Create Your Own Soundscapes for Writing, Coding, Tripping

Posted by on Apr 14, 2014 in Music to Write to, Tools | 0 comments

I bet you never hear of this before…


Take any song and turn it into a sound­scape in sec­onds. Maybe milliseconds!

That’s right, folks, for just twelve pay­ments of ALL YOUR MONEY FOREVER you to can be Boards of Canada*

*Actual results may vary. Side effects include homelessness, physical assault by Boards of Canada, acid trip flashbacks


Really, though, check this out.

It is a tech­nique known as audio stretching.

No, don’t go start­ing up Audac­ity or Adobe Audi­tion just yet.

This is a spe­cial kind of stretch­ing — one that doesn’t change the pitch of the music, and can slow things down by hun­dreds of times.

Seri­ously. You just don;t know what kind of crazy sounds come together to make your favorite songs until you slow them the hell down.

And, with the right source music, this tech­nique can result in amaz­ing sound­scapes good for writ­ing, pro­gram­ming, cast­ing necro­man­tic spells, whatever.

Allow me to give you an exam­ple. The two audio files here should let you take a taste of what I am talk­ing about.

Here is the first few sec­onds of Clock­work Creep by 10cc:

If you don’t know about 10cc, you should check them out HERE.

Now, here is the same snip­pet stretched 33.72 times. Just let it roll:


Whoa, man, whoa!

Yeah. It isn’t even the same song. Not by a long shot.

If you didn’t lis­ten to the whole thing, do your­self a favor and jump to the 1 minute mark, and then the 3:30 mark.

Duu­u­u­u­u­u­ude * lights one up * whoa.

This works for just about any song, and if noth­ing else it is fun to do.


“Where’s the soft­ware, man!”

The best one out there has to be Paul’s Extreme Sound Stretch, found at It is a Win­dows and Linux pro­gram, recom­piled for Win­dows and in source form for those Linux nerds.

OS X folks can get a ver­sion for their Macs here: – Ignore the 10.6 OS X ver­sion num­ber. I ran it on my 10.9 Mav­er­icks machine just fine.

Here are the set­tings used for the demo above:

Paul's Extreme Sound Stretch window



Enjoy it, and please share with me any awe­some con­coc­tions you come up with!

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“A Historic” vs “An Historic”, or Stop Saying That Please

Posted by on Apr 9, 2014 in Rants | 0 comments

Potato, pota­toooohh, potLARGH!!!!!!!!!!111111



Hey, your arti­cle is show­ing. Yes. Please tuck away your arti­cle in public.

This is a fam­ily blog.

God­damn it.

What arti­cle you ask?

Well, the arti­cle — A part of Eng­lish speech, the itty bitty parts, like “a” and “the” and “an” and some­times “some”.

These are impor­tant lit­tle bas­tards. Try to write a few sen­tences with­out using any arti­cle. Go ahead.

Sure, it can be done by slap­ping a noun and verb together to make the most basic sen­tence struc­ture pos­si­ble, but as soon as you need to expound on a basic idea — POW — an arti­cle appears.

And this is where one of my per­sonal pet peeves pounces pon­der­ously on to the scene.

The gen­eral rule of “a” vs “an” is this: If the word fol­low­ing the arti­cle begins with what sounds like a vowel when spoke out loud (as opposed to whis­pered inside your head by the raspy voices) then you use “an”.

If the first part of the word sounds like a con­so­nant, then  you use “a”.

A dirty diaper.

A soft wall with evil sym­bols etched into it.

An ancient but­terknife named But­ter­meis­ter.

An oblong don­key turd.

And, allow me to say it: A his­tory. A his­toric event. A his­tor­i­cal thingamajig.

Not An history.


Because the H in his­tory is pronoinced strongly. Like hit and hike.

You wouldn’t say “I ran over an hiker yes­ter­day, and now my hood is all bent up!”

Or, “That new song by DJ Dill­weed Dap­per­man III is an hit!”

So why would you say “DJ Dill­weed Dap­per­man III was an his­toric dude!”

Fact: An his­toric sounds more than a lit­tle herp-der-derp. And that is my pro­fes­sional opin­ion. Take two of those and call me in the morning.

So please, pretty please with a cherry on top, don’t say an his­toric. Every time you do, a kit­ten cries. I saw it. And it was your fault.

