<![CDATA[P. F. Hawkins' Dot-Com]]> 2012-01-25T20:53:37-05:00 http://pfhawkins.com/ Octopress <![CDATA[The Gamification of Storytelling]]> 2012-01-25T20:27:00-05:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2012/01/25/the-gamification-of-storytelling IN WHICH Story meets Technology, and they exchange Awkward Pleasantries

I kept this blog post about using technology to tell stories by Jurian Baas around because the underlying premise got under my skin. From the article:

…the connectedness and interactive nature of the Internet can not only give us multimedia experiences, but also change the way we interact with text, our most basic manner of communicating after speech. I totally agree with Bret Victor on this: “People currently think of text as information to be consumed. I want text to be an environment to think in“.

This is insane.

Text is an environment to think in. Oral storytelling is an environment to think in. Stories don’t need to be reactive in order to be good stories. Text is not broken!

Reading this piece, it seems that the approach that Baas wants to take is the gamification of storytelling. Gamification at its essence is taking the techniques used in games to make whatever one is gamifying more engaging. The first example of experimental storytelling he gives is, unsurprisingly, an online game. (The other two examples, while they demonstrate the type of interactivity he is interested in, aren’t fully fledged stories.)

While games are a fine medium in which to tell stories, the real tell that Baas is referring to gamification appears at the end, when he calls for the creation of more apps and frameworks to “create more compelling stories”. Here he confuses the medium with the message. There are plenty of terrible, non-interactive books that are just not compelling. There are a smaller number of books that, while just as non-interactive, are extremely compelling. What makes some books compelling while the vast bulk languish in mediocrity?

The NARRATIVE! The story that is being told! A story could be interactive as all get-out, and not compelling. Heck, there are some books with prose as clear as meticulously polished crystal that bore the reader to tears with a limp tale.

What worries me about what Baas is advocating is, frankly, FarmVille. At its worst, gaming becomes non-compelling as a story, but extremely addictive as an activity. THIS is what gamification risks bringing to the table: tales full of empty interactions, devoid of story, signifying nothing.

While I applaud anyone attempting to create a story in a new medium, never lose sight that the narrative, the story, is what drives all mediums.

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<![CDATA[My Fling With Mixel]]> 2012-01-19T08:00:00-05:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2012/01/19/my-fling-with-mixel IN WHICH Fingers Paint while Dry, and Egos are Lightly Battered in a Hollandaise Sauce

On Mixel

Mixel confounds me as a piece of software that shines so brightly, the shadows of its flaws are made proportionately more apparent.

A Yeti walks in the snowy woods

Mixel is an iPad app for making collages that has the whole “social networking” thing baked into its DNA.

Making a collage feels like something the iPad was born to do. Swipe swipe, swipe swipe, tap, swipe, BOOM! ART! I am not an artist by training or temperament, although I do doodle extensively in the margins of my notebooks. Using a pile of raw ingredients and the few methods mixel provides for manipulating them, I can create something that, if it isn’t art, looks and feels like “art”.

On Art

A silhouetted Jiminy Cricket umbrellas down over a bleak yet sparkly landscape

The feeling of creating art is addicting, to an extent. In the first few weeks of use I found myself making mixels in the time I usually allot myself to attempt to write. I consider writing my usual art, and Mixel briefly supplanted it.

One of the great things about collage is that pretty much anyone with scissors and someone else’s art can jump in. Mixel provides the scissors, pasteboard, and glue; the web provides the found art.

Art is Communication

A wave crashes into the birds, as a saddened Awesomeface looks on

At its most basic, art is a form of communication. The artist attempts to share anything from a stray thought to a full-blown series of experiences to the viewer of the art. As far as I can see (and I am no art theorist), the success of an artist might be judged in two ways: by the degree to which a piece of art succeeds in conveying its meaning to a viewer, and by the sheer number of people who view a piece of art.

When art is at its best, e.g. Michaelangelo’s David, it is deeply evocative and widely-known. Art that is of high quality, but is not widely-known, is still a success. Art that is widely-known, but of low quality, I would call unsuccessful, as I would any art of low quality. Conveying its meaning is the ultimate purpose of art.

Mixel, as an app, cannot directly focus on the quality of the art; that is the artist’s responsibility. What it can (and does) do is get art out to the masses, both at creation and distribution. Mixel absolutely excels at this. From the creation standpoint, the choices the artist can make are limited, like any medium, but are not overly restrictive. It is easy to dive right in, and not too difficult to make more complex works.

