Rules Without Layout

Here are the rules to The Jane Game. I am reticent to put them here because they have not had design work done on them. These are very raw visually. That being said, I know that they are of interest to some, too. So, here they are in both their glory and shame-

And that is the sneak peek :)

To view a pdf version, click here. 

Initial Inspiration

In December of 2008 I was a senior at university and had come home for Christmas break. One of the planned activities was for my mother and I to play a Jane Austen game she had found in a treasure trove, also known a as a secondhand store.

We excitedly sat down to play it. Unfortunately, it had a rather poor game play. It was about as thought provoking as arranging a deck of cards in chronological order, though, it was pretty.  That disappointment was minute compared to the fact that the game had nothing to do with Jane Austen! Our critiquing quickly turned into brainstorming a new game, The Jane Game. Our largest focus was to have everything reflect on Jane Austen’s stories, since those are what we loved and how we connected to her.  By the end of that Christmas break we had a basic game play, which we naively thought was close to complete! Oh, how that makes me laugh 4 years later with over 40 typed revisions and 100s of play testers’ help. We also parted ways with the task to write trivia questions.

At this point the game’s vision only reached as far as my and my mother’s social circles. The following year, November 2009, that vision changed. I decided to embark on the adventure of bringing the game to the market, a sphere through which any Jane Austen fan could access it. It has taken four years from that date with many ups and downs, but through that it has become a very beautiful product that makes "a merry, joyous party” when played among friends (Persuasion, Ch 8). 

A Song For Anne

I came across this Dixie Chicks song and very quickly thought of Anne Elliot. Do you see the resemblance? The first verse especially reflects her story. Thank goodness hers ends with happiness, though. Click here to hear it on Youtube.

Here are the lyrics:

"A Home"

I mistook the warnings for wisdom
From so called friends quick to advise
Though your touch was telling me otherwise
Somehow I saw you as a weakness
I thought I had to be strong
Oh but I was just young, I was scared, I was wrong

Not a night goes by
I don't dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now every day I wake again
In a house that might have been
A home

Guess I did what I did believing
That love is a dangerous thing
Oh but that couldn't hurt anymore than never knowing

Not a night goes by
I don't dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now every day I wake again
In a house that might have been
A home
A home

Four walls, a roof, a door, some windows
Just a place to run when my working day is through
They say home is where the heart is
If the exception proves the rule I guess that's true

Not a night goes by
I don't dream of wandering
Through the home that might have been
And I listened to my pride
When my heart cried out for you
Now every day I wake again
In a house that might have been
A home
A home

A Turn of Phrase

I sometimes do not speak like the average person, or so I have been told. I don’t wholly agree, but then situations like the following occur. 

At work I responded to some comment. I don’t remember what I said, probably, “that does not signify,” or “that makes one ill.” This is common phraseology for me. My coworker, Mr. J started laughing…sort of. It was more of a slight furrow in the brow, shake of the head, half smile on the lips, and pulsed air diffusing from the nostrils. This is a frequent gesture from him. It is usually given because I am being ridiculous in some fashion. At least, ridiculous according to his ruler. Ba.

This time the head shake was due to my choice of words.

Mr. J: “I love how half your vocabulary is over 100 years old.”

“I love how” in this sense actually means, “you are so odd, yet, entertaining and here’s a reason why.” I do not know if this was meant as a compliment, but I took it as one. I am proud that a little of Jane Austen’s dialogue has drifted into my colloquial speech. She is one I give credit to, anyhow. 

Oh, the Lace!