No kit­tens were harmed in the mak­ing of this post.

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Heinlein’s Rules on Writing: What the Hell Do They Mean

Posted by on Apr 2, 2014 in Writing | 0 comments

OMG no rewriting?”



There are many tips out there for writ­ing. Some of them are even useful.

Never write while on fire.

Never use a stingray as a pen.

Never try to type on a cof­fee cup while drink­ing your laptop.

Writ­ing tips suf­fer from so many lit­tle prob­lems. Some tips only work for the per­son giv­ing them, and don’t work at all for every­one else. Some suf­fer from sur­vivor­ship bias – they worked for one suc­cess­ful writer, and the only rea­son you hear of it is because they are suc­cess­ful, and the advice is given more weight because it came from a per­son who “made it”.

Hem­ming­way is known to have given fake advice in an early attempt at ‘trolling’ young writ­ers who con­stantly both­ered him for tips.

But I think it is safe to say Heinlein’s rules are a set of tips or instruc­tions that get right to the point and make some damn sense.

These are Heinlein’s Rules:


1. You must write.
2. You must fin­ish what you write.
3. You must refrain from rewrit­ing, except to edi­to­r­ial order.
4. You must put the work on the mar­ket.
5. You must keep the work on the mar­ket until it is sold.

Looks sim­ple, right? But hold on, there is at least one of these that gets caught in peo­ples craw.

It breaks down like this:

  • You have to write, or you aren’t a writer.
  • You have to fin­ish the crap you write, or you have noth­ing to show for your troubles.
  • [CRAW WARNING] Don’t rewrite your story unless you have an edi­tor tell you to do so. I’ll tell you what that really means in a moment, because peo­ple have been mis­read­ing this one for decades.
  • Put your fin­ished work out there. Don’t store it in your damn draw/closet/corpse-pile in the basement.
  • And keep it out there until it sells — this was writ­ten in the ’40s, so “sell­ing” your work has a slightly dif­fer­ent mean­ing now, but the idea still works.

I think this sums it up per­fectly. If you break any one of these, you will not get your story out there, period.

If you write, but stop half way, no story.

If you write all the way but hide the story because it “isn’t per­fect”, no story.

If you con­stantly rewrite, striv­ing for per­fec­tion, no story.

And that is really what #3 means — the mis­un­der­stood, “evil”, crazy #3…

Robert A. Hein­lein is not telling you, through the thick mists of time itself, to not edit your work. He is not beg­ging you to slap the story down like road­kill and ship it out to slush piles.

For some rea­son, many — many, many, many — peo­ple seem con­fused by this sim­ple rule. I think folks are read­ing what they think it says rather than what it does say.

“And what does it say then, smartass.”

Well, it is sim­ple, really. To rewrite is to take your story, trash it, and write it again try­ing to reach for that per­fect first draft. It is to spin your wheels for­ever in a loop of rewrites, none of which guar­an­teed to sell your story, and are there­fore useless.

You can restart a hun­dred times with a story that just doesn’t have the stuff, and come up as empty as if you hadn’t writ­ten at all.

Re-passing a kid­ney stone doesn’t make it a bet­ter experience.

He is telling you to start some­thing, fin­ish it, and if it is good enough to sell, send it out. Oth­er­wise move on to the next project, car­ry­ing with you all the lessons learned from the failed attempt.

Now, I can say per­son­ally I wouldn’t stick by this 100% of the time. Some­times a good idea needs a kick in the pants when it goes off the rails. But that is almost more writ­ing than rewrit­ing, isn’t it? No one puts out a per­fect draft, and few don’t change course mid-book and have to later revise the ear­lier chap­ters to make things work.

I have lit­tle doubt Hein­lein did these things as well.

It is doubt­ful he laid a ream of paper on the floor and shot snot rock­ets of magic prose at it until a per­fect first draft emerged from the sticky goo.

But you can eas­ily fall into an infi­nite pat­tern of rewrit­ing one story for­ever. Just ask any­one who has been “work­ing on a book” for ten years or so.

Hein­lein is point­ing at you and say­ing, “Fin­ish your shit, bruh. And then move on to the next thing, and fin­ish that. Or I’ll come over there and bop you one.”

I think you should lis­ten to him. He sounds dangerous.

Go HERE for a pretty graph­i­cal list you can print out and sta­ple to your monitor.

