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.

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.

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.)

Driving me to the airport, Tomi said:

“I think you should pursue screenwriting. Go for it.”

I was surprised and asked her why. She said that Broderbund is a really nice, warm, friendly place to work, but for programmers it’s actually not that great a deal. The older ones, like Chris and David, are starting to get scared, because programming’s the only marketable skill they have, and it’s a young man’s game. The new crop of kids coming up are willing to work harder and cheaper, and don’t have girlfriends or families yet to cut into their working hours. And nobody knows how long the games market will be around, or what it’ll be like next year.

I never would have thought of it quite like that.

Danny Gorlin took me to his house to show me Airheart, which, a year later, is now double hi-res.  He asked for feedback.

It had the same problem it did the last time I saw it.  Small detailed objects against a black background.  It should be cosmic, mind-boggling; people should look at it and say “I can’t believe I’m seeing this on an Apple II.”  But the truth is, right now, it doesn’t look especially impressive.

I said: “You’ve gone the honest, hard-to-program, hard-to-represent route at every step. You need to put in some cheap effects so people will notice the expensive ones.”  I offered a bunch of suggestions.  He was listening, but I could tell he really wanted to believe it was almost there and he could be finished in a month.

Danny’s sunk a lot of time and money into this. I’m worried. Technically, it’s a wonder, but the universe he’s chosen to represent with this awesome piece of programming is so exotic that I’m afraid people won’t respond to it.  It’s what Gene Portwood calls “an effect in search of a game.”