Games
I'm an indie games writer and programmer with finished projects in Twine. I am currently working for Uowls as a narrative writer. You can find my finished personal projects at my itch.io page. Here you'll find descriptions of some projects and a few writing samples.
Erstwhile
Link to game
Erstwhile is a puzzle game about a ghost solving his own murder in a sleepy, everyday town, who has retained all of his memories but still can't figure out who killed him. I co-wrote it with another writer but programmed all of it myself. We submitted it into the 2018 Interactive Fiction competition where it placed 5th out of 77 entries. It also was nominated in the 2018 XYZZY awards for Best NPCs and Best Individual Puzzle; it won the latter category.
It was a pretty good Thanksgiving until you keeled over and died.
The whole neighborhood was invited to the dinner, and just about the whole neighborhood showed up. Most of them were probably there for the free food over the Thanksgiving spirit advertised on the flyers, but it was such an impressive turnout that you didn't really give a damn about that. You simply beamed as you watched them pour into the park, chatting with each other and eyeing the feast laid out on the long plastic tablecloths.
Before people could sit down in the folding chairs set on the browning grass, you made a point of greeting every single one of them, with a wide smile and a handshake so firm that many of them walked away rubbing their wrists. It was what any gracious host would do, and as the Ronton Neighborhood Association chairman, you wanted to make a good impression. Listening closely to their chatter, which, given your position in the community, you considered less eavesdropping and more surveying, you were making a very good one indeed.
Yes, everything was going perfectly until, as you said with difficulty, you started to feel "a bit crappy". Beads of sweat dripped down your chin and your vision blurred, and people began to crowd about you in concern right up until you vomited on the table. It turned out that "crappy" was a terribly understated description of your heart attack, especially with the suffocation on top of it. Though someone called 911 as soon as you started convulsing, and the EMTs tried their damndest to save you, things ended in a non-miraculous way.
In other words, you're a ghost now.
Welp.
In a minute there is time
Link to game
A short game I wrote and entered into SeedComp, a competition where people submit ideas ('seeds') in the first round and different people develop the ideas into games ('sprout') in the second round. It won Best Seed Subversion and Best Technical for the competition.
The game takes one minute to play. I plan on expanding it eventually, but here it is for now!
It’s just shy of six o’clock, and the streetlamps are starting to be lit. The scent of chestnuts is just barely detectable within the heavy fog, and smoke drifts from apartments high above us.
The streets are nearly-deserted at this time— most people have gone home for the evening or found some hotel to stay the night. Still, I spot two men who are in a conversation on the corner near the oyster bar, a dog accompanying them.
Andromeda Chained
Link to game
Andromeda Chained is a short game I wrote and programmed as a riff off of the myth of Perseus and Andromeda, written from Andromeda's perspective. It explores the theme of agency and the illusion of such.
There’s a pale blur against the blue, getting bigger as it approaches from the mainland. It doesn’t look or move anything like a bird— too tall and thin and quick, and with no visible wings. You blink a couple times, wondering if the heat and burning light are making you see things that aren’t there. The speck continues to get closer though, and as it does you can discern that it appears to be a human, or at least in human-form. Hermes?
No, no, it’s definitely a human, a man; he doesn’t glow with the mythic aura that deities have. He’s holding a golden sack, with a glittering sickle-sword at his belt and a pitch-deep helm upon his head. You do, in fact, see wings now, but they’re fluttering from the sandals on his feet. How this stranger obtained these magical items, you don’t know, but he must be a hero of some sort, favored by the gods. He does seem to be heading in your direction. Is he here to save you?
Dare you hope that to be the case?
It isn’t long before you can examine him properly. The man is handsome, with fair skin, soft curls that frame his clean-shaven face, and large, umber-dark eyes that hold your gaze even he alights at the rocks nearby. Once he lands, cloak settling about him, he takes a few steps toward you with a smile. “Lovely maiden, are you indeed Andromeda, daughter of Kepheus, the king of Aithiopia?”
You nod, confused.
The stranger puts a hand to his heart and holds out the other toward you. “I am Perseus, son of Danae and Almighty Zeus. I have heard of your kingdom’s plight and your soon-to-be sacrifice. As a hero, I cannot bear to let any maiden fall to such a fate. And,” he says, almost looking bashful, “as a man, I admit, I cannot bear to let that fate fall upon a maiden as beautiful as you.”
“Thus I have come to save you,” he continues, “by slaying the foul beast. In return, I have asked your father for your hand in marriage, for I fear I have fallen in love at the sight of you. He gave his assent, so here I stand.” He smiles again, waiting for your response.
Accept, for you have fallen in love.
Nod.
Say, “I do not know you well enough to accept this.”
Refuse, for you are not a prize.
Ask, “Wait, when did you talk to my father?”