It's not a magazine just about or for filmmakers; it's a love letter to films, video games, and board games written by people whose passions lie beyond those things.
I always loved that Nintendo's game designers were all people without a games background: Pikmin was created by a gardener, Splatoon by an artist. Disco Elysium was written by a political activist and novelist. If your reaction is to say that "Shigeru Miyamoto wasn't a gardener!", this magazine might not be for you. That's okay.
Filmmakers Without Cameras is a misnomer.
It's down to earth, thoroughly unpretentious, and easily accessible. I want this to be a platform for people who don't usually write about games or films to write about those things, and I want this to be a gateway for people to start looking at the art they love in meaningful ways.
Issue 2 sees a whole host of new writers:
Maria, who you might know better as eurothug4000, is contributing one of her gorgeous essays exploring what it means to explore.
Returning writer Joshua Luke Cable has watched the 29 Godzilla films he could get his hands on (out of 36) with the express purpose of comparing Godzilla to Jesus. You have to read it to believe it.
Marxist analyses of films are going to be a thing in FWC now - Zach Diaz writes about Office Space and shit jobs. Everyone's had one.
Sydney Bollinger played Hades and quickly realised it was one of the hardest games she'd ever played. With time, she grew to appreciate an unexpected lesson: being bad at something isn't the end of the world.
Harry Stainer writes about the role The Last of Us Part 2 played in helping him come to terms with his own trauma.
Sophie Wallace explores her experiences growing up playing videogames, and fighting with her brothers over the controller.
Tobias Gavelle, asking the question of: what happened to all the split-screen?
Samuel T McNally writes about finding joy in the tedium of Snowrunner's Alaskan off-road trucker simulator.