Attarte's Journey

Hello! I’m a film director focused on videogame narrative. 🦇 Here is where I share my writing and my love for storytelling across mediums, and engage with fellow creative Tumblr residents. Feel free to reach out to talk ideas or collaborate on a creative project — especially in games. 🕯️

[attartes-insight]

Introductory Post #1

Attarte — a film director with a love for fantasy, the macabre, and the kind of romance that hits right in the chest. After years of honing my craft, I’m diving back into fiction writing. This blog will be my notebook: media analysis, world-building experiments, and snippets from my own stories.

If you’re into storytelling talk, strange worlds, or lizard folk (yes, really), you might feel at home here.

— Attarte

[attartes-insight]

The color Red in Narrative - Photo Challenge

I've always wondered how our world would look if our human eyes could discern more or fewer wavelengths of light — meaning, what if we could see extra or fewer colors than we already do? Would we have different names or meanings for colors? Could we, finally have a better understanding of why ancient civilizations did not have a name for color blue? So, if perception shapes naming, and naming shapes meaning, then color is never neutral — it is narrative.

Well, we can only assume some answers based on evidence, so my friend and I decided to have a weekly Photo shoot challenge!

This week's theme is Colors, which was decided by the oracle — "Wheel of Names". Despite the oracle's selection, we decided to choose colors ourselves: I picked the color red, and my friend, the color blue. Actually, it was me picking 'red' after my friend had announced her option. The reason behind my pick was to revisit one of the primary colors in narrative, through the medium of digital (phone) photography.

So, our beloved red — Hex: #FF0000, RGBA (255, 0, 0, 1) and so on — is not a color I am particularly fond of, but I am fond of different, darker hues of it. Despite my personal preference, red is associated with various situations or emotions, even with contradictory meanings to each other: from love, passion, and attraction, all the way to aggression, stress and danger or alertness. Although the intention of its symbolism can emerge out of various historical, cultural and psychological pools, most of us are able to differentiate and distinguish the meaning intended behind it — which also happens with narrative media.

This symbolic flexibility is why red can become such a powerful narrative tool.

Narrative media are vessels of meanings. You expect danger when a red triangle appears on the screen, and you expect a dangerous or violent scene to unfold when the lighting turns extra reddish. Creators use semiotics to their advantage, directing the mood of the story to their preferred outcome, delivering their message when the events of the plot unfold — the soul of the story. Even though signposting allows for an effective universal communication, symbols can change meaning depending on the context. The context may vary from personal meaning, to what kind of narrative medium you use.

When I take pictures, I try to capture subjects using a slightly different approach then when I prepare shots for a movie. I pay closer attention to color, shape and angle, and I'm more open to the unexpected ''photobombs'' in my frame. I like exploring the unpredicted stories that enter my frame. In my storytelling endeavors, I have come to many conclusions, but one keeps popping into my head: Through contradictions in any shape or form, meaning is highlighted and perceived more quickly — often becoming more complex in the process.

So, in my set of photos for this week, I found red in blueish backgrounds, objects that don't fit together co-existing in harmony, and stories left to be interpreted.

I'm curious: What stories can you pinpoint in my pictures? What kind of feelings do they project to each of us?

P.S. My friend failed the challenge!

[attartes-insight]

Why The Sims 2 is still the most fun game to play in the Franchise

After over twenty years, I decided to replay The Sims 2 Legacy edition. In the time since I first played it, I have experienced countless other games (including every major entry in the franchise), earned a master's degree in film direction, and begun studying storytelling in video games more formally. With that perspective, my recent playthrough proved far more compelling than I expected.

Nostalgia certainly played a role at first. Yet after hours of play, I also re-encountered the game's many frustrations: tedious lot navigation, restrictive mechanics, and hobbies that now feel limited or outdated. Despite these shortcomings, the Sims 2 kept me more engaged and more invested in my Sim's goals than any other installment. This led me to a clear conclusion: The Sims 2 is more fun to play because of several deliberate and unusually cohesive design decisions.

First, the game provides premade neighborhoods filled with dramatic characters and unresolved, gossipy storylines. These worlds are not just backdrops, they actively invite interpretation. Even today, players continue to dissect Pleasantview's mysteries or debate about what really happened to Bella Goth. The game doesn't resolve these stories for you — it trust the player to care and play with them.

Second, The Sims 2 embraces a parodic, lighthearted tone in its narrative elements. The exaggerated animations and/or cutscenes, melodramatic reaction, and absurd scenarios prevent the game from taking itself too seriously. This humor is not superficial; it permeates every system and softens failure, encouraging experimentation rather than optimization.

In other words, the random events + player choice = authored consequences. Sims remember what you made them do, and respond to them emotionally. Most strikingly, they often react while looking directly at the camera, as if judging the player. Whether that judgment is positive, negative, or deeply questionable depends on how well the choice aligns with their traits and aspirations.

