Since late November of last year I’ve been on-and-off working on a mini book project. Yesterday I finally got it past the finish line! You can get it from rupazero.com.
Delay is about energy mechanics, a recent design conceit popular in casual and mobile games, whereby playing drains a resource that can only be refilled by not playing it for a while. I argue that they’re about impulse control, our own fear and shame when it comes to over-indulgence, and ideas about what it means to be a grown-up.
It’s the future. The remnants of humanity, in the aftermath of a cataclysmic event known only as The Fall, have fled a dying homeworld to seek refuge among the colonies of the solar system.
I made another game this week! Click here to play it. Even though the graphics are a rough and the audio is awful and the controls are annoying, I’m still really pleased with what I was able to achieve here. I like the idea of games like Ganbare Gorby where the main character ability is to bark incoherently at people, and for a long time I’ve been wanting to make games with social gaze, where you are unable to do anything beyond what the people around you expect you to be doing. I’d really like to work on this some more one day.
Unnecessary and somewhat self-involved exposition below…
These are some over-excited thoughts that I’ve written on an empty stomach with very little revision or proof-reading. I’m sure I’m wrong about a lot of things, but I just wanted to put this out because OMG FEELINGS
This weekend there were two game jams running at the same time: one was a challenge to make dating sims (mostly with Twine) and one was a QUILTBAG-themed jam which I think was proposed by the MIT game lab.
I kind of had separate ideas for each theme at first, then I realised I really ought to just make one idea work for both jams. So I was going to make a twine game about fruitlessly trying to find love in a bad relationship, but then I decided I didn’t have the emotional energy to put myself through that this week.
So instead, I made a card game about couples trying to plan their futures together. I wanted to make a dating sim that wasn’t about courtship, but about what happens after you end up in a long-term relationship with someone. I’m really interested in the difficult strategy at work in negotiating your life path when it’s become clear that you are going to share that life with another person with their own goals. I got my partner to help me test the game and design cards.
It still needs iteration for balance and extra chaos, but here’s the basic structure of the game I made yesterday:
Featured in February’s Critical Distance Blogs of the Round Table.
This is a work-in-progress extract from my crowd-funded book Dreamcast Worlds. I’ve selected a section that explores photorealism, deliberately moving away from technologically determinist arguments about how better console technology “allows” games to become “more expressive” (yes Sony I’m glaring daggers at you after that pseudo-history you just had to shoehorn into the PS4 presentation) and instead looking at accuracy as a design question: what does it mean for a game to be like a photograph?
Accuracy
The high level of historical details in Shenmue’s recreation of 1986 Yokosuka is as much about setting an emotional tone as is it about establishing accuracy. For one thing, they are not consistently accurate. The Sega Saturn in Ryo’s home is anachronistic - set in 1986, but Saturn released in 1990s. Nevertheless, a slavish devotion to accuracy informed work on all areas of the game, possibly in spite of calls for restraint from higher-ups at Sega.
Last week I was absolutely over the moon to be invited to vote for the winners of the GDC choice awards. While making my votes in the different categories, I realised that a lot of the thoughts I have about games that influenced by decisions had never really been written down anywhere.
I like Anna Anthropy's work, but I also try to be clear-eyed about the fact that a lot of Dys4ia could be built in PowerPoint and isn't a game. That's not a value judgement. My value judgement of the piece as a work of expressive art is pretty high.Like Raph, I also really value and respect Dys4ia. I value it for the conversations it provokes, and for its landmark place in the landscape of trans-themed game development.
We’re spending much more of our time living with faulty semantic feedback from digital systems. Boyfriend maker (pictured above) is lighting up my twitter feed at the moment, but the same humorous faults come up in machine translations, machine transcriptions, spam bots and creatively intentioned twitter bots. There is an entirely new kind of procedurally-generated humour, intentional or unintentional, coming out of computer systems as we spend time awkwardly fudging our way towards the far-flung dream of universal translators and artificial personalities.
There’s a particular humour that comes from being so close to the future but not quite there. Everything is still wonky and not quite right.
