Prototype UI

Early prototypes are supposed to be for hammering out the mechanics, and UI comes later, right? Not in my experience. I have never had a playtester of any design or gaming experience who could look wholly past UI to give feedback exclusively about mechanisms. On the other hand, I don't think you need to be a UI/UX professional in order to make a game prototype. But I do have some thoughts on how we can all address UI in prototypes the appropriate amount for games that will change every time they are played for at least a year. Obviously, this is a process. It takes time to integrate the necessary UI into prototypes. But it is important to be working toward a clear, usable prototype from the beginning of the process. 

The most important step in increasing player usability is to reduce visual chaos in your prototype. Pretty much every other piece of advice I have goes back to this. Declutter the play space and integrate visual organization, so that players know where to look. Of course that is easier said than done, so let's look at some concrete ways of achieving that. 

Streamline components. Yes, improving UI involves game design. It's surprising how much of the design process is changing rules to help players' experiences, as opposed to helping balance the mechanics. Streamlining components is not new advice, but it usually is presented as a cost reduction strategy. Here, the total number of components matters less than how they are laid out on the table. Fewer types of components, grouping like things together, and providing some sort of visual hierarchy are all strategies to reduce the visual chaos of a game. Potential cost reduction is just an added bonus. 

Visual organization of the layout of the game is a difficult design task for those of us who are not professional graphic designers. Thematic organization is one way to make your game stand out and help players interface with the rules. How can we impose thematic organization on our designs? There are a couple ways of thinking about this problem. My approach is to start my designs by feeling out what shapes or items need to be represented visually in the game. What is the most important visual metaphor within the theme? Some visual metaphors in my designs have been elevation/topography, a bustling open air market, and a manuscript. As is the nature of metaphors, these concepts are boiled down to very simple component expressions. I am usually trying to evoke the feeling of the metaphor; I am not trying to design a simulation. However, these metaphors provide shape to my layout, thematic anchoring to my rules, and a guide to the hook of my game. 

But if that's a little too much of a liberal arts approach to game design, here's a different way to approach thematic organization: eliminate as many rectangles as possible. Get away from the spreadsheet look as early as you can. Don't just change all the rectangles to circles, search for thematically appropriate shapes. If you can integrate affordances while you're at it, that's also a good idea. However, that treads on graphic design ground and I'm trying to keep this simple. Some rectangles will be unavoidable. Cards, boards, and dice don't need to be reinvented. Cubes, on the other hand, are usually easy to replace with tokens or standees. Layout within boards or cards is another excellent place to avoid rectangles. Even just a few objects with organic shapes gives the eye somewhere to rest that is not grid-like. Tie these shapes in with theme, but make sure that these elements facilitate gameplay rather than getting in the way. 

Use icons as memory aids. A card should tell the player how it works. Too few icons can be as much of a problem as too many. Keywords are essentially alphanumeric icons. Use just as many as you need to make the rules as clear as possible. Player aids are important for reference, but icons should be easily identified as what they represent. Sometimes that means thematic icons; sometimes it means more typical board game action or component-style icons. Icons act as visual and strategic anchors for the player by telling them what information is important. 

On the subject of player aids, try to reduce reading as much as possible. Player aids that are too long are almost more frustrating than not having a player aid. Again, too much information makes a game feel cluttered. Give players what they most need in as few words as possible. If the information is on the cards or on the board, you can leave it off the player aid. What I most need when playing a game is enough information to play a turn (usually in the form of turn order) and what my end goal is.

Add visual interest. One trick that I use to help break of the visual blah-ness of a prototype is through the use of flood fills. If I'm trying to not use too much ink, however, I stick to borders. Different colors on cards or areas of a board can help players pick out information faster than monochrome icons. We see color first. I also add in placeholder art fairly early in the process. Art can help convey the general atmosphere of a game to players. Bright cartoon art conveys a different message than dark, grotesque art. Visual interest is admittedly more important later in the process. But I want to know early on if I can make a game look interesting. Because visual interest sells games. And making interesting looking games is a skill that can be honed. Plus, flood fills and clip art don't take any more time to add to cards than icons do. 

Sometimes, in order to get better quality feedback on playtests we have to develop the UI before we're done with the mechanics. Fortunately, spending time on UI is time well spent. In addition to removing distractions that keep players from engaging with the core of our games, we are able to develop the themes, hooks, and curb appeal of our designs. 

ShippBoard Games is a board game design blog that updates most Mondays.

Self-centered Design

Every designer has tendencies that they should be aware of. I think of it as my own bad taste in design, but you could think of it as not considering your audience or going against certain expectations in the hobby. I frame it as bad taste because, like in other aspects of life, I am capable of enjoying something even if it is generally considered to be poor quality. 