This creates a constant dialogue between player and game. The Sims are not passive dolls — they are performers responding to direction, and the memory system ensures that no choice is entirely erased. The humor flows naturally through the structure: outrageous decisions lead to exaggerated reactions, which are then preserved as narrative artifacts. In the end, the player chooses how their story should play out after an outcome.

Ultimately, The Sims 2 succeeds because it transforms mechanical systems into storytelling tools. It doesn't just simulate life — it remembers it. And by allowing players to shape those memories through chance and choice, the game produces stories that feel personal, reactive and replayable.

But, perhaps the more uncomfortable question is why this matters to us as players. Why being remembered — judged, even — by a virtual character feels more engaging than having perfect control? What kind of experience are we actually seeking when we play a life simulation: freedom without consequence, or meaning created through friction?

The Sims 2 suggests that fun, at least in this genre, may not come from mastery or optimization, but from being seen, recorded, and forced to live with the results of our decisions—even when they are absurd, unfair, or deeply human.

-- Attarte

P.S. The banner picture was found on @microscotch page.

[feldonscane]

Native Lore Told Through Magic: The Gathering Cards — Water Spirits

In honor of November being Native American Heritage Month I am back with new Native stories to tell through Magic: The Gathering cards.

"Although I could probably talk forever about all the cool dinosaurs and indigenous representation throughout the set, I’m actually going to focus on what inspired me to write this article, the Merfolk. The Merfolk, or the River Heralds as they’re known on Ixalan, have some of the best art I’ve seen in the game to date. Their skin and fins are vibrant like tropical fish, and they adorn themselves in jade jewelry, weapons, and armor.

It’s this amazing artwork that recently inspired me to build my very own Merfolk kindred commander deck. But before I did, I wondered if I could once again combine my two favorite things in the world together — Native lore and MTG. Could I make another deck that could tell a complete Native story or stories through its gameplay?

Unsurprisingly, there are multiple stories about Merfolk or water spirits found throughout Native lore across countless tribal nations. Even though the commander format allows one-hundred cards it still wouldn’t be large enough to tell them all. So, after a lot of research, I finally settled on two stories from Native lore that the deck could tell through its gameplay. I felt there were enough cards that represented most of their stories. Those stories being a Sekani legend about a man who married a mermaid, and a Lenape legend about a lost boy. Without wasting any more time let's get into the lore."

[attartes-insight]

Liked the approach, very creative.

[aurin-avenir]

Writers should NOT feel guilty about:

Skipping a day of writing.

Not having a perfect first draft.

Partaking in sinister, arcane rituals for inspiration.

Working at their own pace.

Enlisting demons and/or helpful spirits to aid them with editing.

[attartes-insight]

Feeling guilty for all of these, except the last one...

[attartes-insight]

Movie Discussion: Maybe we need more movies like Legend (1985).

Yes, the title reflects my craving for more fantasy movies, but also for new, original works, crafted specifically for the medium.

The fantasy genre feels more approachable today, with a broader audience than it had in the 1980's. Legend was not a "hit" on release, but now it is a cult classic — appreciated for its uniqueness, maybe more than ever.

Weirdly, I hadn't known this story until recently. Watching it, I realized I hadn't had this much fun with a movie in ages. Afterward, the dominant feeling was pure enjoyment. My first thought was: why do films feel harder to enjoy these days? A bit dramatic, maybe — but the question lingered.

Don't get me wrong: enjoyable films exist. As a director, I have objections for this one — but its flaws are a different discussion.

What I truly appreciated — and realized I'd been missing — was its creativity in simplicity. Inspired by old fairytales and myths, it became a modern type of epic — recorded on film instead of clay, stone or parchment.

This modern fairytale spread through screens instead of word of mouth, becoming somewhat of a local legend — told by few, but still lingering as one of the echoing fables.

Theatrical acting and lyrical dialogue, magical set design with an epic structure — all in service of a story that feels timeless, yet inseparable from its medium. Legend wasn’t an adaptation or remake. It was an original myth, and I'd even call it an ode to fantastic myths.

That’s the spark I miss: the courage to createlegends from scratch, even if they turn out to be messy or divide audiences. The enjoyment of a work despite its flaws is what inspires critical thinking — and sparks creativity.

Most modern fantasy plays it safe with adaptations or franchises. When done with care, an adaptation's artistry can make a familiar tale feel new. But too often they're treated as safety nets — recycling old names instead of birthing new ones, narrowing the space for risks. What's missing is the leap of faith to sculpt original legends. That risk is what keeps the genre alive. And that's why Legend still feels alive to me, even decades later.

Of course adaptations can surprise and inspire us. Robert Eggers' Nosferatu brought out the same daring personality I long for: faithful to its style, with modern twists and tuns. But too often, what's released isn't risky — it's familiar.

A story doesn’t have to be flawless to matter. Sometimes it’s the imperfections that keep it alive, that give us something to think about long after the credits roll.

So I wonder — which modern films strike you as true myths, flaws and all?

— Attarte