'I never in my life saw any thing more elegant that their dresses. I dare say the lace upon Mrs. Hurst's gown--'
Here she was interrupted again. Mr Bennet protested against any description of finery.
(Pride and Prejudice, Ch 3)

Since there is no Mr. Bennet around that can interrupt me in my ramblings of fine lace, I will proceed as Mrs. Bennet could not do.
This weekend I passed a bride whose gown stole my attention. It was elegant, unique and had a vintage touch. Seeing that she was separated from her party, I approached her to comment on her taste. I had to, any dress influenced from fashion of bygone eras deserves attention and respect, both of which I gave. I knew it was her wedding day and she did not need strangers to commandeer her time, but sometimes you have to throw away protocol (gasps from the graves of Regency folk). I have a slight obsession with historical fashion and she evidently did as well. A shared interest like that needs to be acknowledged. Though our bonding was brief, it was lifting and enjoyed by us both. Moments like these are worthy to trump social etiquette.
While waiting on the grounds of the temple for my cousin and her husband, out came my kindred spirit! I wanted a picture of her trousseau, hat included. Into the crowd I went with camera in hand. My point and shoot camera did not catch all the delicate horizontal pleats and tasteful brooch well.

Soon I realized that I was crashing a wedding. Oops. I pretend that everyone I bumped into thought, "She must be from the other family." I am in the yellow skirt.

I originally thought I was getting the photograph to catalogue away for future designs. Looking back I realize this was not my true motivation. Though I admired her dress, there was no particular element of it that I had to capture. No, what I really wanted to document was that there are people like me in the world and that I had a moment of connection with one. I also wanted to remember how happy this girl was in her own unique style and original creation.
Luckily there were no Mr. Bennets to interrupt me in my fun. But then, Mr. Bennet would not have stopped me from crashing a wedding. He would let me 'expose myself in some public place or other as long as it is at little expense and inconvenience to him.' (modified from Pride and Prejudice Ch 41). Just so long as he did not have to hear about the lace!

I am a Heroine

When I was young I wished I was a princess. I waited for the day my parents had to tell me the dreadful news that I was not actually part of their family (gasp), that, in truth, I was a princess. The story would be that they had promised to take care of me until it was time to return to my kingdom, which would be on my sixteenth birthday, naturally. That day never came. My dad also never surprised me with the secret that he was a king who nobly decided live as a commoner for a while. Worst luck for me.

I slowly grew out of my desire to be a princess and replaced it with a longing to be a heroine, like the ones I idolized in books: Anne Shirley, Elizabeth Bennet, Jane Eyre, etc. I related to these characters and their world (no royal blood, no magic) and I admired them more (they held a bit more depth than my Disney princesses did). As fate would have it, I had just as many problems being one of these heroines as I did in learning I was a princess. The sad truth was that both my parents were living, were sane, and we were not destitute. This is not a good backdrop for a heroine. I also lived in the wrong place—a suburb in America, not a quaint town in England. But the irrecoverable misfortune was that I was simply born in the wrong era. I lived in a time of cars and when women wore pants. How can I be a decent heroine if I do not travel by horse and buggy or wear petticoats?

In recent years I progressed to a new phase. In the two decades I spent as a heroine addict (ha ha) I noticed only one real difference between me and them. Putting aside the obvious fact that they are fictional, the only difference is that they had an author—a Jane Austen or L.M. Montgomery to write their story. After reaching that conclusion, I quickly came to a second one: I am a heroine, just unwritten. I lost my longing to be a heroine as I embraced the realization that I already was one, standing in the midst of my own story. I discovered the truth in the words of Sara Crewe from A Little Princess, “I am a princess. All girls are.” Or in my case, “I am a heroine.”

I am a modern-day, quirky, non-fictional heroine and am happy to be such.

The Jane Game's Heroine

"No one who had ever seen [Elizabeth Bankhead] in her infancy would have supposed her born to be an heroine" Northanger Abbey Ch 1, Jane Austen.

Strange things happen in this world, though. I am Elizabeth Bankhead and I discovered a few years ago that I am a heroine, just unwritten.

There is nothing terribly remarkable about me. I live in Salt Lake City, Utah, like 200,000 other people. I work as a scientist, which is not uncommon. I love my family and friends, which is even less uncommon. I have developed a Jane Austen board game, okay, that is a little rare. I like the combination of peanut butter and chocolate and am not wholly fond of olives, both fairly average opinions. Despite how ordinary each part of me is, the combination is unique and, as it turns out, heroine worthy.

I hope you enjoy some of my stories that are posted on this blog. They are labeled as 'My Life as a Heroine'