Lingering Questions: How Did We Find Them?
When the strange packages that launched Eldritch Errors started appearing in people's postal mailboxes, there was speculation about how we got those addresses. Were they the addresses of players of our prior games? Were they the addresses of players who asked to receive things? Were there collaborators feeding us sekrit information about people? Every bit of speculation was wrong, the truth is far more disturbing.
We duplicated the techniques that junk mailers have been using for more than a decade, fueled by the over-abundance of data you might have left floating around the Internet about yourself. We began by selecting a series of traits: people who had played alternate reality games; people who were intrigued by the mythos; people who had specific technical skills and domain expertise we thought participants might need; people that would not run from a strange package in their mailbox. Through these traits, targets began to emerge and we were able to take closer aim. Those that lept into view tended to have certain things in common: they had a strong online presence and a blog or website with domain registration that we could track. Following those footprints led to interesting details about the targets, such as an online alias, their hobbies, how many kids they have, what they do for a living, their favorite movies -- the kinds of details we could use to customize their letters and interaction for maximum creepiness.
Creepiness. A question that we are constantly faced with is how people, ourselves included, confront horror and the unexpected. When we look at the monsters lurking in the shadows, do we look him in the eye or do we take ourselves out of the moment and look at the situation from above? It was an interesting start to the game to watch individuals staring the monster in the eye while the collective removed themselves from the situation. From above, it made it easier to sleep at night believing that the packages arrived based on pre-approved means and that it was just the launch of some game. To turn an oft overused phrase, this is not just a game and, from within, the story is far different.
So the lingering questions are: if our fictional characters can figure out how to reach out to your mailbox without resorting to "psychic means," do you think other people (with less entertaining goals) are already doing that too? What is the relationship between what you share online, who becomes interested in you, and what's waiting for you in your mailbox each day? How is your physical presence tied to your virtual one and how does your presence feed the collective consciousness?
We duplicated the techniques that junk mailers have been using for more than a decade, fueled by the over-abundance of data you might have left floating around the Internet about yourself. We began by selecting a series of traits: people who had played alternate reality games; people who were intrigued by the mythos; people who had specific technical skills and domain expertise we thought participants might need; people that would not run from a strange package in their mailbox. Through these traits, targets began to emerge and we were able to take closer aim. Those that lept into view tended to have certain things in common: they had a strong online presence and a blog or website with domain registration that we could track. Following those footprints led to interesting details about the targets, such as an online alias, their hobbies, how many kids they have, what they do for a living, their favorite movies -- the kinds of details we could use to customize their letters and interaction for maximum creepiness.
Creepiness. A question that we are constantly faced with is how people, ourselves included, confront horror and the unexpected. When we look at the monsters lurking in the shadows, do we look him in the eye or do we take ourselves out of the moment and look at the situation from above? It was an interesting start to the game to watch individuals staring the monster in the eye while the collective removed themselves from the situation. From above, it made it easier to sleep at night believing that the packages arrived based on pre-approved means and that it was just the launch of some game. To turn an oft overused phrase, this is not just a game and, from within, the story is far different.
So the lingering questions are: if our fictional characters can figure out how to reach out to your mailbox without resorting to "psychic means," do you think other people (with less entertaining goals) are already doing that too? What is the relationship between what you share online, who becomes interested in you, and what's waiting for you in your mailbox each day? How is your physical presence tied to your virtual one and how does your presence feed the collective consciousness?