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Word Processors of Yore: Write in WordStar 4.0 for Giggles

Posted by on Mar 29, 2014 in Fun Stuff, Tools, Writing | 0 comments

Going old­school…



“Once, my child, WYSIWYG was lit­tle more than the sound a man made when sneez­ing and fart­ing at the same time…”

The young word-warrior blinked at his elder, “But, how could you know what your words would look like when you were ready to make an eBook?”

“Ha!” The old woman crin­kled her bul­bous nose at the war­rior. “You’re soft, boy. When I was your age, eBooks were no more than a night­mare haunt­ing the pub­lish­ing indus­try! A tale told to baby pub­lish­ers to frighten them!”

The elder grunted as she pushed her­self from the chair.

“Oh, no, my youngling. We wrote words of power in ASCII and ATASCII, where bold and ital­ics were dreams, and print­ers screeched in the night air…”


Wordy word processors

We all know how awe­some mod­ern word proces­sors are. Type­writ­ers, while use­ful as a weapon/door stop/anchor, are a real bear to edit on — No back­space, no select, and cut & paste was actu­ally cut & paste. With paste. Like kindergarten.

And don’t get me started on quill and parch­ment. What a mess! And that hor­rid scratching…

And no one would be seen dead today with a stretched piece of human skin and a bowl of demon blood to fin­ger paint with. So 6000 BC.

But some youn­gins may not know just how dif­fer­ent today’s word proces­sors are from Ye Olde Worde Pro­cess­ing Programs.

I began writ­ing on an Atari 8-bit com­puter. An 800XL if mem­ory serves, which it might not.

Those were the days! I remem­ber my “upgrade” from an 800XL to a 130XE — which had 128K of RAM! It could hold the word proces­sor and the spell checker in mem­ory at once!

128 kilo­bytes of RAM. A chunk of which was used by the hardware.

This image is 128k of data:


This image could not fit in the entire mem­ory of my old Atari computer.


Atari­Writer+ was my first word proces­sor. The bleeps and bloops as I typed, the boop-boop-boop sound the Atari made when load­ing and sav­ing files, the beastly sound of the Epson dot-matrix printer.


AtariWriter Plus

You want it. Don’t lie.

How I miss those dot-matrix print­ers. They sounded like a hive of angry killer bees fly­ing through a tin can inside a sub­ma­rine. On fire.

The blue back­ground and white text bring me back in time.

And Oh! The limits!

A few pages of text would clog up the RAM like a para­keet in a vac­uum hose. A large project would have to be bro­ken up into many smaller files, and even over many floppy disks — the real ones, not the hard “floppy” disks of the ’90s. A novel length work would span files, disks, reams of printer paper…


Some still ride the dinosaurs.

Speak­ing of old word proces­sors… Any­one remem­ber WordStar?

No, not you George R. R. Mar­tin. I know you know of WordStar.

But, any­one else? Don’t all answer at once now.

Here are two strange facts about Word­Star 4.0 for DOS.

  1. George R. R. Mar­tin still uses his orig­i­nal copy on a DOS com­puter to write those sprawl­ing, epic Song of Ice and Fire books. Talk about intesti­nal fortitude!
  2. I am using it right now to write this very post.

Yes, that’s right, you can still dab­ble in the old steam-powered tech of yes­ter­year to write things for today. It’s like writ­ing from back in time to the cur­rent future!

WordStar 4.0

The future of word pro­cess­ing pasts.

Why would you do such a thing? Fucked if I know. I just do things. Some­times they make no sense.

But allow me to demonstrate:

How to use Word­Star to be just like George R. R. Mar­tin, except less famous, far less rich, and with­out your own TV show:

  1. Get Dos­Box, a DOS simulator/emulator. This lit­tle gem runs on your mod­ern machine and acts like an old DOS machine, com­plete with crisp EGA graph­ics and the wicked sounds of a Sound­Blaster 16.
  2. Get Word­Star 4.0. There are other ver­sions, but for the real George R. R. Mar­tin expe­ri­ence, 4.0 is the one you want. You may be able to buy it some­where, but good luck stick­ing that floppy disk in your DVD drive. Google ‘Word­Star 4′ and ‘’ and maybe you will find an download.
  3. Bask in the glory of strange and ancient menus, for­mat­ting dis­played by sym­bols, and blocky grey text.
  4. Write.
  5. Save.
  6. Get WSedit. This is a Win­dows pro­gram sim­i­lar in many ways to WordStar.
  7. Load the saved doc­u­ment (Word­Star unfor­mat­ted) in WSedit and export it to a RTF.


