© James Pyles
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Minecraft: The Island (2017) isn’t a book I’d choose to read. My wife actually read it to our grandson three times when he was much younger and more into the game. Now my eight-year-old granddaughter loves Minecraft.
Some background. When my grandson was about five or six, we started playing “the game.” It started out as teasing each other. He’d make up a character and say it was doing something to my character to which my character would respond. A very simple, adversarial, totally verbal, roleplaying game.
Eventually, it became more sophisticated, kind of like Dungeon and Dragons, but with only two players and no dice, just our imaginations. The games were largely centered on his interests at the time, which included Minecraft. It also included whatever he was watching or reading. I’d add my virtual two cents worth and plug in anything from my imagination and childhood.
His sister wanted to play with us, but there’s a six-year age gap between the two of them and she was too young.
Our games ended up fueling about two-and-a-half years of stories on my blog (you can still look them up) as well as my first two published short stories. It was loads of fun.
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