From the distribution standpoint, Mixel uses an asynchronus follow system (think Twitter rather than Facebook). It has likes, and a limited amount of “loves”, or super-likes. Fairly standard social media fare.

The real innovation is in allowing anyone to remix any other mixel. When a mixel is viewed, it is shown with any other remixes of that mixel immediately following. If someone you follow loves a mixel, and you tap on it to get a better view, you will soon find yourself flipping through a remix thread, ogling the art therein. It is a completely natural (or perhaps completely human) way of serendipitously discovering new art and new artists to follow.

“If you could combine art-making with a dynamic social graph, then it can become addictive.” Khoi Vinh says in this Macworld piece on Mixel. Part of me has trepidations about this sentiment. Addictions are bad, mmkay? And another qualm lurks in the background.

On Identity

Still Life with Test Pattern and Planets

Although I missed it when Mixel launched, there was a dustup right out of the gate with Mixel’s requirement that one use a Facebook account to log in. As far as external dependencies go, Facebook is a weighty one.

In this post one week after launch, Vinh details why they chose Facebook for auth, as opposed to Twitter or rolling their own. While I would have attributed the choice to the fact that it’s easier to piggyback a social network off of the behemoth Facebook (e.g. as Spotify moved to for their signups), they really chose it because it practically requires someone to use their legal name. They want people to use their legal names in order to foster a certain type of sharing, a type that pseudonyms would, in their view, obscure.

The best argument against this decision is in the comments thread of Vinh’s post: “You’ve created graffiti, but are keeping out Banksy.” Would Banksy be a worse community member of Mixel than if he wished to use his legal name? The second best argument, also in that thread, notes that Metafilter seems to get by just fine without requiring legal names. Metafilter made two decisions that foster the sharing and keep out the trolls: moderation and up front cost.

Metafilter employs several moderators who police the site for bad actors. Many sites do this. Even 4chan! And while Metafilter has superlative moderators, I don’t think that this is as big a factor as the $5 entry fee.

To be able to post and comment on Metafilter, you need to create a profile, which costs $5. That alone keeps the cost of trolling far higher than most trolls are willing to pay. This barrier to entry is a much more egalitarian barrier than requiring someone sign up for a third-party social networking service. It also has the added benefit of bringing in actual revenues. Right now, we are all creating mixels at the largesse of venture capitalists. Those VCs will want a return on their investment. I cannot envision a revenue scenario (aside from Mixel users actually paying for the app) that doesn’t drastically alter the fantastic experience. Ads? Product placement? Make a Mixel with a coke bottle in it and be eligible for sweepstakes? Any of those would alter the type of sharing the app is currently creating far more than letting some people use pseudonyms.

Art is Communication of Self

Mosaic ladies with phrenological facial features

Ultimately, how one chooses to communicate oneself is an intensely personal decision. Art is intensely personal. A name, or the forgoing thereof, is intensely personal. My disapproval of Mixel’s choice to require Facebook is also personal.

Online, on twitter, on this blog, just about everywhere, I present myself to the world as P. F. Hawkins. I don’t on Facebook, for two reasons. First, I use Facebook for friends I have met offline, and would know me by my given name. Second, Facebook won’t let me be P. F. Hawkins; I apparently have too many periods in my name. G. K. Chesterton, C. S. Lewis, and countless others from the past would not be able to use their most well-known names on Facebook.

P. F. Hawkins is not a pseudonym. It is my real name. It is very easy for the public to tie it to my legal name. It is how I pursue and intend to pursue my primary art, writing. Mixel’s dependence on Facebook (and Facebook’s username choices, which Mixel has no control over) prevents me from presenting myself in this art form as the self I usually provide art as.

To Sum Up

Mixel is a fantastic collage app. It really is! I enjoyed it thoroughly. But it has ceded so much control over the identity of its users to Facebook that it undermines its stated mission of bringing art to the masses. The masses use pseudonyms!

David Byrne gives highly opinionated advice over a late eighties pastiche

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<![CDATA[Mundanities Behind the Curtain]]> 2011-12-18T10:08:00-05:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2011/12/18/mundanities-behind-the-curtain There is no story of consequence to this. I tire of using WordPress. I deal with it at work and it wearies me. So I am trying something new here.

This next iteration of the blog employs Octopress. I may have to update the colophon.

