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What if an alien planet with life had a solar system with a large, rocky planet between it and the sun? And this planet was so close to the sun that it circumnavigated in only two days? What effect might it have on the lively planet’s temperature (assuming it is quite large)? How might people have adapted?
Has anyone ever used the computer game The Sims to write a story? While I’ve generally considered the game a grown-up excuse for indulging my latent dollhouse fantasies, I have noted the presence of storytelling components in the toolset. You can take and caption snapshots from your sims’ lives, you can write their character bios, and you can make mini-movies of important events. Since you are in control of their actions, you can basically make the sims plot a story on the fly.
Naturally, the format lends itself more to soap operas than any other genre. Sims are all about making and breaking friendships and romances. In fact, the game encourages you to make your sims have multiple lovers (who occasionally discover each other, leading to some gloves-off fistfights) through the sims’ “aspirations.”
I’ve tried once or twice to chronicle my sims’ lives using the tools, but I’d get impatient with the way stopping to write impeded my progress. On the other hand, without access to any expansion packs for my basic game, I lose interest in my sim families after several repetitions of the usual sim daily cycle. Maybe giving the game a storytelling purpose would make it more interesting in the long run?
Girl walks down the street carrying her groceries, passing a twenty-something guy shouting over her head in some random language. Then, suddenly, the words switch to English: “Yo guys, what’s up?” She shakes her head with a smile at how multilingual Europeans are.
She walks up to a tobacco kiosk to buy some tram tickets. The clerk sees her approach and asks, “Yes, may I help you?” The girl raises her eyebrows at being addressed in English, but it’s a touristy area and the locals are often good at making her as an American from her clothing’s non-neutral shades.
“Yeah, I need five ten-minute tram tickets, please,” she says.
The clerk looks at her quizzically. “Excuse me?” he asks.
She must not have spoken loud enough. She did tend to mumble. The girl repeats herself, more strongly.
Now the clerk’s face evidences some frustration. “Listen, lady, I can’t understand you; I don’t speak English. Here, point to what you want,” he says, gesturing.
The girl’s eyebrows might have flown away by this point. “But you are speaking to me in English.”
“What do you want from me, girl! Point, point!” he shouts.
“Maybe I can help,” a bystander interjects. “What are you looking for?” he asks the girl.
“I need five 10-minute tram tickets,” she says faintly.
“She needs five 10-minute tram tickets,” the bystander repeats to the clerk.
“Ah, yes. It is no problem,” he responds, relieved. “Tell her it’ll cost 100 with the service fee.”
The bystander turns back to the girl, who’s already digging through her purse, emerging with 100. He looks puzzled. “But I thought you didn’t speak the language?”
“I speak English just fine, thanks,” she mutters.
“I meant our language,” he replies, gesturing from himself to the clerk as she pays.
“I read some, but I don’t do oral,” she answers. “Listen, thanks for the help.”
She hurries away, wondering if it would be possible to ever learn to speak the language now if she’s lost the ability to differentiate. Then, she stops.
Lost the ability to . . . ?
