Tagged: game development

don’t let the money make you

I was reading again Daniel Cook’s thoughts on pricing and the model he chose for Triple Town. His focus on achieving long-term sustainability as a developer is an interesting one. Certainly, a product that you can never actually buy that instead asks you periodically to pay for boosts has a longer financial lifespan. And, in the case of those that might choose a particular game as a “lifetime hobby,” as he puts it, you’ve got a more-or-less linear correlation between time people spend playing a game and the income it generates. I think he’s on to something.

But then I look at myself. Living rather simply with only a minimal income, I keep an eye out for game sales and generally avoid spending more than a couple bucks on any one experience. But in any of the various free-to-play models, I will almost always choose non-monetary progression paths over spending money on a temporary boost. There’s a psychological block for me in purchasing something that doesn’t last. The consequence of this, though, is that I end up not contributing anything to these devs I so appreciate!

I’m also a creature of novelty: as much as I reminisce fondly about games I’ve enjoyed, I seldom go back and play them again. There are so many new experiences emerging all the time and there has never been a game I’ve not grown tired of at some point. And so it would appear I’m not one of those “lifetime hobbyists” with any one game, either.

Am I anomalous? Are these models just not suited for an errant consumer like me? Or would it serve my future marketing efforts to more fully embrace these approaches? “Games as services” still feels strange to me. It’s a marked departure from the history of non-video games. Is it what people want? Or is it what the market requires to ensure adequate compensation for developers?

Ack; I just want to go back to thinking about design.

dreamspace

  • “What would this game be like if I had that sweet item?”
  • “What could be behind that mysterious curtain?”
  • “What if I could do x and y and z?!”

In the playing of so many games, I spend a lot of time thinking about where I’m headed: what to do next, how my character/avatar will develop, and what the consequences of my decisions will be. I’m invested in the progression that the game has laid out for me, that series of goals either explicit or tacitly allowed by the mechanics. And as long as these goals keep coming, as long as their promises of the new are novel and exciting, I’m likely to keep playing. But if there’s too much in the way that doesn’t reward me in some way (my favourite rubric here; longer but well worth it for the imagination fuel), I’ll never get there. I’ve spent countless hours thinking about possibilities within games that never did (and in some cases never could) amount to anything. But that doesn’t diminish the pleasure I experienced in dreaming of them.

It’s an aspect of games that is not often discussed (at least not in these terms): the degree to which they stay with us and impel us to dream within their worlds. It’s the root of longitudinal investment in (loyalty to?) a game and, as with most things, can be leveraged for good or for evil. It can come from setting or system or story and last even beyond the point where one has put the game down for good. I still think a lot about Dark Souls.

And so it is with ideas in general. Dreaming up games is the fun part, from conception to those design discoveries that transform the way you think about the whole project. Where I get bogged down is, again, in those long stretches devoid of reward. The critical difference here, though, is that I can make sure that the treasure at the end is worth it. Or, as I seem to be doing lately, I can work on a million different projects at any given time so I’m constantly dreaming about something!

(but not making much progress on any one of them…)

gobs of gobbs

It’s been a bit of a slog getting through the last of my rules illustrations for that goblin boardgame of mine, but now they’re finished and I have a shiny manual full of awful placeholder art! Shaky hand-drawn arrows! Public domain clipart! Low res!

I’m actually pretty excited about this. It is, at this point, a more or less finished game! The system is pretty tight, there’s some good variety both in player strategy as well as initial configuration, and a fairly feedback-heavy set of mechanics. The next step is to sit in on a blind playtest, a step I am fortunate enough to have volunteers to help me with. Will they, the newly initiated yet terribly clever, find obliviating rules loopholes and shake my game to the core? More importantly, will they enjoy themselves?

I haven’t done much yet in the way of investigating publishers and the whole process of transforming these, my ideas, into something real and tangible and pretty, but it’s got me a little excited, too. Anbrewk was speculating about the world of rights and royalties and it came into sharp relief how little I know about those things. But it’s a path others have walked before, and one that some of the particularly generous have documented for my benefit. It sure would be neat to have a publisher pick up all those aspects that I’m not so familiar/confident with. That’s really the dream life, no? Design and design alone…

One step at a time, berv…

terpsichore

As I continue to figure out Game Maker, those patterns across dev tools begin to become more apparent. Custom-written scripts build on innate functions, variables are stored locally and accessed from afar, and everything has a very particular sequence in which it happens.

It’s as if each engine requires you to do a specific dance. Some moves are shared between them while others require you to just have an underlying familiarity with movement. The more skilled a dancer you are in any one dance, the easier all other dances become. Grace and control and intention made real.