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<![CDATA[Hawkins' Law]]> 2011-09-22T16:39:11-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2011/09/22/hawkins-law The office VPN works excellently, except right now.

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<![CDATA[Grass Demons]]> 2010-12-14T00:12:29-05:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2010/12/14/grass-demons Black twisted gnarled gristle
Lawn dance and howl whistle
Spew out the fire bile
Hate-wracked the whole while
Teeth gnawing blood-glistened
No time to love-listen.
Can’t rue the damned day
Eternity’s the same way
Dance down the death-glade
Empty with heart spayed.
What’s left is tied taut;
Pain fills the no-thought.
What was the self thing,
Clutched, did this hell bring?

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<![CDATA[Dank]]> 2010-01-29T06:37:15-05:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2010/01/29/dank He drove into the dark night
That street lamps barely beat back with bleak light.
The spastic highway loomed languid, leapt aside,
Bowed down before the doomed ride
As he barrelled toward his dead bride,
Seeking pitch to patch the gape in his side.

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<![CDATA[IN WHICH I Stump for Vi]]> 2009-09-02T07:35:56-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2009/09/02/in-which-i-stump-for-vi At the mundane little sysadmin blog I contribute to, I wrote a little piece explaining why you need to know vi keybindings.

I’m sure you emacsheads will love it.

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<![CDATA[Hell, or Something Like It]]> 2009-08-06T07:57:48-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2009/08/06/hell-or-something-like-it Darksomeness engulfs
Low fallow fields left
Firm as rock dried in sun,
Cold as crisp iceberg submerged.

Submariners stumble on
Unseen fissues, folds,
Crevasses, barren blisters
Of lifeless locked land.

Passengers punched their tickets,
Paid their fares, folded
Clothes, packed bags, braved
Jet lag just to be here.

Groping in obsidian night, all
Rend asunder suddenly, then
Rend again, rend again,
Ever tearing never ending

Souls unbending, breaking o’er
And o’er again in pain
Unmending, sending lame
Desires (unquenched fires) drowning.

Powdered blood evaporates
In self-blind souls enslaved in state
Of everlasting fruitless wait.

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<![CDATA[Talkies]]> 2009-07-16T10:14:53-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2009/07/16/talkies stars scream heavy metal silver screen
heart strings tugged taut ripped clean
death dealt down to damn mean
man brought through no more green
played for laughs aged thirteen
main stream man’s a sad scene

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<![CDATA[Entropy Lament]]> 2009-07-13T08:08:11-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2009/07/13/entropy-lament In the morning as I brushed my teeth
I vowed to mark the day by valiant ways:
To rescue orphans, open up a shop,
Write that novel, win that maiden’s heart,
Climb that hill, convince a bitter friend
Of God’s wide mercy, till the soil, plant
The choicest vegetables, grill meat
Upon an open flame. In short,
Engage in derring-do,
And leave upon the earth a healthy brand.

Instead I shuffled off toward my job
(leeching little life from radio’s wiles),
Sat in my cubicle, answered emails,
Took calls, called shots, most of which were small,
Mundane, of little consequence. And while
I always tried to do my best, at end
Of day I’d lost so much to waste,
My puny fight ‘gainst entropy unwon,
And still to lose. I shuffled home, then
Microwaved some food, watched video,
Paid homage to the goods that fence me in
And hinder me from seeing the sublime
In humble living, mastery of self,
Right conduct, purity of heart,
And noble deed. Indulged on, fat
And restless, I hied myself to bed
So I could rest to do it all again,
And leave yet more undone.

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<![CDATA[Announcing ihopesolution.com]]> 2009-07-07T10:24:32-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2009/07/07/announcing-ihopesolutioncom So a sysadmin friend and I decided that there just weren’t enough blogs about systems administration and linux out there. So we started another one:

ihopesolution.com

I’m sure it will develop its own voice, since we both have, um, firmly held opinions about how things should be done. And odd senses of humor.

Since I tend to use emacs more for writing and org-mode rather than sysadminning, I’ll keep my emacs posts for my personal blog. (And so ends my feeble attempt to justify tagging this “emacs” and watching it hit planet emacsen.)

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<![CDATA[Goodbye Follies]]> 2009-05-11T08:17:57-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2009/05/11/goodbye-follies The tree-struck star stuck the landing,
Knees nailed to ground, brow down,
Soul still ensconced in briar crown.