WordStar 4.0

Step 1: Write in cuneiform.

Converting WordStar Document

Step 2: Con­vert to some­thing useful.

The doc in a modern word processor

Step 3: Proft.


Now you have a mod­ern RTF doc­u­ment, orig­i­nally cre­ated in a pro­gram from the ’80s. In DOS. Like a boss.

“Why not just write the doc­u­ment in WPedit?” You ask?

Because that isn’t nerd enough, fool.

So, the odd thing about all of this is Word­Star is totally usable. It is a very nice word proces­sor. Peo­ple must have wet their pants when this thing came out. We have bold, ital­ics, under­line (none of these show in the edi­tor, but they would print), spell check­ing, find and replace, mov­able tabs, line spac­ing, page markers…

I can see why George R. R. R. R. R. Mar­tin would use this even today.

But, I ask you, would he not be a lit­tle faster if he used Scrivener? Just sayin’.

Tell me, what did you start writ­ing on? Type­writer? Stone tablet? The walls of a padded cell?


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Even More Music to Write by

Posted by on Mar 27, 2014 in Music to Write to | 0 comments

Great Aural Fed Brain Fuel!


Music! I can haz!

From time to time I like to post info on music that helps me write, that lets me tune out the noisy world and look inwards to all the ter­ri­ble ideas I have in my head.

My ADD forces my hand here. If I hear the tempt­ing siren song of my wife slay­ing crea­tures in a game I will falter.

Today, allow me to present some of my favorite, and free, back­ground music — For writ­ing, pro­gram­ming, slow-motion swan dives off build­ings, what­ever floats your goat.

It is called musicForProgramming();

If you are a code nerd, you will appre­ci­ate the name.

Their blurb says it best:

A series of mixes intended for lis­ten­ing
while pro­gram­ming to aid con­cen­tra­tion
and increase pro­duc­tiv­ity (also com­pat­i­ble
with other activities).

A com­pi­la­tion of hand picked ethe­real sound­scapes, these mixes are just what the doc­tor ordered — they stay in the back­ground, have no words, and tend to set inter­est­ing moods.

For exam­ple, here is the list of songs used in the first mix, “Datasette”

Frog Pocket – Plinty

Tor Lund­vall – Crooked

Tim Hecker – 7000 Miles

Belong – Late Night

Frog Pocket – Sea Angel Lament

William Basin­ski – 92982.2

Praveen – Cecilia’s Fruit

Arpanet – Ionic Crystals

Tim Hecker – October

Nether­world – Vir­gin Lands

KGB Man – Nobody Here

Tim Hecker – Blood Rainbow

Der Zyk­lus – Iris / Reti­nal Scanning

Boards Of Canada – Kaini Industries

Of course, your mileage may vary. If you write/work/commit crimes to heav­ier stuff, this may not be your cup of tea. But try it any­way. You will be sur­prised just how well sound­scapes work for cre­ative activities.

Head over to music­For­Pro­gram­ming(); and give some of their mixes an aural whirl. What’s the worst that can hap­pen? An acid trip flash­back? And your com­plaint is?


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When Reboots Go Wrong

Posted by on Mar 16, 2014 in Gaming, Rants, Worldbuilding | 0 comments

Das Reboot


If there is one thing a reboot needs to do right, besides not suck­ing, it’s keep­ing a cer­tain fla­vor from the orig­i­nal and then improv­ing on it.

The most recent Bat­man movies did this well, for example.It was still Bat­man, but one brought into the cur­rent world with some cur­rent real­i­ties and up to snuff with our cur­rent expec­ta­tions for action and drama.

Now if they took Bat­man and stuck him in a generic, non­de­script world, then dumbed down the Joker into a mildly irri­tat­ing door-to-door evan­ge­list spout­ing tru­isms about the sanc­tity of broc­coli… well, it would suck.

Allow me, dear reader, to tell you of a reboot done wrong.