In game design, my own bad taste primarily manifests as an enjoyment of tedium. I let a game go on too long. I don't have very interesting choices early on in my designs. Dramatic moments are something I stumble into if I am lucky. My interest is usually in shaping the rhythm of the game and in making the tedious parts the least tedious they can be. But sometimes often that is at the expense of the things that gamers want in games, the things that make games 'good'. I'll die on the hill that balance is a late stage design consideration, but I am trying to be better about incorporating interesting choices sooner in my design process. 

Speaking of balance, some designers rely too heavily on spreadsheets and math rather than their target audience. I put mathematical balance in the bad taste category. Few gamers will care that a game's math is perfect, but many designers are enamored with perfectly balanced spreadsheets. I occasionally will work out some of the math of a game to make sure that higher level actions are actually better than lower level ones. But otherwise my math typically consists of making sure I have enough cards for the intended player count. (Which I am notoriously bad at. Which explains my stance on math in games.) My feelings on math aside, game balance matters less than the perception of balance. Spending too much time in spreadsheets likely does more for your ego than it does for the game. (On the other hand, if it's a part of your process, go for it. As long as you know that spreadsheets cannot replace playtesting.) 

Returning to tedium, many designers seem to struggle with game length. Based on my own experience, I would say that part of the struggle is because designers enjoy their own games, sometimes to a fault. The longer a game lasts, the more opportunity to hit certain beats and develop certain strategies. Unfortunately, only someone who is as familiar with the game as the designer is going to appreciate what the long version of the game offers. Most players won't be able to see that nuance and won't appreciate the time it takes to get there. Most of the time, what the longer game adds is not worth the loss of momentum that happens as a game stretches out. 

Another familiarity problem is one I dub the "videogame dev" mentality. In videogames, development continues long after a game has launched. Games regularly transform from simple affairs in early access to sprawling, elaborate worlds. The problem for board game designers is when something similar happens during the design process. Rather than simplifying and streamlining the design over time, the design becomes more expansive, usually at the expense of the intended player experience. Sometimes this is in response to playtester feedback; often the designer is trying to keep the game from getting boring (to themself). Usually, content can be stripped out to be added in later as expansions. 

Lastly, some designers will design games that are fun for them at the expense of the players. Games that punish players or trick them into making bad decisions can make designers feel clever. These sorts of design choices are rarely fun for players, however. This tendency can show up in small ways, like red herrings that only trip up first time players. If you have options in your game that are always (as opposed to conditionally) bad, label them as such. 

Traits such as these often get listed as "new designer mistakes" but I think that miscasts the problem. I struggle in some way with most of these (not the math one), even though I know they aren't good design tools. I also see all of these creep into published games by established designers. So let's stop telling new designers these problems are due to lack of experience. These tendencies come from designers designing for themselves, as opposed to their target audience. These tendencies don't evaporate when you get published because you are still you. I am still me, with all my bad taste and laziness when it comes to the process. The trick is recognizing the tendencies in yourself so that you can address them before your game hits the shelves. 

ShippBoard Games is a board game design blog that updates most Mondays.

Exposition and Denouement

While there are a number of ways to introduce your game world to players, I think some methods are both more straightforward than others while also more effective storytelling. In the previous post, I discussed using the introductory lore paragraph in the rulebook as an inciting incident for the narrative of gameplay. In this post, I'll be looking at using setup as exposition and scoring as denouement. (NB: I am assuming that setup includes at minimum a brief rules review.)

But first, why would we want an inciting incident before exposition? When we place the inciting incident in the lore paragraph in the rulebook, it functions similarly to a cinematic cut scene at the beginning of a video game. We get dropped into a dramatic narrative moment, then we pause to learn who we are and what we are doing. In a video game, this might happen in a tutorial level. In board games, often all we have is setup. 

How can setup function as exposition? Setup is when the game world is literally built on the table. You learn who you are, what you are good at, how much you possess. You learn your goals. Take Sheriff of Nottingham for example: The world is a line of carts waiting to get through a city gate. You have limited funds that you can use to bribe the sheriff. You have the goods you are bringing to market. The law prohibits the sale of contraband at the market, but a well-placed bribe could circumvent it. The Sheriff makes money either through bribes or penalties. All this is learned during setup. This is the game world; the player decides how honest they will be at the city gate. The inciting incident, as described in the rulebook, is that Prince John has placed the Sheriff at the gate to inspect all incoming goods. According to the lore paragraph, the merchants are overtaxed and trying to make a living and the Sheriff is greedy. Setup, rules, and gameplay all flow together to create a single story. 

