(Re)Start Here

This website began the moment another one fell apart. In retrospect, that site was doomed from the beginning: a two month sprint to launch, half a dozen weekly articles — reviews and interviews and features, anything but breaking news and hot takes — from staff writers and freelancers, and two weekly podcasts with more planned. My ambitions were celestial, and upon reentry into reality’s atmosphere, a place dictated by capitalism’s unflinching demands, the entire project burst into flames. It’s tempting to lean into the imagery of the phoenix here, to claim that I rose from the ashes wiser and stronger than before with a new, better idea clutched in my fist. But that would be a lie, and I don’t want to begin our relationship with a lie.

I spent the majority of March in emotional limbo, oscillating between frustration, depression, and a silly, inexplicable grief. I found myself loading up the website and staring at the art we had commissioned, clicking the legally questionable, console-shaped icons that held articles, reading our newly orphaned pieces. I couldn’t let go of the idea that the site could have been something special.

“What would you make,” my girlfriend asked during one of my wallowing sessions, “if time and money weren’t a factor?”

Dangerous to Go Alone was born from my answer: a haven for long-form personal essays dedicated to examining video games and how they affect us. There are fantastic publications out there that publish stellar reviews and academic deconstructions of games, but I haven’t found many that focus on the player’s experience: their stories and connections and emotions. The pieces chosen for Dangerous to Go Alone are personal, which I believe makes them universal: they’re snapshots of particular moments that dug their way into a writer’s heart and mind, maps that trace their complex relationship to games as the digital becomes entangled with reality. Playing a video game isn’t a passive experience because you, the player, control everything, even the scripted moments. You create and experience a story that no one else will, one inextricably tied to who you are, how you play, what outside experiences you carry with you into each new title.  And those experiences might be something impactful to others too, if you’re willing to share them.

The essays in this issue, and all future issues, are criticism through kindness, compassion, and empathy, criticism from the heart of the writer presented raw for everyone to see. The theme of this first issue is “Restart,” and it’s filled with incredible writing from both writers I have worked with for years and those I previously only admired from afar. Restarting is a fundamental aspect of video games and life itself, and it’s something that’s more difficult to do than society gives us credit for. Whether it’s moving house, finding friends, or creating a new save file, starting over is a dilemma: everything that once was — the words on the page, the items in your inventory, the save data itself — will be gone. A restart can mean a fresh start or the next iteration of an endless cycle that needs to be broken. It can be scary or exciting or, most likely, both.

In the case of this website, I believe that everything we’ve been through and everything we will go through is worth it. Dangerous to Go Alone can be something wonderful. It’s games criticism that sits a reader down in a cozy chair in a dark room and tells a tale worth hearing. It’s a website that joyfully reacts to interaction and plays with the concept of blog posts itself. It’s a place for new writers and established ones to tell equally compelling and emotional narratives. It’s an online zine that has a different theme every month, dictated not by industry trends or sales but by playful curiosity and passion.

Our name comes from The Legend of Zelda, but it isn’t just a sly reference. The outside world is scary lately, and a lot of things are uncertain. Link got a sword to protect himself, and we hope that our writing can provide similar comfort and connection. Take our writing, our phrases, our thoughts and ideas, and know that you are not alone. Take it all, if you’d like. We have plenty to share.