
And then we ate.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I’ve been living with type 2 diabetes since about my mid-twenties. When I was initially diagnosed, my average blood sugar was between three and four hundred–enough to put a man in a coma.

Since then, concerning the illness, I’ve gone from nonchalance to acceptance to resistance.

There is no cure for type two diabetes. Once you have it, you’re stuck with it. However, it is manageable.

Failure to manage your diabetes, or keep your blood sugar in check, can lead to severe blood circulation disorders, which can cause heart disease. Another possibility is diabetic neuropathy, which means the nerves in your body die off. Essentially, you lose your ability to walk. You lose your ability to see. You may lose your ability to hear.

Then you lose your life.

Ultimately, that is the end result of this disease, which has no cure. It kills you.

If you’re a type two diabetic, it means that your body cannot produce enough insulin to work with all of the sugar passing through your bloodstream. At this point, consider the sugar like a slow-working acid consuming you from within. One of your body’s last-resort defense mechanisms for your blood sugar being too high is to shut down until it comes down on its own. This is why you may feel sleepy after too much food. When T2 Diabetes is left unchecked for too long, this occasionally results in a diabetic coma. This, as you can imagine, is about a serious as it gets.

At first, I couldn’t have cared less when I was first diagnosed (the whopper was not something I was willing to part with). As I learned what this disease would do to me if I didn’t keep it in check, I decided to make some changes.

You need to know that you can beat this thing back. It’s not impossible. It’s difficult, but it’s not impossible.

Without medical insurance or any sort of medication, I reduced my blood sugar two hundred points in one year by developing a routine and sticking to it. I’m walking proof that it can be done.

You can Google type 2 diabetes and come back with a host of results that will get you started, and you should consult your physician before making any major changes. That being said, this is what I do.

1). Exercise
Aerobics is the greatest enemy type 2 diabetes has, because it increases your circulation. You should be doing something from the moment you get up in the morning; not only does it wake you up, but it improves your blood circulation immensely. You don’t have to do something hardcore from the moment you roll out of bed. Five minutes of jogging in place, jumping  jacks, or shadowboxing will do just fine. Anything to get you just a little winded.
Getting your weight down will also allow blood to travel more freely through your system, which will greatly reduce your blood sugar. This is my five-minute routine in the morning. Stretch first. Seriously. Trust me on this.

1). Ten axe kicks, each leg (throw your leg straight into the air, as high as you can).
2). Thirty jumping jacks (Three equal one)
3). Ten jab-reverse combinations (switching sides)
4). Shadowboxing

If you have a job that has you sitting a lot, you should get up every half an hour, and for five minutes, get your blood pumping. Jog in place. If you talk on the phone, walk around while you talk instead of sitting down. Little changes like this go a long way.

2). Eat Right
Okay, I’m going to admit that this part bloody sucks at the beginning. You have to give yourself time to get used to it…but yeah, I’m not going to lie to you, this was the hardest part of it for me.
I’ve learned a lot along the way, though. Cinnamon actually reduces blood sugar and goes great in coffee. Swap out sugar for sweetener in everything and you will start to feel results in weeks. Develop a routine for your body. It’s often debated that you can eat three regular, balanced meals, or several smaller meals throughout the day. Both methods work, but talk to your doctor and figure out which one works for you. Whichever you decide, stick with it. I avoid most pastas and breads because they take a long time to digest, resulting in a spike in blood sugar.

My typical meals involve oatmeal for breakfast (which also brings down cholesterol), pizza soup or salad, and then something with baked (not fried, gotta let the fried stuff go) chicken, usually wrapped in a tortilla with cheese and vegetables.

Conclusion
Again, I stress talking to your doctor (I didn’t go into testing your blood sugar here) before changing your diet or starting an exercise routine. What I gave here is what works for me.

What I’m trying to stress is that if you have been diagnosed with type two diabetes, DON’T IGNORE IT. It’s not going to go away, and if you don’t deal with it, it will take everything from you before it takes your life.

That’s not drama, that’s truth. That’s life.

Or death.

Your call.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Okay, okay, enough. I can’t take this anymore.
A werehog? Are you serious? Did they really just do that? Who’s idea was this? Has he/she been properly, and publicly, flogged?

Go-karts? They put Sonic in a go-kart? He can outrun the go-kart, people!!

Shadow. I’m not even going to comment. Just take him out back and shoot him. In the head.

I don’t get this. Why has the legacy of one of gaming’s greatest icons gone completely and totally to shit?! What is so difficult about this concept? Sonic does three things. He runs. He collects rings. He rolls into a little ball and bops machines, freeing his animal brethren. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.

Tails is cool, he’s a sidekick. Knuckles is cool, he’s a rival. Who the hell are these other guys?!

You know when Sonic is at his best? When he’s doing ninety, going through his third consecutive loop, collecting his 100th ring (and the extra life that comes with it) while searching for the special stage in hopes of snagging yet another chaos emerald. Oh, look, there it is…

I wish I had the pull, or the knowledge, to get my hands on the sonic franchise, because I would give it the reboot it very desperately needs. It would take more than one game to restore the public’s faith in everyone’s favorite spiky-headed speed freak, but I could pen a story that would do the job.

Where would I start? Well, let’s see.

1). The Title
This is simple. In very small letters at the top of the box, just large enough to be visible, would be the words “The Return of” and then, in the traditional logo, would be “Sonic The Hedgehog”. Enough said.

2). The Presentation
At the front center of the box, as if a photo was taken as the three were running explosively towards the screen, would be Sonic (center), Tails (left) and Knuckles (right). In the background, in a menacing, dark look, would be a giant image of Robotnik.

3).The Story
I’m fuzzy on the details right now. I know the game would take place immediately following the events of Sonic and Knuckles (technique borrowed from Superman Returns, where we, um, disregard some of the entries in the series). Sonic, Tails, and Knuckles would be rebels in a world completely overrun by Robotnik. The story would definitely be darker (it’s what I do) but at the same time, it would still garner an E rating.

4). The Game
I’m more inclined to keep Sonic at his 2D roots, but I’d happily explore 3D. The concept would stay simple; he collects rings, he deals with interesting, mechanized bad guys that have one or more animal imprisoned in them, he goes searching for chaos emeralds, and he deals with bosses. I like my games to have strong stories, so that would be at the forefront. The player may be allowed to choose their character at the beginning of each world. Naturally, each of the three characters have their own way of progressing through a level, but they could all do it. (Oh, here I go.) I would set a level in space, maybe the last level, where there would be a ton of jumps and opportunities to build up speed.

But this is just what I’d do, and I’m not in charge. Yet.
In the end, I wonder why the powers that be feel a need to complicate something that found it’s success in simplicity.
If you want to save Sonic, take him back to his roots. No more hoverboards, no more weird curses, no more pointless characters, and no more gokarts. Ever.

Let’s bring Sonic back.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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