Apart from Him he’d hewn to
Aspirations, plans He’d blewn to
Smithereens; and left bereft he
Clung to holy barque.

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<![CDATA[Tuesday Juggernaut]]> 2009-05-08T09:42:27-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2009/05/08/tuesday-juggernaut Sitting on the curb by the park bench
Barefoot listen to the buzz growl
Motors on the tires on the asphalt on the feet
What a sandwich, what a sandwich
Now God don’t exist but oh! this sandwich
Slave to the toil for the belly, the hunger
Wish I was slave for the love of another
We born let to die and then, my brother
The poet look cockeyed at whistling trees
He call me a trickster, I ask “Who art thee?
Are you of this world or are you born free?
This concrete jungle, what’s in it for me?”
That sandwich was tasty I wish I had pie
If that’s all there is then it’s all been a lie
Scatterbrain scatterbrain eat, poop, die

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<![CDATA[When Love Attacks]]> 2009-03-17T14:05:34-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2009/03/17/when-love-attacks Love lies crouched on haunches,
Coiled prehensile set to spring
Unsuspecting upon prey.

In the proper hour Love leaps,
Thrusting self through myocardial tissue,
Dissolving as a tear gas in the bloodstream.

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<![CDATA[On Finding a Document Production Workflow for Emacs]]> 2009-01-19T10:48:56-05:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2009/01/19/on-finding-a-document-production-workflow-for-emacs I have a modest goal: write some fiction. Instead of actually working toward accomplishing that goal, I’m going to obsess about the toolchain and other externalities used to support this endeavor.

I will use revision control. By an accident of history I will be using git.

I will use a text editor. Since I don’t want to have to run into frictions from modal editing while fiction writing, I will be using Emacs.

If fictions were primarily distributed and displayed as plain-text files, I’d be good to go. They aren’t, and I would like to at least attempt to send this higher up the food chain, ending in either a Microsoft Word Document or PDF.

Say, LaTeX makes some nice pdfs. While it manifestly does not suck, and AucTeX is the bee’s knees, I want to do whatever I can in the way of premature optimization to tilt the ratio of writing to formatting heavily in writing’s favor. LaTeX is formatting heavy, so I’d like to avoid that.

Docbook XML also suffers from the same issue. It is a well-specced and quite nice document format. And while nxml- mode is bar-none the premier way to edit straight XML, sorry, it ain’t happening.

So, what essentially plain-text formats can I convert to either LaTeX or Docbook XML, which I can then use to produce my output format of choice? As of this writing, I see three viable options:

org-mode ships with emacs, and is great. Writing novels in it would be orthogonal to its original purpose in note-taking and agenda-organizing. It only exports LaTeX/PDF, not Docbook. While it may work, I think successive options are more promising.

muse-mode is designed from the ground up for publishing, not note-taking. It exports both LaTeX and Docbook. This would probably be my first choice, except for one thing: its wiki syntax.

It seems asinine of me to start complaining about a wiki syntax now. I mean, isn’t that the whole point of this exercise, to find a wiki-like syntax I can convert from? Right. I’m not complaining about a wiki syntax, I’m complaining about this wiki syntax. All in all it’s not necessarily a bad one, but it is a domain-specific language for this mode only. It enjoys no reuse outside of this particular application. If the third option didn’t exist, I’d probably use it anyway.

But we have markdown, and the magical frobnicator that frobnicates markdown into a potpourri of other formats: namely, pandoc. Markdown mode is pretty handy, and I’ll probably end up writing a simple minor-mode or git-hook bash script for automating the pandoc conversions.

I’ll let you know how this turns out.

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<![CDATA[Spaceman In Space]]> 2008-11-01T23:22:59-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2008/11/01/spaceman-in-space Hurtling slowly through the void
Floating about in a flight suit
Checking, rechecking the ship’s math
Occasionally putting the helmet on

There are lots of checklists in space

The ship always beats him at chess

He never watches films anymore.
He never reads novels anymore.
Sometimes he cranks up the music,
And sometimes he drifts in the silence.

When he can’t sleep, he remembers when he used to dance the tango.

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<![CDATA[Sombriety]]> 2008-09-22T16:00:43-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2008/09/22/sombriety “You’re too funny.”

“Why? What did I do?”

She was laughing too hard to be taken aback. “What do you mean?” Snort.

“If I was too funny, then I wasn’t just the right amount of funny. When did I cross the line?”

Her hysterics subsided. “I’m not sure.” She instinctively reached for his hand.