Setup as inciting incident (something I mentioned in the last post) is trickier to pull off. It is harder to include important story moments while learning the rules of the game. Vengeance has an initial draft that functions as the inciting incidents for why the player characters want revenge. Importantly, the exposition of Vengeance is largely "you have seen these types of movies before; you know what to expect." When players have preexisting knowledge of a genre, designers can get away with less explicit exposition. To have inciting incidents in setup, the game should be strongly story driven and some element of setup should be variable. Otherwise, let the lore paragraph do the heavy lifting for you rather than drag out setup for the sake of story beats. The goal of the players will always be to get into the game quickly; don't stand in the way of that goal. 

Not all story-driven moments in setup can be inciting incidents, however. In my game, Deadly Dowagers, players choose a husband before the game starts. Different husbands grant different temporary benefits. However, the inciting incident is not the act of getting married, but the scene in the rulebook where a PC discovers an older woman who can set her on the path to becoming a deadly dowager. Choosing what character you will play or their starting gear is not an inciting incident. Inciting incidents must create motivation for characters to act out the actions of gameplay. 

Gameplay is made up of rising and falling action and turning points. (I've seen it argued that board games are all rising action. I disagree.) Before the game starts we can provide exposition and inciting incidents. What about denouement? (Read about story structure here if you aren't familiar with these terms.) Not all game structures need or can accommodate a denouement. However, games with post-game scoring can have the scoring phase integrated into the theme by treating the scoring phase as denouement. This is where Sheriff of Nottingham breaks down. Nothing in the game world explains why it is important or desirable or profitable to be the king or queen of apples. The bonus points are necessary for the mechanics to feel balanced. We can make inferences about the economy, but the extra steps needed to rationalize a game rule will make the game feel less thematic even if the theme can be justified. (I feel this maxim applies most glaringly to the 'thematic' nature of the drafting in Sushi Go!, whereas Sushi Roll does not require the extra steps of rationalization and thus feels much more like a conveyor belt sushi restaurant.) In the case of Sheriff, additional exposition could have been used to explain why the merchants wanted to sell a lot of one good. 

Regular scoring should tie directly to the players' main goal in the game. Bonus scoring should, where possible, make sense in the overall story. We should have an idea of what happens to a character in the immediate aftermath of the game: they won or lost a contest, they amassed wealth, they lost a war, etc. Board games are stories as snapshots; we won't know much about the lives of characters after a (non-narrative) game is over. But we should known how their position has changed from when the game began and what that might mean to them. 

A game begins at setup and ends when a winner is declared. Designers have opportunities to make their games more thematic simply by including the whole game in the theme. Every game tells a story and I want to see designers become better storytellers.  

ShippBoard Games is a board game design blog that updates most Mondays.

Inciting Incidents

One of the most common pieces of design advice is to start the game when the turns get interesting. This is similar to the narrative concept of starting a story in medias res—in the middle of the action. If a game should begin mechanically when things get interesting, it only follows that the theme should as well. A well-knitted theme should begin with the same intensity as the mechanics. 

That doesn't mean that we can't have any exposition, however. The introductory paragraph in the rulebook gives us a chance to tell players what they are doing and why they are doing it. In general, rulebook lore is most effective when it gives context to gameplay. The entire history of your world is not only unnecessary but can be detrimental to the goal of giving players context for their actions. In other words, too much lore is as bad, or worse, than no lore. 

There are many ways of incorporating lore in rulebooks that will enhance player experiences, but I want to (again) focus on the introductory paragraph. Specifically, I want to look at one method for introductory paragraphs that meshes well with the game design advice described above: using inciting incidents. If we want games to start with rising action, one way to jump directly into the action on turn one is to have an inciting incident described in the rulebook. (Another way is to have the inciting incident occur during setup.) 

An inciting incident is the event at the beginning of a story that sets the main characters on the path that becomes the rest of the story. What caused the player characters to act in this way? Why are they in opposition (or cooperation) with the other characters? Ideally, you can also use the inciting incident to explain why the main characters want what they want. 

This is an especially good way to use snippets of fiction. Instead of an unconnected short story, an inciting incident scene at the beginning of the rulebook can propel players into the action of the game. The main caveat here is that the inciting incident should be about the characters that are in the game, not other characters in your lore and the incident should lead directly into the action of the game. The players won't be propelled into the action of the game if the lore does not directly apply to them and what they're doing. 

Inciting incidents are not the main action of the game, merely what sparks the action. As such, you really shouldn't need more that a couple paragraphs at most to set up the action of the game. Best case scenario, the player that reads the rulebook internalizes the reason for the action of the game and the motivation of the characters and relays all of that to the other players. In order for players to internalize the why of the action, the lore needs to be brief and to the point. Much in the same way that the theme provides logic for the mechanics, the introductory lore of the game should set up the logic of the theme. 

