Scope and Resolution

This post stems from a recent video on Shelf Stories about how history is present in war-games and euro games. The video lightly touches on scope and resolution as topics that I would like to discuss more here. 

Two important concepts within narrative framing are scope and resolution. Scope refers to how focused or wide-ranging the theme is. Scope is largely a function of setting. The types of actions in a wide-scope civ builder and a narrow-scope civ builder are going to be similar, largely because the genre dictates that they must be. It is the thematic details of the setting that establish the scope. 

Resolution refers to how detailed or abstracted the theme is. A low resolution game abstracts most of the theme. A high resolution game models the theme as much as possible with the mechanics. Low resolution games may or may not have complex mechanics, but a high resolution game must have at least a minimum amount of complexity in order to accurately model the theme. The wider the scope, the more complexity is needed for a high resolution game. Long war-games tend to be wide scope and high resolution. Civ games are usually wide scope and low resolution. Euro games are often low resolution regardless of scope. 

Increasing resolution adds complexity, because mechanics have to be added to model the theme. The wider the scope, the more complexity required for high resolution. Greater complexity means not only more rules overhead, but usually longer gameplay time. Narrow scope themes can achieve high resolution without as much added complexity. High resolution also requires greater levels of research when developing non-fiction themes. The wider the scope the more research is required. 

High resolution, regardless of scope, results in more work for designers. Many popular games are 'essentially abstracts,' aka low resolution games. Why, therefore, should designers strive for higher resolutions in their themes? 

• Players like thematic games. They like abstract games, too, but those we already have in abundance.   Higher resolution themes, especially in shorter, more accessible games, can more easily stand out from the crowd of games published each year. 
• Higher resolution themes have better hooks and are easier to market. Trading in the ancient world is a very generic and overdone theme. Petra is a higher resolution version of that theme that is more memorable because of its specificity. 
• Higher resolution themes have more intuitive rules. Again, low resolution mechanics are more abstract. Abstract rules are less intuitive than rules with thematic logic behind them. 

I want to see more high resolution, narrow scope games. I love rich, thematic detail in game mechanisms, and I think that is much easier to achieve in a narrow scope theme. However, adding scope and resolution to your toolkit allows you to adjust the dials of your theme to better achieve your design vision or better connect with your intended audience. 

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

How to Have Good Ideas

Have you ever been jealous of a game that had a really good concept? Do you ever feel like your ideas just aren't as good as other designers? The good news is, good ideas are more likely the result of iteration, not inspiration. 

Chances are, your initial inspiration isn't a great idea. No idea survives contact with a first playtest. As we develop our designs, they get become better ideas. However, "just work on it longer" is NOT a recipe for having better ideas. It's part of it, but not even the biggest part. 

The most important step is to develop a habit of curiosity. Be interested in the world around you. Learn about how and why things work the way they do. Read books; watch documentaries; listen to podcasts. Research anything you find intriguing. Abstracts of scholarly papers are a good place to find succinct information. I've been known to read dissertations if they're available for free online. The inspiration for a recent design of mine came from a joke in a TV show that was based on a real holiday tradition. My research led me to a first-hand account of the tradition as practiced in the 19th century. I should note that fiction can be as valuable as non-fiction. However, media that allows for deep dives tends to work better. Don't just watch a movie; study an entire genre. On the mechanics side, this means playing lots of games. (Or watching actual plays. I'm not sure it matters which you do.) Most importantly, be interested and follow your interests. 

This habit overtime will build what I think of as an idea compost heap. Plants can more easily spring up from a compost heap that has had a lot of material added and then allowed to settle. The media you consume is information that can become ideas. It is not by itself ideas or even research. (Research is what happens after you have an idea.) The information you absorb will settle in your mind. Then when you start working on new designs, ideas will begin to sprout. 

But where do you start, when you begin a design from scratch? I don't think the way we talk about starting with theme or mechanics is particularly useful or descriptive. Most design ideas start as an attempt to answer a question—what would a game about X look like? Asking 'what if' is a powerful tool at any point in the design process but perhaps especially at the beginning. Reflecting on the question you are attempting to answer is also an important tool. Ask yourself, "Is this question interesting? Is there another question about this topic that would be more interesting to answer?" Asking interesting questions leads to more interesting design choices. 

