So, you hear folks talk about the “starting field,” yeah? Sounds like some grand place where epic journeys begin. For me, it was mostly just a headache and a lot of staring into space, wondering what on earth I’d gotten myself into this time. Lemme tell ya.
I got this bright idea a while back. Thought I’d try my hand at making a tiny, little game. You know, something simple. How hard could it be, right? Famous last words, those are. So I downloaded some free game-making tool everyone was raving about. Opened it up. And bam. That was my “starting field,” I guess. Just a whole lot of grey screen, a million tiny buttons, and menus that went on for days. My brain just went “nope.”
My Brilliant Plan (Not Really)
My plan was simple: make a little character walk across the screen. That’s it. Seemed achievable. I found some tutorial online, some cheerful person explaining it all. “Just click here, drag this, type that.” Easy peasy, they made it sound. Well, their screen looked nothing like mine. Buttons were missing, or they were called something else. Classic.
I spent a good hour, maybe two, just trying to make a simple square appear. A square! I clicked everything. Dragged stuff I probably shouldn’t have. Pretty sure I accidentally changed the language settings twice. My “starting field” was quickly becoming a messy battlefield of frustration.
Here’s a quick rundown of my first day:
- Downloaded the thing. That was a win, I guess.
- Opened it. Instant regret.
- Tried to follow a “beginner” tutorial. Felt like advanced rocket science.
- Managed to make the entire screen turn bright pink. No idea how.
- Closed it. Walked away. Made a strong cup of tea.
The next day, I tried again. Decided to ignore the fancy tutorials for a bit and just poke around. I figured, it’s like a new town, gotta get lost a few times to learn the streets. So I just started clicking on things that looked vaguely like they might do something I wanted. Most of the time, they didn’t. Sometimes, weird windows would pop up, full of code-like gibberish. I just closed them fast, hoping I hadn’t broken anything permanently.
Then Came the “Coding” Part
Oh boy. Then I realized even for a character to walk, I had to write some “script.” That’s what they called it. It was like learning a new language, but all the words were weird abbreviations and symbols. My “starting field” now had actual alien hieroglyphs. I’d type something from a guide, character for character, triple-checking it. And it would just spit out errors. Red angry text telling me I was an idiot, basically.
I remember one time, I spent a whole evening trying to figure out why my little guy wouldn’t move. Turns out, I’d typed “move” with a capital “M” somewhere it shouldn’t have been. A capital M! That was the big problem. Seriously. That’s the kind of stuff that makes you want to throw your computer out the window.
It wasn’t all terrible, though. After days of just pure confusion and wanting to give up, I finally got my little square to move. Just a tiny bit. To the right. It was the ugliest, most basic movement you’ve ever seen. But man, it felt like I’d conquered Everest. That little patch of the “starting field” finally had something on it that I made happen.
So yeah, that “starting field.” It’s not usually some beautiful, open plain ready for you to build your dreams. More often, it’s a confusing, messy, and slightly terrifying blank space. And you just gotta start poking it with a stick until something makes a tiny bit of sense. And bring lots of tea. Or something stronger.
