TINSOLDAT

 “Cringe” is a lazy word. It’s turned into nothing more than a label people use to dismiss what they don’t understand. Some stories, especially ones tied to Internet history, are going to be cringe by nature. Trying to scare someone rarely works for most people; maybe a few flinch or feel slightly unsettled, but for the majority it doesn’t leave a mark. If that’s your only goal then you’ll look like a dumb idiot with shoes too big for your ugly feet.

 Horror isn't always only about causing fear. It's about saying something, and that requires playing with ideas that might feel stupid or childish. Do I find those Pinterest edits with creepy dialogue on top of an image scary? No. Jumpscares? They do nothing, and they weren't made for me. But does that mean they have no value? No, obviously. Only those who repeat popular opinions they've heard before would think that. People are drawn to them for a reason, and I'm more interested in understanding that reason than writing them off. Internet-driven horror has its own rules, its own appeal, and it's worth tapping into what makes it resonate with specific audiences.

 It's not the kind of horror I'd create for myself, but I can write it better than any pretentious fucker out there who's already written it off as cringe, and I also can also write it better than anyone who slaps it together thinking random horror tropes makes it efficient.

 I don't need to like it to make it work. That's what sets me apart.

 Not all things must kneel before your tastes. If the world were crafted to your precise liking, you'd grow dull from the monotony of pleasure. Nothing gleams when everything shines. To appraise a work- be it a game, a film, a story- as a reflection of your preferences is a child's form of criticism. A shallow end for shallow swimmers.

 A proper critic (note the word *proper*) slips into unfamiliar shoes without complaint, listens without needing to hear their own echo. They can say, "This is not for me," without confusing that with, "This is not good." But you call things “boring” before you've even made it through the front gate. That is not critique. That is cowardice and laziness.

 Are you so scared of encountering something that does not consider you its center? Does it rattle you, being irrelevant? Or is it worse: that deep, hollow thud in the chest when you realize the fault may lie in your comprehension skills? There's a word for that sensation: growth, but I suspect you've never let it settle in.

 IQ tests, review scores, digital nods from your cherished little think-alikes- it's all a polite economy of validation. You scratch their thoughts, they pet yours. You don't even know the next thing about being a real hater, the sort who doesn't do it for attention, when not even those closest to you can stomach listening to more of your rants. How low of a point it must be to even fail at being hateful.

 That is real. That is passion. That is the blood-and-marrow loathing of someone who *felt* something, deeply, and couldn't bear the insult it became. “Boring,” you say. “Confusing.” Spare me. If that’s the extent of your distaste, then you may as well die.

 A shame, really. Such a quiet failure.

Reckoning?

 Clearly someone who follows our work decided to send a new version of Ophelia's copypasta directly to our email, so I assume it must be spreading around by now. I'll clear up any confusion that might come up:

 No, CT did not write it. She has never used "WE" when writing from Ophelia's perspective, for reasons that should be obvious. Someone must be pissed we aren't writing things specific to their headcanons and sent some vague little threat. How cute.

 It's honestly laughable to imagine someone could question CT when it comes to Ophelia.

Playthings Script

 EE and CT read over my newest draft this past weekend. For once, EE decided to have some thought in that head and understood my vision. If he can do it, you all have no excuse.

 Of course, you won't read it yourself, that's not a privilege I allow just anyone, but you will see it when the time finally comes.

 In any case, it's still in the early stages but I can see what's lacking and at this point it's mostly a time issue. Studying Leigh Whannell’s early notes on his films has been inspiring to say the least. It's been useful to my creative process to keep track of what every scene is trying to get across, notes to myself, and reasons for it to exist.

 Writing isn’t just about getting the story down; it’s about control. Knowing exactly what you’re doing and why. That’s the difference between a script that lingers and one that’s forgotten.

Untitled

 It goes without saying that we are very early in development, but the lack of a title isn't due to laziness. I'd never let myself live through the humiliation of a half-assed piece of work.

 The absence of a name isn’t a placeholder; it’s deliberate.

 “UNTITLED” is a statement in itself, one that I'm aware is considered cliche by now. It’s a refusal to spoon-feed expectations or tie the project down to a single interpretation. Naming it prematurely would strip it of its potential to evolve, to take on meaning organically.

 Anything less would be dishonest to the work we’re creating.