Final thoughts on this whole kerfuffle.
I’ve said my piece about my personal life and that holds true. I have zero interest in ever discussing my sex or love life publicly on other people’s terms. If you want answers about the particulars of a game developer’s private romantic entanglements, please ask yourself why you feel entitled to such a thing. As far as I’m concerned, the only people who have any business in knowing these things are the people they actually effect - and my current partner is aware.
Professionally, I feel like there are some things I can easily address though, now that things have begun to calm down.
Regarding the claim that I have exchanged sex for positive reviews. This has been investigated and debunked, and oh right, the review in question doesn’t even exist. Anything else written by Nathan in 2014, before we started dating, in which I am vaguely, tangentially mentioned at all has been the same tone and coverage as everyone else who covered it. There is no corruption issue here - if there was, you’d think there’d be some talk of massive AAA companies flying out and wining and dining games journalists rather than discussion of Phil Fish’s relationships. (warning: all of these links are screenshots and there’s a small sampling of the smorgasbord of fucked up shit in them) It’s almost like this whole scandal only blew up for reasons other than "corruption".
Regarding the claim that I doxxed and destroyed The Fine Young Capitalists, that is also incorrect. You can read that here in their own words. I know that when things kick up online it can be hard to sort out who did what, but aside from their own statement, there is zero evidence of this. What I did do was be critical of some of their policies on twitter, because as someone who has taught women game design and created programs to help them get started making their first games I get really passionate about this stuff. We have different approaches but share the same wish to get women involved with game development, and I wish them the best of luck in accomplishing that. Rebel Jam is not one of these programs and was totally unrelated to anything having to do with TFYC and came as a reaction to everything that was wrong about Game_Jam - but I will have some really exciting things to announce soon about it that I’ve been holding in for a while until paperwork clears and red tape is cut. Stay tuned.
Regarding the claim that I am the head of a massive conspiracy that is able to censor and shut down all major games press sites, 4chan, reddit, and god knows what else, I WISH that was true. God how cool would that be? A shadowy overlord of the internet, who is also kind of a cyborg? Shit that would be a good story. But that’s all it is - a story. Occam’s razor is still a thing. What is more likely, the pulp story of a lone woman manipulating the entire internet or that maybe, JUST MAYBE, other people can recognize this for the TMZ style bullshit it really is?
If you have any further concerns about what I stand for or if my role in the industry has been one for the betterment of other people, despite releasing a game pushing back against the stigma of mental illness for free on the biggest digital distribution platform, creating guides and programs to make game development more accessible to people of traditionally discouraged backgrounds, standing up for the image of future of indie games even at risk of getting sued back into the stone age, fighting for a better games culture where developers don’t have to fear consumers, experimenting with new formats of distributing free games, helping organize queer-friendly game jams; then I encourage you to watch me in the coming months. I am going to continue trying to break down barriers and disrupt the culture that enabled the abuse I’ve endured from the last two weeks from ever happening to anyone ever again. No more Phil Fishes. No more Anita Sarkeesians. No more Zoe Quinns. No more of the less known, less extreme cases where we don’t even notice or hear the voices disappearing. No more developers living in fear, afraid to speak their minds, afraid to be people, wondering when they might be next. This has always been my MO, this will continue to be so. I am going to keep doing what I do, I’m going to keep being a human with all the flaws and moments of brilliance that come with that, and hopefully I can work towards these goals with some level of effectiveness.
Time to get back to work. I love you all.
edamahun replied to your post:Just when my opinion of Adam Baldwin couldn’t sink…Oh no what’s he done now? D:
lol I love everyone’s just all exasperated like their dog just piddled on the rug again. This. He did this.
Adam Baldwin is a despicable hatemonger.
This is the story of a music journalist. He was a pretty successful music journalist. He had an ostensibly full-time gig at a pretty mainstream outlet. The pay wasn’t great but it was enough to live on, and he was pretty thrilled he got to write about music for a living. He worked from home, mostly. No real point to an office in this day and age when your outlet’s writers are all over the country. Each day the big recording studios would mail out new and upcoming albums and singles to him. Sometimes he’d get tickets to concerts that he had to review. Sometimes he’d write more what he’d call “culture” stories that weren’t about a particular album or concert but maybe some artist had done something in the public eye or said something on twitter. He really loved pop music in all its guises and the cultures surrounding it so the whole thing was pretty sweet.
Every morning he’d go to his local cafe for breakfast. It was good to have a routine where you left the house when you work from home. One day, there was this women busking with a guitar. She had the most chilling voice he’d ever heard and her fingers moved across the guitar strings like a spider’s legs move across a web (he liked that line, he wrote it in the Notes app on his phone). He had no change on him, but he did stop and listen for a while. When he got home, the new Kanye West album was in his letterbox.
The next day, she was there again. She was playing a different song, but it was no less beautiful. It was also unlike anything he’d ever heard. This day, he’d broken a $10 note at the cafe so he threw in a $2 coin to her guitar case and went on his way. When he got home, he started his review of the Coldplay concert he’d been sent to last Saturday.
She was outside the cafe everyday from then on.The music journalist started leaving home a little bit earlier just so he could stop and listen for a time. Every day he made sure he had $2 to give her. Sometimes they made eye contact and smiled in that way you smile at someone when you recognise them as part of your daily routine.
Three months passed. He’d given her about $180 in total by this stage (not that he was counting). One day, he happened to be walking by as she was replacing a guitar string. He was saddened he wouldn’t hear her unique brand of music today, but threw in his $2 all the same. She thanked him, and said he was too kind. He said it was the least he could do. He paused, then, and told her what a unique voice she had, and asked why she was out here busking. She shrugged and said she’d gone to the big record companies and no one seemed interested in her. It was too weird. There wasn’t really a market for it. She did have these CDs she’d burnt, but never really bothered to market them. He insisted she sell one to him (she said $3, he insisted on $5).
He listened to it at home while he wrote about the upcoming Taylor Swift album. The production was rough, and it had clearly been recorded directly into a laptop’s mic, but the strength of her voice and her nimble control of the guitar was still clear. It was unlike anything the big record companies were sending him.
He decided to write a story about her. He wrote about how great her voice and guitar sounds were, how unique and utterly unlike anything he was reviewing was like. He wrote about how excited it made him. He said, explicitly, that anyone in the area should go down and listen to her and buy her CD. He didn’t see any need to mention he’d been throwing $2 her way every day for the past three months. It seemed irrelevant
Over the next few days, comments started appearing on his story. Some people agreed that she was great and they were glad they bought the CD. Others said she was alright but didn’t see what the big deal was.
Nobody ever demanded to know if he had ever given her money.
Nobody claimed this coverage of an unknown artist beyond the record label paradigm was a sure sign of a music journalism conspiracy.