The return of Thief

Thief is a series of games that popped up in the ancient times of 3D PC games… The dreaded ’90s. In those far away times, we com­puter folk hud­dled around our bulky CRT mon­i­tors and played games from out 500 MB hard dri­ves. Some­times even in DOS *gasp*

A strange game emerged from the pri­mor­dial soup of first-person twitch shoot­ers and Com­mand & Con­quer clones: Thief — a game of think­ing and stick­ing to the shad­ows, com­plete with a unfriendly anti-hero that enjoyed ‘bor­row­ing’ things from peo­ple who had too much for their own good.

The sto­ry­line was inter­est­ing, the world well fleshed out, the char­ac­ters highly inter­ac­tive, and the graph­ics — Oh! The graphics!

The first of the series was a sleeper hit. The sec­ond was by far the best, tak­ing the ideas in the first and really flesh­ing them out. The third was, well, mixed at best, being the bas­tard child of stu­dio clos­ings and stock-market crashes.

And then, due to the whims of the video game mar­ket, and a series of unfor­tu­nate events, Thief fell out of sight for many years. This was a sad thing for many reasons.

The games were fun, yes, but I per­son­ally loved the char­ac­ters and the world. My attach­ment to the fic­tion of the game was only matched by a sim­i­lar (bor­der­line obses­sive) love for the old Fall­out games. Deep set­tings, crazy adven­tures, inter­est­ing protagonists.

And the game­play itself was unique and (still) unmatched. It played more as a puz­zle game than a first-person action game. You, being a thief (imag­ine that!), had to get into this build­ing or that cathe­dral. Fight­ing, while pos­si­ble, was very much not rec­om­mended. All you would get for your trou­ble were many unhappy, well armed guards look­ing every­where for you.

Nope — bet­ter off avoid­ing or knock­ing out those between you and your goal and get in and out with­out a fight. Crawl through vents, hop from rafter to rafter, wait until that patrolling guard has his back turned…

So, after so many years with­out another Thief, imag­ine how happy I was when another was on its way — and a reboot at that!

This was going to kick some ass, no doubt! Right? Right????


Son of a …

Yeah, well let us talk about that.

Here’s the deal, peo­ple look­ing to reboot a series. Come close to Uncle Kris and allow me to explain using hand sig­nals and runes carved on this sheet of yak intestine.

Kris’ first com­mand­ment on the mak­ing of reboots: Thou shalt not throw away all the good just to be different.

Kris’ sec­ond com­mand­ment on the mak­ing of reboots: If thou can­not please the fans, thy reboot shall fail.

Allow me to show you what I mean:


Thief, the original series:


  • Pop­u­lated by diverse groups and fac­tions, includ­ing reli­gious fac­tions that wor­ship tech­nol­ogy and for­est dwelling folk that wor­ship the old gods. The Pagans spurn tech­nol­ogy, the Ham­merites con­sider the Pagans to be sub­hu­man hea­thens, the Keep­ers man­age things from the shad­ows, the Mech­a­nists arise from inside the Ham­merites and ulti­mately take over, etc.
  • Steam­punk, and cre­ated before that was cool. Steam machin­ery and sooty smoke­stacks abound.
  • The City (that’s what it’s called, folks) is a char­ac­ter of its own. Dirty and ancient and built on the ruins of even older cities, the place has a dis­tinct feel.
  • Undead — a rare, but sig­nif­i­cant menace.
  • Strange crea­tures — Lum­ber­ing lizard-like Bur­ricks, all mouth and hal­i­to­sis, clack­ing lizard­men who have lived under­ground so long they think the sun a myth, steam pow­ered robotic cre­ations that patrol rich estates.
  • Patrolling guards and NPCs are var­ied and talk/mumble/whistle to themselves.


  • You are given very lit­tle infor­ma­tion on most mis­sions. Maybe you get some info from a con­tact within the estate, or over­hear a con­ver­sa­tion between guards that helps you to your objec­tive, but expect no hand-holding here. This is a puz­zle, a maze of rooms and cor­ri­dors and secu­rity sys­tems, and you are the mas­ter thief.
  • Very com­plex lev­els with mul­ti­ple paths and ways to get to your objec­tive. Got to get into that for­ti­fied bank? Try the roof, or maybe pry open a vent in the base of a wall, or try your luck dis­tract­ing and scoot­ing past guards at the front door.
  • Secrets hid­den almost every­where. Many with lit­tle story snip­pets sur­round­ing them. A let­ter folded into a book in the manor’s library may explain why the ghost of the dead librar­ian roams the room. Secret spaces between the walls tell of under­handed deal­ings and dalliances.
  • The lev­els are unbro­ken and some­times sprawl­ing. Take, for exam­ple, on mis­sion where you go from rooftop to rooftop (drop­ping in for a quick shop­ping spree when folks for­get to close their win­dows) for a good forty min­utes, only to reach a huge build­ing you enter and explore its five or so floors — all with­out load­ing screens.
  • Stealth is key. Avoid or knock out guards with your black­jack. Pop out, whack him on Ye Olde Nog­gin, and drag the snooz­ing meat­sack into a corner.