A pretty good example is So, You've Been Eaten. The title itself serves as exposition, providing the setting and tone of the game. The lore is styled as training propaganda for the employee character who mines the worms. This tells us who we are and why we are doing the actions in the game. The main thing we don't learn is why we would have signed up for this job to begin with. 

Inciting incidents can help us frame the narrative by showing what sparked the events of a game. By placing inciting incidents in the rulebook (or setup), we free up our games to start at the point when the action really gets going. Focusing introductory rulebook lore on inciting incidents keeps the lore focused on the action and motivation of the player characters. 

ShippBoard Games is a board game design blog that updates most Mondays.

Narrative Framing

I've started to refer to crafting a game's story as theme-building. Worldbuilding (Which I guess is one word? I only just now looked it up.) often refers to the background story elements that inform what happens in your story. Theme-building is crafting the story itself in relation to the mechanics of a game. Within theme-building we encounter narrative framing. Narrative framing is the boundaries of the story and how the story is expressed. 

Let me unpack that a bit. Think of narrative framing as similar to cinematography. In film, you can have a good script, good acting, and good directing, but if the cinematographer does a bad job, your movie might be incomprehensible. Similarly, in board games you can have a good story in the rulebook about your world and you can have good mechanics, but if the theme is not knitted to the mechanics the game won't make narrative sense. 

Narrative framing is a tool we can use to help us knit together our theme and mechanics. Narrative framing focuses on who gets the spotlight and which parts of the story get told. Board games by their nature have to present an abstraction of a story. Narrative framing is the process of deciding what details get airbrushed out and what details get emphasized. There are a few basic questions to ask to determine your narrative framing.

Who are the players? You may have a story in mind, but the type of game you are trying to make will partially determine who the main characters are. In cooperative games, characters have a single purpose and work together to achieve it. In competitive games, characters have conflicting desires even if they have the same goal. In a competitive game, you would not want to depict characters who are all on the same team unless you include an element of betrayal. Players may control separate teams of characters, however. Your choice of PCs has a strong effect on how players will relate to the game world. Characters are the way that players access the world of the game. Sometimes changing who the main characters are in the story will focus the story on the type of experience you want players to have. Read these posts for more about shaping playable characters. 

What are the characters doing? What are their goals? A character's goals should line up with the win condition (or their win condition) of the game. Even if the mechanics don't change, changing goals thematically can raise the emotional stakes which in turn increases player investment in the game narrative. Did players seem to care about the main task of the game? That goal should feel important enough to the PCs that the players also become invested in achieving it. 

How are they doing it? What actions are they taking? The actions of a game should be the method by which a character achieves their goal. Actions should feel 'in character' for PCs. If a character acts in a way that doesn't flow from the logic of the narrative, players will disconnect from the story. Actions are how the story is told, so retheme as necessary to produce the best experience. 

Why are they trying to achieve a certain goal? Why are they going about it that way? Goals and the methods used to achieve them should make narrative sense. It should be clear why the characters want what they want and why they employ the methods that they use. Either through the types of actions available to a character, their special power, or flavor text, let players know what the character values. A character's values give insight into why the character is trying to achieve a certain goal. I talk more about character motivation in this post. 

When & where is this happening? Setting is very important for providing context clues to players about the game world. Players can use their existing knowledge of a genre or time period or location to fill in some of the gaps in worldbuilding. This means that your chosen setting can also provide an experience you don't want players to have. For example, Puerto Rico's setting combined with the brown colored discs suggests that the players are slave owners, even if the game makes an effort to deny that fact. Changing the setting to occur after slavery was abolished is much more effective than simply trying to name the discs. 

Playtesters, especially those who have been in the hobby awhile, are quick to give feedback about mechanics but not narrative. You may have to ask what they thought of the story of the game. I would give a two sentence explanation of the game world prior to playing the game, then see if their experiences mesh with your vision of what the story is. As a designer, you likely see all the background worldbuilding that may not be apparent to the average player. 

When I design, I want to feel invested in my PC's goal. I want to care about the main task and actions of the game. "Why should I care?" is the question I ask most often in the early design process, before things like balance come into play. If I can nail down the emotional core of the game, the rest will follow eventually. I'm amazed by designers who think that any theme can fit any game. I believe that going forward, we will see a rise of themes strongly knitted to mechanics. And if you don't learn how to design theme, you will get left behind. 

ShippBoard Games is a board game design blog that updates most Mondays.