I’m conducting interviews through Google-enabled telepresence, on the topic of one of people’s early forays into gaming telepresence, and those interviews are being recorded automatically by the very server that mediates the communication in the first place. It’s as though you met someone for coffee to interview them, and the coffee itself recorded the information you needed. Like reading tea leaves. That’s magical. But then there’s lag and watching the playback, it’s hard to figure out if I’m arrogantly talking over someone or if I’m just unaware that they are speaking because of a technical fault.
Today’s Gamesbrief post about Nintendo reminded me of the history of the Rock-paper-scissors game mechanic in Japan.
I played Merritt Kopas’s Lim a couple of weeks ago. I was very impressed, but thought it was too obviously brilliant to be worth writing about. But now it’s been featured on Rock, Paper Shotgun and commenters are calling it ‘pretentious’, and saying it’s a bad game, and nothing more than an art exercise, and feels like a drawn-out level of Dys4ia, so I feel I have to write something. Spoilers follow.
I hate Monopoly. I've always hated Monopoly. It takes 3-4 hours to finish a game, and the last 1-2 are simply a slow decline as the clear winner drains all the last pennies from the losing players. Yes, it was originally intended as a parody of capitalism. No, it's not real money so I shouldn't really care that I'm losing everything to some lucky git who rolled a six at the beginning and bought all the best property. That's no excuse for making me sit there slowly dying for two hours when it's 11pm and I just want to go home. It's not fun.
The next time anyone makes me play Monopoly, I'm going to make it interesting.[caption id=“attachment_788” align=“alignleft” width=“156”] All I want is to change those wedge heels for some flatformers, and PSO2 gives me no opportunity to pay to do this.[/caption]
Phantasy Star Online 2 is set to become the game I love to criticise. Before I launch into a tirade, I should quickly note that I actually really enjoy this game; it’s campy, it’s saccharine, it’s one of those perfect shoot-spiders-feel-awesome games and it has pretty accurately rebooted the original game with up-to-date graphical splendour.
That’s not the only thing Sega had in mind, though. PSO2 is supposed to be a heroic step towards the future of free-to-play games; artful, unobtrusive and enjoyable for all, it is a virtual world with incentivised commerce, supposedly a paragon of F2P game design that the world simply might not yet be ready for.
At the same time, Sega has announced that from now on it will focus on its four key ip, finding it not lucrative to develop new ip in the foreseeable future. Their job will be to recycle the past.
In a brilliant post on developers' perceptions of free-to-play, Jesper Juul linked to a study on players' perceptions of gaming and game ownership within free-to-play games. The concluding paragraph to this paper states that:
Compared to pay-per-play session users, renters have a stronger sense of game and game community ownership, with all game aspects viewed as objects to be experienced and enjoyed. In contrast, the sense of community among free game players is weaker, since their participation is closer to that of consumers. This explains why they generally ignore complaints about game legitimacy and fairness... The idea of “take it or leave it” is gaining strength under the influences of free market logic or player-toconsumer identity transfer.Free players are less likely to complain, and more likely to move on to some other game instead. I think that this has startling implications, and not for the reason that immediately comes to mind.
[caption id="" align=“alignleft” width=“200”] Hard to believe now, but during the LonelyGirl15 ARG, these eyes used to haunt me every night[/caption]
Where would the games industry be today without non-gamers? Were it not for people like my Mum and my sister, who don’t consider themselves to be gamers and yet visit some mobile or online game every single day, the industry would be without an area of huge growth.
It’s easy to comment 0n the gamers who declare that they don’t play video games as this supposedly new demographic of women and the over-35s - although my Mum was playing fantasy football years and years ago, before Silicon Valley got all hot under the collar about casual gamers and online social platforms, making her unwittingly the archetypical hipster of gaming trends. But in fact, I think that unacknowledged gaming is more widespread than this much-hyped demographic. It’s not the strength of the demographic that causes tacit gaming, it’s the strength of gaming itself.
Yesterday I kind of hyperbolically said that Jetpack Joyride was seductive, and I scolded game designers for too often failing to create free-to-play games that charm you into buying items, rather than nagging you about it.