Thief, the reboot:


  • Pop­u­lated by vague, barely (orig­i­nally mis­spelled ‘bar­ley’ — mmmm) defined fac­tions. So sim­i­lar, in fact, that when one fac­tion over­takes the other and pop­u­lates the City with its own sol­diers you will be hard pressed to tell the difference.
  • A fairly generic City with few spots of real fla­vor. Expect the same gray stone over build­ings you can’t enter.
  • An ancient city beneath the City that looks… well… very much like the city above. Yawn.
  • No real undead or myth­i­cal trap­pings. Humans are what you see, and any­thing some­what super­nat­ural is merely the prod­uct of a ‘power’ that is never fully explained.
  • The patrolling guards and NPCs often repeat the same four or five lines of dia­log. This breaks the hell out of immer­sion. Not to men­tion there seems to be only two types of guards/soldiers patrolling the world and estates. I saw one review describe them as ‘Sword­bro’ and ‘Cross­bro’, and I think that says it all.


  • Lin­ear lev­els with very lit­tle chance to be truly inven­tive in your approach. Add the hand-holding float­ing objec­tive cir­cles on your HUD (you can turn that off) and you have mis­sions that feel very scripted.
  • Load­ing screens and strange tele­port­ing door/windows tran­si­tions abound. Open a win­dow and sneak in, and it shuts behind you on its own. Why? Because you were just whisked off to a lit­tle room some­where on the map. The win­dow is a gim­mick to hide the load­ing of these areas. This, by the way, seems to be nor­mal for games made with the mod­ern Unreal engines, and doesn’t detract from game unless they are try­ing to emu­late an ‘open’ world, like Thief.
  • Batman-like take­downs. No sub­tle, thief-like black­jack action here folks. Nope. Instead, expect thumpy-punchy take­downs that would cre­ate enough noise in real life to wake up the dead. I had no idea Gar­rett was an MMA fighter…


To sum up and get to my damned point

When you reboot a fran­chise, you need to be care­ful to keep the good, throw away the bad, and update/modify things to make it fresh. It isn’t an easy task. And fans of said fran­chise will be squint­ing real hard at you as you try. Drop the ball and pre­pare for the rage of the nerd.

But when you are work­ing with such a diverse and inter­est­ing world as Thief’s, the tal­ented folks behind the Thief reboot (includ­ing Rhi­anna Pratch­ett) should have had lit­tle prob­lem craft­ing a game wor­thy of the name, filled with pagan mys­tics and tech­nol­ogy wor­ship­ing cultists and all the mod­ern trim­mings expected of cur­rent gen games.

Instead, we got a bland and col­or­less world, a con­fus­ing sto­ry­line, lin­ear lev­els that allow very lit­tle cre­ative think­ing, fac­tions so sim­i­lar I couldn’t tell them apart…

And even worse, the great sin of any fic­tion: It never deliv­ered on its promises. I was promised, by the story and the game­play, cer­tain things. An end­ing that made sense, for exam­ple. And an ancient and ruined city. In the end, I sim­ply didn’t care.

It seems the trou­bled devel­op­ment of the game itself may have smashed any hopes of a good reboot, how­ever. I mean, just look at this tweet by Rhi­anna Pratchett…

Oh boy.


In clos­ing

May I sug­gest, if any of this Thief stuff sounds fun to you, pro­cure your­self a copy of Thief 2, smack that bad boy up with the mod­ern­iza­tion patch Taffer­patcher (it is an old game, and this patch makes it run like hot but­ter on new com­put­ers, includ­ing high res­o­lu­tions), and play a Thief game that will turn your head.

Just be ready to spend an hour or more on each level, sneak­ing and explor­ing, read­ing secret love let­ters from the lady of the manor to the but­ler, and snatch­ing up every sparkly thing in reach.

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