In this regard, I am an amateur, but an enthusiastic one: I know the basic steps and I’ve practiced a while in one particular school. I can’t light up the dance floor just yet, but if someone asks me to show them my moves I at least have something simple to show them. I begin to understand my capabilities: what sorts of movements feel natural, which I can draw upon in moderation, and which are better left to specialists.

It’s still difficult; it still takes constant rehearsal; none of this comes naturally. But as long as I hear this irrepressible music, I am compelled to move.

dreamer

I had a dream last night that I was sent to prison for a year. Everyone was nice enough, but what utterly crushed me was the fact that I wouldn’t be able to work on games.

I’m glad I’m not in prison.

Roma locuta est

Riding our continuing wave of inspiration from King of Dragon Pass, Hadge and I jammed for a while today about the idea of a high-level decision-making game based around the gangs of ancient Rome. He’s far more the enthusiast about Roman history (to which this would be loyal in all the right ways, I assure you), but I really enjoyed the opportunity to tease out a game concept from the theme up. With such a rich history, what role would the player inhabit? How did x process happen in Rome and what would that look like to the player? Which aspects of the world would move outside the reach of the player and which are well under their control? I find this process of pulling together ideas and toying with the emerging streaks of possible gameplay absolutely exhilarating.
A lust for power leads to shadowy dealings become new opportunities for those willing to seize them.

Though I’m not sure yet of its exact shape, I think we might just make a go of it. If he can provide the writing and research, I just might be able to put it all together.

perspective

I just got in from a panel discussion at the U of S, featuring some past grads who presently work in the games industry. Among them were two local indies and two individuals working for bigger companies. Given the almost exclusive attention I pay to a particular brand of indie development, it was enlightening to hear how varied the opinions of the panel were.

From those who got into games for the money (!) to those who look solely at statistics of play, my take-home message was one of varied perspective. Each member of that panel was coming from a different place, and each working towards another entirely. That games exist in the field where these paths cross almost seems incidental. But it highlighted for me how true it is that there is no archetypal “gamer” just as there is no archetypal “person who makes games” or “indie developer.” Each of us has a different interest in games, a different vision for what makes a game worthwhile, and a different idea of how to best achieve that.

All this serves as a good reminder in my own development that rather than looking for “the one true path,” seeking what people will respond to or what others have done well with, the best way forward is again: just make games. Make strange games make beautiful games make broken games.  Make your games. Nobody else can. </cheese>

—

P.S. I’m still working on that strange little Wax Mannequin-inspired project. No telling just yet. Tomorrow most likely.

demonstrable

At some point in the future, I hope to have a game or game-related product to sell. Surely, when people learn of its elegant perfection,  a kind never before seen in this world, they will shower me in praise and approbation, etching my name in the moon and naming their babies after me. Presently, though, there are a few things missing. Most notable is of course this wonder game I’ve yet to make, but the question I’m asking today is how people might come to know about it.

I started this blog primarily as a way to keep myself focused and productive in my arc of game development, though I’ll admit that there was a strong secondary motivation in slowly growing an audience for the day when I have something brilliant to sell them. So I overthink my post tags, I tweet my new entries, and I write as if to a reader other than myself. But where the error in my thinking lies is in the assumption that any given person (even those interested in games) would choose to follow me out of the massive crowd of similarly undistinguished developers.

So! The path to distinguishing oneself! I suppose I could make a lot of noise and start saying really controversial things in public forums, but if I’m wanting people to believe in my approach to game making, I should more probably demonstrate my unique worth in that field. And that’s where I come up short right now: with no major public releases and nothing even close to salable in my personal experiments, I don’t presently have a good vector by which to distinguish myself. But that’s no reason to get discouraged! I just have to make one. Notch certainly had a smaller following before Minecraft came on the scene. It wasn’t as if people browsed the “new Twitter users” feed and added him because of his reassuring smile. As he worked on his games, people saw his progress, saw his innovation, and thought “boy, this is a fellow worth following!” And so it should be.

I could do all the little topical tricks to gain a follower here and there, but ultimately it’s richer for all involved if I continue to work towards my various visions and prove myself worthy of greater attention. To echo the sentiment of so many devs come before, “if you want to make games, then make games.” Only by creating something I really believe in can I make a mark and prove myself in my chosen arena. So back to coding I go!

worldwarm

Listening today to a podcast interview with Calvin French (one of my current favourite devs and terribly charming to boot; do check out The Real Texas), I was reminded once again of how important world setting and story can be to an overall gameplay experience. It’s too easy to forget sometimes how immersive and wonderful a well-built world can be, and I’ve caught myself overlooking this aspect in attempting to build a game from its mechanics up.

