Something wonderful and weird happens when I write about x. For example, consider x to be the video and/or board games I write about on my other blog Jefklak’s Codex. I like to keep track of the things I enjoy and that includes games; the blog is more like a personal play log than anything else really. This way, the added hour(s) spent collecting screenshots or photos, development information, and writing about them are hour(s) of enjoyment added to prolong the gameplay. That might not sound particularly exciting to you, but under the hood, the wonderful and weird thing happening is not the writing process: it is deepening the enjoyment I get from playing—or rather, experiencing—those games. I am more curious about the way the games game to be. I like to poke around finding community mods. I enjoy finding other small and independent blogs who rave about these games, perhaps pointing out an unexpected fact or secret. I like thinking how the game I am currently playing fits within the range of similar games I have played before. I try to find out what other similar games exist out there that I need to add to my playlist. I try to imagine if this game deserves a spot in my Top 100. I enjoy the art much more than I did before. I consciously listen to the soundtrack and buy more albums than I did before. None of these thoughts would have crossed my mind if I wouldn’t write about these games. Sure, I would still enjoy my playthrough, and I would still discuss the game with a friend if they also happen to like it. But collecting my thoughts into an article that summarizes my feelings about the game forces me to redirect my attention. Instead of leaving my attention hop around like a wild buffoon, the intention of writing seems to steer it back to the game and everything associated with it; extracting more enjoyment out of it in the process. This has nothing to do with publishing. I know that compared to Brain Baking, the Codex is read by only a handful of people—and I don’