I haven’t said much about how I think that seduction ought to happen, although I did point out that, like the history of the Indus Valley civilisation, the organisation of items sold in game should reflect the organisation of our whole collective existence - you have to offer something of value to the world before getting anything back. But that doesn’t tell us much about seduction.
Ze Frank’s recent video unwittingly taught me a lot about how this seduction can work, although the intended meaning of the video was about being less anxious.
[youtube www.youtube.com/watch
I’ve had enough Twitter debates with disgruntled game designers to know that even if free-to-play is now accepted as a lucrative business model, it’s still considered to be the handmaiden of bad game design. Too many free-to-play games are about hiding content behind paywalls or nagging players for money, without offering a particularly valuable experience to players.
Does this mean that a good quality game necessarily has to charge up-front? Absolutely not.
There may be an ocean of appalling free-to-play games out there, but there are enough excellent examples to show that the business model doesn’t necessarily poison the game design.
I’ve just finished getting everything I can out of Jetpack Joyride, a game that I relished spending money on, but that my sister has never paid a penny for and she enjoyed it even more than I did. In fact, she has started playing it again, not because they developed new content or levels - considered by so many game designers to be the bread and butter of their craft - but because they added more in-game items. Even though it’s all about the stash, there is no paywall with Jetpack Joyride - you either play it for hours upon hours to get the items you want, or you buy them.
It’s really hard to make a game that good. It’s a skill I hope to learn, and personally I think the question of good f2p game design comes down to one question: why am I alive? Or at least, it comes down to John Green’s answer on why we’re alive, and how to be a good boyfriend. This video is ten minutes long, but like the rest of the Crash Course series, well worth getting a cup of tea and watching in full.
[youtube www.youtube.com/watch
[caption id=“attachment_675” align=“alignleft” width=“256”] Dealing with fuzzy concepts - CC image by Daniela Vladimirova[/caption]
I’ve been provoked into further theorising. Sean Kelly gave a very thorough response in the comments to my last games and narrative post, and I want to follow up. He brought up a lot of technical challenges to a ‘clear delineation between mechanic and narrative’, proposing that there are narratives that can be expressed in some form other than the rule set, and rule sets that can be re-interpreted with different narrative effects. If I interpreted his questions correctly, at root is this problem: if mechanic is not sufficient for narrative, why should it matter? And if it is sufficient, isn’t the term ‘narrative’ being applied too broadly?
Judging from Nicholas Lovell’s recent Twitter conversation about stories in games, many developers are split on whether or not games should focus on storytelling.
My own feeling on this matter is that games are not always about stories, but they do all have narratives, as do all other systems and designed objects.
Game of Thrones is back in the US, and snow is forecast for next week in the UK, leaving a large chunk of the English speaking world immersed in a mythic, winter landscape once again.
Any book on video games needs to have a history section at the start. Most of those potted histories will talk about console generations. It’s a useful idea, because it reflects the fact that new games consoles were usually released in waves, so that companies would limit the custom lost to gamers already committed to a near-identical competing console that had already established itself in their homes. It’s also commercial propaganda.
Some of my business cards carry the title, ‘Time Lord’. While I don’t own a tardis and only possess one heart, I do travel through space and time, to help people to solve problems. Cultural problems, that they need to resolve in order to succeed in their vocation. And then they pay me, which is important when you’re not actually from Galifrey.
I’m able to be a Time Lord because I’m a historian. However, my vocation is made both more meaningful and more possible by the dramatic shift in the very fabric of cultural history over the past couple of decades. Part of this transformation in the place-time continuum is characterised by the nostalgia cascade.
Copyblogger recently advised marketers to tell their audience’s story, taking Downton Abbey as an example of excellent narrative marketing. It uses historical references that still fascinate people today, and creates strong characters who viewers can identify with, getting people wrapped up in a historical fantasy that feels relevant and real.
In my GDC talk, I’m going to argue that game designers should do the exact same thing with virtual economies. I will show how Final Fantasy games used fictional economics to tell their players' story, and that as their players' stories changed, so did the fictional economies of Final Fantasy games.
