Flow Found
First up, hello to my new subscribers! 👋🏻 I formally announced this newsletter yesterday and am stoked to have you here. Thank you.
Now, I am pleased to report: We have a flow.
I feel like I cracked the outline and flow of the loosely named, but will still likely be called "The Spirit of a Galaxy Game" essay. When writing something of this magnitude (I don't mean in the life-altering way, but rather the scope of The Thing™ way), this moment feels like relief and clarity.1
You're staring at this mountain of research-shaped puzzle pieces with no final picture. The scales of curiosity are stacked on the side of questions, a tiny pile of answers on the other side. When the flow becomes clear, you see the edge pieces and begin to work inward toward that final picture. The scales tip as answers reveal themselves.
When I was a kid, probably eight or nine years old, we lived near what felt like a bunch of woods. There was (and apparently still is) a little protected meadow across from the house. I'd always go down there and explore the woods. I loved few things more than wandering in the trees, building forts, and mapping out the land. I loved it so much I kept the neighborhood brochure which had a nicely drawn aerial map of the tiny development, which included the meadow and surrounding trees.
One day my older cousin was visiting and we went down between the trees to this little creek I knew about. 2 We decided in our brazen boyish confidence to cross the creek thanks to a tree that fell long before our time. On the other side we kept walking into lands unknown to us. We found an overgrown cemetery, which was basically like finding a lost civilization to us. Before too long, we realized we didn't know where we were or how to get back. The trees felt thicker. The creek seemed to disappear. We were lost.
This was ages before either of us would have our own phones. We couldn't call for help. We had to find our way out. We saw some houses in the distance. We walked along the outskirts of this houses, marking our way toward civilization. We prayed. We kept walking.
Eventually, we walked some odd 1700 feet north and stumbled upon E County Road 200 N. Now, I am a landmark navigator. I'm that guy that says "go until you see the Wawa, hang a right and go until you spot the glass-and-steel-box-looking bank building." I knew this road, or more accurately, I knew the neighborhoods that flanked this stretch of the road. My neighborhood was down half a mile on the right. We found our way back and have never talked about it since.
That's what writing stories feels like. You go check out a place, a scene, an idea that you sort of know; one that has grabbed ahold of your curiosity in some way. As you step into the outskirts of the idea, you get drawn in deep until you are surrounded by the nature of the idea. It's thicker, wilder, and more mysterious than you thought. The way forward isn't clear. You push. Eventually, you find a landmark, some anchor point to the world you know and the path forward opens right up. Your way is clear.
Finding the flow is a big milestone for me. I feel invigorated, excited. Now it's time to really dig into the writing of this essay. Godspeed me.
In related news, I am halfway through Super Mario Galaxy 2, if halfway is 60~ of the first 120 Stars. I'm not doing the 242 run (although the unlocks and challenges sound cool on paper). I just got a copy of 202X: Video Game Reflections by Philip Summers, which has the art and seed that sparked this entire essay. I am loving it so far: beautiful art, warm nostalgic tones, and signature Philip insights make for a one-of-a-kind book. He should be on MFP again soon đź‘€.
I also formally announced this newsletter and The Max Frequency Library, a YouTube channel dedicated to high quality video game capture, including all the gameplay recorded for this essay. If you want to read or watch more about that project, click them links. I am super happy with both and am excited to see where they take me and these essays.
All righty, that's enough for this letter. The time has fallen back an hour and, somehow, miraculously, my kid is still asleep. Maybe she knew I needed to write this one. I'm gonna go cook some pancakes for her as a thank you. Until next time...
This letter is one block from the newsletter Memory Card by Max Roberts. Thoughts? Send me an email at max@maxfrequency.net.
Max is the writer and producer behind Max Frequency. cultivate and curate curiosity—both for himself and for others—by delighting in the details and growing greatness from small beginnings.
He's written a rich history and dive on the making of Naughty Dog's The Last of Us Part II, celebrated the 15th anniversary of Super Smash Bros. Brawl with the voice behind its hype, and examined how Zelda "stole" Fortnite's best mechanic.
Memory Card is a real-ish time, raw, drip feed newsletter of his creative process for telling these stories. It’s how The Thing™ gets made.
It's all powered by Max Frequency and patrons.
Wanna see The Thing™? Check it out on YouTube. Read it on The Blog.