Continuing with the ‘Future of Fiction’ chapter, we’re asked to look at something called ‘interactive fiction’. The idea didn’t immediately grab me. Who needs to ‘interact’ with what they’re reading? Apparently some eBooks provide more than just text: Game of Thrones is particularly rich, offering up maps and genealogies. One drawback can be that readers are no longer so absorbed by the story, but find themselves jumping from one distraction to another.
The concept of the reader choosing the order of the story by following ‘hypertext’ links goes back to 1969 and The Unfortunates by B. S. Johnson, which consisted of 27 unbound sections. Eighteen years later, Michael Joyce wrote one of the earliest electronic versions of this style: afternoon, a story. The course offers one example of an interactive poem: Letter to Linus by William Gillespie. Readers click on a square to be taken to another section of the work. The poem has no real beginning or end, and it’s difficult to find your way out.
None of this felt particularly relevant to me—until I found several articles referring to ‘MUDs‘ and ‘MOOs‘ as examples of interactive fiction. Now, it’s true that Keywords in Creative Writing dismisses them as ‘quaint and outdated’ like ‘the telegraph or the Pony Express’. I’m not sure if there is a modern equivalent. I did see mention of a product called Twine that lets you create your own interactive games, but I don’t know how popular it is.
I will let you in on a secret. Back in the nineties, I played and then coded for a MUD (‘multi-user dungeon’). I remember thinking at the time how close it was to a vast interactive novel. You could ‘live’ with other people in a virtual world that you had helped to write.
The MUD was a society in miniature. People chose a ‘race’ like elf, orc or wolf, and a guild: fighter, cleric, bard, wizard, thief. They set out on adventures called quests and fought one another or non-player characters to gain ‘experience points’. With xp they’d rise through the ranks, leaving behind the status of newbie and eventually becoming an ‘addict’. There was money to be earned and spent on weaponry, food, clothes and just about anything the ‘creators’ (programmers) could think of. I started out by coding a spliff that made the people who smoked it hallucinate.
The MUD world was packed with drama. Players robbed one another, stalked and killed one another, or helped each other out. They chatted on special forums. Real life friendships and relationships bloomed. Some couples who got together during the gaming days are still together now.
So how did it work? The MUD was formed of tens of thousands of ‘rooms’, including large virtual spaces where descriptions were randomised rather than specific. You would choose which direction to go. Experienced players created ‘aliases’ so they could travel long distances without having to keep typing ‘n’, ‘e’ and so on. Each room had its own description, and you’d find objects, non-player characters and scenarios (such as a shop) to interact with. I coded on a MUD for more than two years, during which time I turned out the word count of several novels. It was a great way to be ‘published’, share your work with others and get instant feedback. Having begun with a newbie area populated by decadent spliff-smoking creatures living, as I remember, in a giant tree, I coded a vampire house (my personal favourite), a large desert town based on the Inca civilisation, a Celtic village (Eriu) and a thieves’ paradise buried beneath the earth. As this was such a long time ago I don’t have most of the old files to hand. Here’s one survivor, a description of a ‘tomb guardian’ that players would have had the chance to fight:
A towering, inhuman creature, its eyes glowing whitely and sharp, curved fangs protruding from its mouth. Its skin appears thick and scaly; this is almost like a monstrous troll, save for the thick mane of green hair that cascades down over its mighty shoulders. Those huge limbs bulge with muscles, and a great roaring comes from the creature’s throat, but you sense that its power comes not simply from physical strength but also from unnatural agencies.
At one point of time, during the nineties, ‘interactive fiction’ was alive and kicking. It was never exactly cool, and by the early years of this century it had been superseded by graphical games like Second Life—less creative in my view, and certainly less literary. If there is a modern equivalent to the old multi-player text-based games, I’d love to hear about it. Playing, coding and being part of the virtual society were intensely enjoyable experiences and it seems a shame that technology has moved us back to a more passive relationship with fiction.
Masters Degree Creative Writing: A Journal 