[caption id=“attachment_589” align=“aligncenter” width=“580” caption=“Click for the blog of the V&A/RCA History of Design course”][/caption]
What is game design history? What makes it different to game design criticism or video game history?
This week I will be attending not one, but three lectures on video games given in an academic context. And none of them will be conducted as part of games studies programs. It’s part of a rise in the subject of ‘digital humanities’, but I think it’s happening specifically to video games because of the stellar year 2011 was for game design. 2011 proved that video games makers are conscious of the limitations and possibilities of their medium, styles and strategies have matured and are being pushed, and culturally meaningful expression can be seen all over the industry.
This was originally published on Gamesbrief, where I work at editorial assistant
Fictional economics is about how the narrative, object design and user interface of your game tells stories about economies. It can be observed in both online and offline games.
The critically acclaimed psychological adventure game Trauma finally came out earlier this year, as a free-to-play browser game as well as a paid app for Mac OS. This week it became one of the top ten paid apps. The game is about searching through the memories of a patient suffering from mental trauma, by piecing together places and events from a series of connected photographs. It’s a unique and rich aesthetic experience, though as a whole project it still feels unfinished.
Being a grown-up is not fun and games. To amend this, some cheerful people from a nice part of the world, probably California, invented gamification. I’ve seen some Stanford computer science lectures on iTunesU from a few years ago that seem to express the first buds of gamifying theories. Now we are beginning to see the fruits of those theories. Apparently more and more workplaces and commercial enterprises have modified their working practices to incorporate reward badges for hitting targets, points systems, sometimes level-up mechanics to represent your productivity/consumer loyalty.
This is my position paper for a seminar in IT Copenhagen’s game studies department called ‘Against Procedurality’. It has Portal 2 spoilers in it. Also spoilers for my presentation on Tuesday :P Anyway, I don’t usually get to put things I write academically up here because they’re so long, so I thought I’d take advantage of the opportunity to post a short piece of work. Enjoy!
‘As humans we experience our world through the materiality of things. We walk on concrete, wooden or carpeted floors and drink tea from a ceramic, paper, plastic or polystyrene cup. There is a continuous, invisible exchange taking place between us, our objects and our environment.’- Karen Richmond, Thingness Symposium, Camberwell College of Arts
‘Don’t get yourself all covered in the gel. We haven’t entirely nailed down what element it is, but I’ll tell you this: it’s a lively one, and it does NOT like the human skeleton.’ - Cave Johnson, Portal 2Materiality refers to the emotional and pragmatic significance of materials. Wood feels familiar, tactile and reassuring. Plastic feels like anything and nothing all at once - it feels more alien the more it attempts to emulate the familiar. When games involve virtual worlds, part of their procedurality is devoted to the materiality of the game-worlds.
This blog post contains spoilers. Go play Portal and Metal Gear, then come back and read this.
I have some recollection of first playing the Sims, and assuming that controlling the lives of tiny little people who I created would be like playing god. But it never felt like playing god. There was no power trip, no sense of responsiblity and no guilty feeling that I had crossed a line that humanity must never cross. It’s not that I wasn’t immersed in the game or didn’t on some level believe that the Sims were real. I did play the game as though there really were tiny little people who just wanted to have their needs met and their goals fulfilled; my rational knowledge that this was all a computer-modeled simulation that could easily be hacked didn’t get in the way of my emotional response to the poverty, sickness or loneliness of my Sims. But I didn’t feel like their god.
This man is stupid but free I just wrote this in my essay for this term:
Implicit in the prevalent labelling of computer games as interactive media is the idea that the players* have agency, because through their interaction they are able to influence the content of the media that they consume. However, the Final Fantasy series, in spite of its huge popularity, is often criticised for not being genuinely interactive. Final Fantasy games are usually linear in structure, with only one possible plotline, only one legitimate course of action, and often only one effective tactic in any given battle. The game will not progress without the action of the players, but the players' actions are dictated by the rules of the game - the players have no real choices to make and therefore have no real influence on the content of their gaming experience.