September 24, 1985
I passed my driving test, despite hitting the curb while parallel parking, failing to check the rear-view mirror, stopping at a green light, and having trouble getting the key out of the ignition. So now I’ve got a driver’s license. Scary, isn’t it?
Got a letter from Ed. He waxed enthusiastic about the new game and proposed they fly me out to discuss terms “as soon as it’s convenient.” How cool is that?! (Sorry, Mom, Dad… can’t make dinner. Gotta fly out to California for the weekend. Business. You know how it is.)
September 25, 1985
The Diners Club VCR and video camera arrived. It’s scary to have $2500 worth of equipment I don’t own and can’t afford. David and I (mostly David) spent the day fooling around with it. It’s a fantastic piece of technology, but I’ll breathe easier when it’s out of the house.
I feel so dishonest.
October 2, 1985
Last night I was kept awake by anxiety about the new game. All the detail I’m gonna have to put in… it just seems so daunting. How did I do it for Karateka? I can’t remember. I’m not sure I can do it again.
The Doubt is still there in the back of my mind. It talks to me from time to time. ”Jordan!” it says. “What are you doing? You’re taking a step backward. You want to be a filmmaker. It’s time to move on! You brought the Apple-computer-game thread of your life to its climax a year ago. You caught the industry just before it started to die, before you started to lose interest in games yourself. Now you want to do ‘just one more game’… why? Timidity! Fear of breaking loose! You’ll waste a year, man! If you’re going to try for Hollywood, now is the time!”
“Shut up,” I say, and Doubt grumbles and crawls, for the moment, back into its hole.
October 17, 1985
I ought to videotape David this weekend, because I have to return the camera by Tuesday.
Problems with using David as a model: By the time I figure out what additional footage I need, he’ll be 3,000 miles away (and probably several inches taller).
Ed Bernstein called back. ”I get the feeling I’m supposed to make you an offer,” he said. “Why don’t you make me a counter-offer?”
I wondered how you can make a counter-offer when there’s been no offer to begin with. But I said: “No advance, no salary, and a 20% royalty. That would be my ideal.”
He came right back with: “My ideal would be no advance, no salary, and a 15% royalty.”
I hate negotiating with people I like. My impulse is to be nice. I don’t want them to think I’m greedy. On the other hand, I want as much money as I can get.
This morning I sat in the sun and reread My Side of the Mountain. It got me thinking about how far removed from nature my life is. Staring at a computer screen all day. Fast food, fluorescent lights. I’m only 21; my eyes should be bluish-white, instead they’re bloodshot.
The yen to wander is still in me. It’s not dead. Thanks, Jean George.
October 20, 1985
Videotaped David running and jumping in the Reader’s Digest parking lot. It’ll do for a start.
October 23, 1985
Ed said there was no way he could go above 15%. I said OK. I’ll draft a contract and send it.
