Like there were incredible figurines just out of my reach who'd mastered this thing, whose fealty I could earn with the precisely-right combination of words, items, actions. I felt confident and accomplished and crowned and yet not-so for many years, projecting a sort of grinning confidence, a rehearsed smoothness I hadn't yet owned, playing the success game only as adeptly as the person next to me, all the while feeling like facility with the form at which I so desperately wanted to excel was a fleeting and complicated thing. My early career in games writing, like anyone's, was a series of luckless almosts and accidents, a few bylines that seemed, intellectually, like Excellent Gains, things to tell friends about, even though I privately wasn't terribly sure of my own meaningful progress. Until that day the man had been a legend in neon pixels and nothing else. It was only one line, if I remember correctly, but it seemed at the time like an indisputable laurel of victory, evidence I was on the right track. Very early in my games writing career, I got an email from Leisure Suit Larry creator Al Lowe. Leigh Alexander reflects on the subtle humor of the original Leisure Suit Larry as she levies her disappointment at the Kickstarter-funded remake.
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