[The letter extracts are from actual correspondence with Tom Zuchowski of E.A.G (Eamon Adventurer’s Guild) in Clemmons, NC.  I have used the pseudonym, Boris Scribblemonger, for my E.A.G. submissions.]

Tonight, I am sitting in the half-dark, thinking about Eamon.  The keyboard sits waiting, dimly illuminated by a green glow.  There is a red glow on the carpet — probably my last cigar butt.

Tom is right.  Most of our software is fast enough.  You don’t know what slow is until you’ve booted 600K of 16-bit stuff on a IIgs.  Since we’ve started using the speed-up mods to MAIN PGM, the pace of presentation is generally okay, even with a bunch of every-round checks at line 500.

Game flow, I think, is the rhythm of a game.  The player synchronizes to it and can devote full attention to game dilemma.  That is, without the arcade distraction of being poised over Control-S (one extreme) or wondering if the program has crashed or is merely thinking (other end of the patience scale).  Within these limits, fast or slow doesn’t matter so much as consistency.

Qat has snagged my ankle a good one because I stretched into his space.  I am allowed to share his lair if I provide kitty yummies and be a good domestic pet.  Speaking of domestics, Baldy just brought me a Coke and dug the cigar out of the carpet.  She doesn’t say much, and some folks would think she is . . . odd looking.

She gestures to the catalog display and indicates by hand signs, "This big!" followed by feigned sleep, "snore-honk."  The delay between the introductory program and "YOUR COMMAND:" is too long.  Hmm . . . I load the longest MAIN PGM in six seconds and then loose it all back, transferring files to ram.  Still, the biggest delay is initializing data and loading up all the variables.  I hate to give up ram disc because it is something like (I’ve heard) a glider far above the earth.  Not a sound, not even the disc drive whir.  Only the fantasy world of someone else’s imagination unfolding on my screen.

I just remembered the fast-start files of version 7.0 and their use to quickly load the variables that take Eamon so long.  The technique looks similar to the way we SAVE the variables of a game in progress.  I bet I could do that!

Everyone should try playing Eamon in the quiet dark, the better to get into an author’s plot the way he visualized it.  It helps to let a tall, skinny woman massage your neck muscles.

(an open letter to E.A.G. members)
I was not flooded with mail but I did get one query from a guy who was going to call me about something else anyway.  Who is Baldy and where did she come from?  E.A.G. members have a right to know because this is where club funds are going instead of into advertising.  It all started with my first disc submission.  Tom Z. stated E.A.G. policy and asked what I’d like in return.  I declined the usual disc swap because I have a bunch of titles here that I have not played and I haven’t got around to studying version 7.0 yet.

I ask instead for a tall, skinny, bald woman.  I was only joking — good lord, isn’t that obvious?  A week later, I was notified by rail express of a packing crate, and the rest is history.  Now, Tom claims that he knows nothing about this.  Looks like a big corporate cover-up to me.

Astonished as I was to find a girl in a trunk, I tried to get her name.  That was before I figured out that she is mute.  Could be a neural problem or her tongue is missing — I’m afraid to look.  I think I’ll name her Zelda.

The situation with Zelda is getting scary.  Two "suits" showed up at my place.  They did not properly identify themselves.  I guess they don’t have to if they make no claims.  I think they were Feds.  They asked a lot of questions about occupants at this address and made ominous comments about illegal aliens and white slavery.

There stood Zelda in the same jeans jacket and ragged housedress she’d arrived in.  All I could do was explain she could not talk and had no ID so far as I knew.  She made it clear that she lived here voluntarily and did not like the insinuations.  She put the burden of proof on those guys who swore to return.  I hope Tom has covered his tracks.

The infrequent but heavy-duty harassment over Zelda continues.  They even question me !  Two guys, different from the last, identified themselves as from the state D.A.’s office.  Yes, I pay taxes and yes, I registered to vote once.  They apparently had no hard evidence of Zelda’s origin (good work, Tom).

This time, a crew of three, two M.D.s and a nurse, showed up from the Human Services department.  They flashed a paper, a directive from the state medical examiner’s office.  It seems there is a current local scare of rabies, and last year there were incidences of bubonic plague on tribal lands north of here.  We had a free exam, and they took lots of samples.

I was made ashamed of Zelda’s accommodations, a blanket behind the computer.  I feebly explained she could unplug the power strip in case of a lightning storm.  She was willing to sleep in the garage.  I think I’ll offer her my sleeping bag and let her stay where she is.

Now, it is the local ambulance chasers of everyday life.  A lady from the W.L.O.S.* showed up during the day while I was at work.  Zelda was hostile as usual, but the visitor interpreted discrimination or mistreatment of some kind.  Two of them later met with me only because the poor, raggedy savage couldn’t tell her own story.

How much do you pay her?  (I don’t.)

Well then, are you married?  (We don’t do anything to make it an issue.)

What activities does she have?  (She sort of does nothing.  She’s the best Eamon play tester I ever had.  Hey, she’s good with Basic programming.)

How often does the poor thing get out?  (Every day to tend the garden.  She grows tomatoes out there.)

No, I mean, what sort of uplifting, extradomiciliary, social or recreational pursuits?  (Zelda answered for me, the first vocalization the busybodies had heard.  It is the same utterance she makes at Qat when he becomes too pushy.  Just like Qat, the ladies’ hair raised and they dribbled human-rights pamphlets out the door.)

All this made me think.  I talked to Zel about what might make her more happy.  It turns out that she wants another tattoo.

(article is exchanged monthly)