I’ve continued playing For the Frog the Bell Tolls despite some frustrating mechanics purely to gain further insight into its unique setting. It’s delightful, really, and it’s a shame the gameplay isn’t stronger, as there will undoubtedly come a time when the cost outweighs the benefits and I put it down for good. But for now I forge on, chasing the fantasy. So what is this threshold, this membrane between gameplay and setting that leads me to sink far more time into mechanically unrewarding games than I do written fiction? Perhaps it has something to do with the direct and active immersion of games: you are acting within a world (however minimally) rather than simply looking through a window onto it; your participation is necessary for your perception. Even if the character isn’t “you,” per se, you were an integral part of their story. I still get flushed and whimsical when thinking about my experiences playing Earthbound.

Certainly a rich world isn’t necessary for all games. Would Three Body Problem be better if the chasers were personified? Absolutely not! Sometimes unadorned mechanics are just the best way to present a certain experience. But any game in which the player has a certain degree of freedom to explore, to poke at the edges and look behind things, is one where a little thought put into the world can go a long way. A well-made world can engage you while you’re in it and change your worldview when you’re not; it lasts beyond the constraints of play.

I’m just meandering here. But I wanted to write this down. Mechanics are a good place to start, but there is more to a game than its function. The medium of games is not a purely mechanical one, it is as well one of sight and sound and imagination. I ought not forget that.

assets

A series of tweets from PurpleChair led me to a fan translation of “For the Frog the Bell Tolls,” a 1992 Japanese-only Game Boy release that seemed oddly familiar. It struck me in how incredibly specifically it called to mind Richard’s Villa, a side location from The Legend of Zelda: Link’s Awakening. I’d always liked it because of the frogs, but in the whole of things it wasn’t all that special. So why would something so forgettable come so richly flooding back to me?

It didn’t take much investigation to find the connection: not only is Richard’s Villa a direct reference to the earlier game, Link’s Awakening was built on its foundation!  Suddenly those Zelda 2-esque forays into side perspective make a lot more sense. Trying out For the Frog the Bell Tolls, it was rich in the same quirky humour that I’d enjoyed in its successor, though distinct in its themes and oddly-deterministic combat. Worth checking out if you appreciate a bit of early 90’s charm.

But all this got me thinking about project assets: game engines and visuals and mechanics. If you’ve developed a solid and moddable system, why wouldn’t you explore it beyond the limits of a single game? It only makes sense. Though this might not work wholesale with extremely specific and tailored systems, there are likely bits and pieces you could bring forward into other projects. It’s why L.A. Noire (from Grand Theft Auto developer Rockstar) is punctuated with uninteresting and out-of-place driving sequences. But given the wide applicability of certain things (e.g. camera control, HUD elements, 3rd person driving controls), why do new developers have to start from scratch? You’d think that these elements would have been collectively developed and refined to the point of mastery by now, but because of the strange way our society works, each company’s internal tweaks are kept closely guarded, lest anyone take them and claim them as their own! So we end up reinventing the wheel again and again, reconstructing the same sort of structure to explore the same game space in our own way (though I will concede that this can lead to some very interesting wheels). Why is this? The mechanics of games (publicly accessible as they are) are mixed and remixed over and over, leading us into bold new realms of play, but the actual assets are kept under close guard. Certainly creators ought to be recognized and compensated for their craft, but why don’t we more actively encourage building on each others’ work? Newly developed film technology has never remained exclusive for long and large sections of our collective musical history depend on the sampling previous works. And I could argue that, at least as a partial result, those mediums have come a longer way in their development than games have.

Maybe it’s for the best. This way we all have to learn how everything fits together; we all have to learn to walk before we can run. This way a triple A studio can’t just roll in and slap prettier graphics on an independent title then use their superior marketing engine to rake in the dough (or can they? :S). And this way, at least in theory (and that’s a big theoretical, that one is), people are compensated for the work they do. But progress in an art, in an industry, is additive. We build on what’s come before; we internalize the lessons of the past to better inform our future work. Has our individualist approach hobbled us when we might otherwise fly? Again I run into the difficult friction of ideals and reality. I’d like to make everything I do open source, but, in looking out for a future of personal sustainability, I simply can’t. If ever I release something to the world market, I’ll have to protect it. Were someone else to run off with my product, our society as it is wouldn’t make sure that I’m provided for. The tragedy of the commons, again and again.

Maybe there’s a middle path. Maybe I can open some of my work to the world while retaining enough of it to present individual value. And maybe (yes) there are others out there willing to do the same.