The Ventureweaver

I’m sitting in the living room, putting the finishing touches on the tower portion of my text adventure game. With each passing day, I find myself adding more to it, shaping the world one keystroke at a time. There’s something almost magical about creating a text adventure—the rhythmic push of the keys, the soft glow of the monitor.

Of course, I really should upgrade to a mechanical keyboard at some point. Perhaps with my next setup, which I suspect will be another laptop. But I digress.

Lately, I’ve committed myself to working on this game every day, and in doing so, I’ve felt something profound growing within me. Maybe it’s the joy of creating my dream project—a game in a genre that has always meant so much to me. You wouldn’t believe how many hours I spent as a kid, sitting in a dimly lit room, playing Zork on a floppy disk with my PS/2 IBM computer.

Now, as we approach 2025, I’m reminded of the Y2K scare back in the day. I remember playing text adventures and Resident Evil 2, wondering if the world might actually come to an end. In hindsight, it feels almost silly. But back then, as a kid, the whole thing felt exciting and strange. I’d sit in front of my favorite games, wondering if January 1st would be the last time I’d ever play them.

Of course, nothing happened. And you know why? Because people worked tirelessly, writing code years earlier to ensure the system would hold together. I didn’t understand that back then—I was just a kid, swept up in the moment. Now I look back on it with a sense of nostalgia, realizing how much effort and passion went into preserving something most people took for granted.

There’s a certain magic in those memories, in the simple joys of childhood. I’ve tried telling my kids about that time, but they don’t seem to care—and honestly, I don’t blame them. To them, it’s just another day in history. But that’s life, isn’t it? Each generation has its own moments, its own stories. My father used to tell me about the “almost-end-of-the-world” events of his time, and I’d react the same way.

It’s funny how life works. The things that mattered so deeply to us back then resurface years later, rekindling old emotions and forgotten passions. Working on this game has been like rediscovering an old friend—someone who reminds you of who you used to be and why you loved what you loved.

That’s why I’m having so much fun creating this game. It’s not just about the gameplay or the story; it’s about the adventure of making it. Much like life, the adventure is what makes everything worthwhile.

I know my game probably won’t be widely celebrated. I know many people will overlook it, and it will eventually fade into obscurity. And you know what? I’m okay with that. I’m just grateful to live in a time where our creations can exist online, even if only for a moment.

More than anything, I’m happy to be alive and working on something that truly means the world to me. I hope that, in some small way, this post inspires you to follow your dreams too. Because right now, we’re living in a world where people seem to have forgotten how to dream.

Let’s change that.