“I simply showed you the comic, which I thought was simply funny, and then reiterated that I like the man in the last panel would be thinking about how the bear might defend himself from…”

She interrupted. “Don’t, you’ll kill it,” she said, her face drawing down into a pout.

“But I thought I did kill it; I went too far.” He very nearly looked her full in the face.

“Now you have.” She actively avoided his stare.

“So I hadn’t before?”

“I was laughing my fool head off!”

“But you said I was too funny.”

“God!” she blasphemed loudly enough for other passengers to hear. “Did you not catch the emphasis you just repeated back to me? You’re too funny doesn’t mean you’re excessively funny, just that I find you very funny.” She lightly punched him in the should; he was oblivious to it. He was too busy thinking.

“Oh,” he said after a while. “I think I blew it.”

“Yes.” She was looking straight ahead. “Yes you did.”

“I suppose now isn’t the time to talk about marriage then.”

“I suppose not,” she said. “I thought we were going to have a nice discussion about it.”

“On a bus? Because I showed you a comic strip?”

“Why on earth must you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“One minute you’re hilarious and then you’re still huggable but then you’re still so serious about everything it just… you eat moments like zombies eat brains.”

“Unthinkingly?”

She burst out laughing and whacked his chest with her purse.

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<![CDATA[Undead]]> 2008-09-02T10:09:45-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2008/09/02/undead “Un-” is a negative prefix denoting the opposite of the word to which it is affixed. The nearest equivalent prefix is “non-“, which denotes the same thing. “Un-“, however, also possesses a connotation (in many applications of the prefix) of time, where previously the state or thing that is not, once was.

In the case of zombies, the term “undead” is used to refer to them as a collective whole, as a race or species. “Nondead” is less appropriate, for while it would convey the fact that zombies are far more ambulatory than the normative deceased, it fails to convey that the zombies were once dead; or, if it does convey that, it does so with much less force.

(Another example of this connotation, although one based in marketing rather than in organic etymology, holds for “uncola”; 7up has always been a carbonated sweet water, and therefore a cola, although it subverts the usual formulae for what is deemed as cola, and in so doing is perceived [due to intensive advertising more than anything] as having progressed from a state of being cola to a state of being beyond cola.)

The utility of the “un-” prefix used in this manner cannot be overstated. For clearly, the undead, while no longer deceased, also are no longer living. The simple addition of this prefix drums up a word for a third state of being.

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<![CDATA[Book Lending]]> 2008-08-30T09:23:29-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2008/08/30/book-lending I have a new theory of book-lending. I’ve always been extremely recalcitrant to lend out my precious, precious tomes. They are my babies. Letting someone else read them who certainly doesn’t appreciate them to the same degree, or in the same kind, is a risky proposition.

My current reading pile includes a heaping helping of Austrian Economics. I love this stuff. A sense of economics on this scale rewires your brain circuitry (what a crappy, ubiquitous brain-as-turing-machine metaphor) in subtle and not so subtle ways. It is some of the best non-fiction reading I’ve engaged in in years.

I have to lend these books out. I simply must. I’ve attempted to get others interested in them, with a little success. My brother, who is reliabel in returning books I’ve lent him unread, raved about Ron Paul’s The Revolution: A Manifesto, which got me started on this kick. I’ll next lend him Economics in One Lesson by Henry Hazlitt. And I’ve gotten better about lending out other sacred cows; after the Watchmen trailer hit the web I lent my copy to a friend at work.

The realization, which has been slow in coming, dawns that I’ve read book X once, and the odds of me rereading it in the next few years are pretty slim. I can, therefore, safely risk the copy into the hand of others, where they can better and more frequently fulfill their functions as books. A book is at its best when its being read, when a man is bending his soul to the shape of another’s thought. The more capital I can pump into the marketplace of thought, the better served the consumers of that capital; not humanity, but flesh-and-blood humans. I’ve a couple books, mostly reference, that others can read only in the confines of my abode, but they are now the exception rather than the rule.

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<![CDATA[The Cubicle Men]]> 2008-08-22T17:27:01-04:00 http://pfhawkins.com/2008/08/22/the-cubicle-men Wage servants sit glued to the glowing
Of the monitors, manipulating
Electrons of Industry.

Inside, spleen gives way to toxins
Untouched by liver, imbibed
After terms of indenture.

In deeper, indivisible selves wither,
Except for the few that forge fearsomeness there.

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