The types of questions you ask may begin from a number of different places: mechanics, theme, components, title, experience, etc. But where you begin is not as important as where you end up. And an over-emphasis on the starting point can lead designers to think that ideas need to start out good. Or that the starting point has to be purely one thing or another. 

Often designs start as a question that combines both theme and mechanics: How can I mechanically represent this real world concept? What theme would fit with this abstract mechanism? Or questions may combine emotion and mechanics or theme: How can I make a worker placement game feel more tense? How can my design give the experience of riding a roller coaster, instead of mechanically simulating a roller coaster? 

As your design develops, you will add questions that need to be answered. If your initial question was about theme and mechanics, you will need to ask, "What experience does this combination provide? Is it the kind of experience I want players to have?" 

At any stage of design, you should reflect on the questions you are asking and return to the question, "Is this interesting? Does it hold my interest?" If the answer is no, it is time to iterate. Find new answers and see if any spark ideas that will take the design in new directions. Really good ideas come from iteration. 

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

Intent and Interpretation

Which is more important: what the designer intended or what the audience experienced? I'm not sure this discussion happens explicitly all that often around board games, but it exists as an undercurrent when we discuss offensive themes and artistic freedom. 

Here's my take. Authorial intent is important—inasmuch as the original context of a work is important. Audience interpretation, however, is more important to the longevity of a work. Yet, I remain convinced that you cannot make good art without clear intent. Where does that leave us? 

I think it is easier for someone who works in theatre to remember that all art is a collaboration between the artist(s) and the audience. When the artist is siloed from large swaths of the audience it is easier to believe that their interpretations matter less than my artistic vision. After all, my vision is the only thing I can control, isn't it? 

This blog defines art as any craft that places a particular focus on the emotional response of the audience to the work. As I have written previously, artists can create emotions in their audience predictably. After a fashion, skilled artists are skilled manipulators. Sad songs make us cry; happy songs make us dance. To a thoughtful artist, audience interpretation is bound up with artist intent. I intend my audience to feel and thus interpret those feelings. 

But what if an audience interpretation pulls the work in a far different direction than the artist intended? To make art publicly is to give your art to audience for interpretation. In other words, if you don't want any sort of audience interpretation, don't share your work. To make art is to run the risk that the art will be set aside by the audience or that it will live on in a changed state that barely resembles your vision. 

Part of audience interpretation will include what you meant to make when you produced your art. But the value of the art to the audience is a value that arises from within the viewer. The viewer cannot be told how to value your art. 

If the audience finds fault with your art, you have the choice to stand by your original intent regardless of audience interpretation or you can change your art to more effectively communicate your intent to your audience. (Unless your intent is to offend, in which case you have succeeded.) 

Change your art? Who does that? Other than movie directors, Renaissance painters, musicians releasing remixes.... Art is a conversation with an audience. If you want the audience to listen, you have to be listening as well. 

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

Why Learn Theory?

Youtube food journalist Adam Ragusea has more than once observed that great chefs know what works but frequently are wrong about why something works. If you know what works, you don't necessarily need to know why in order to perform a given technique. So, why learn theory at all? Board game design has been chugging along since the nineties mostly through design iteration and oral tradition. When is it important to know why something works?

I believe that formalized knowledge (and, to an extent, formal training) makes for more competent practitioners who can work more efficiently. Chefs who understand the real reason behind a technique are better equipped to alter a recipe or make adjustments to a technique in order to make something that is both new and tasty. Knowing what the technique is actually doing makes it easier to change or replace. Better understanding of what a mechanism is accomplishing means zeroing in on what could replace it with fewer false starts. I think designers generally understand this concept even if they've never thought about it explicitly. 

Where we get tripped up is in believing that some knowledge is ineffable. Belief that certain things can only be learned by years of experience (or by lucking into something that works) does two things. First, it trains us to believe that inefficiency is a feature, not a bug. In other words, that the years of grinding away are a necessary part of the process before we can produce anything of quality. Second, it stops us from exploring concepts that appear on the outside to be abstract or ethereal. Exploring abstract concepts helps us think more flexibly. Flexible thinking makes us better designers. And that's before we account for the benefit of learning the abstract concepts themselves. 

I firmly believe that there are any number of concepts that are extremely helpful to absorb then sort of forget. This seems to be the basis of a lot of arts education. Certain concepts can be recalled specifically when trouble shooting, but are more often utilized instinctively when creating. (This is also why you can skip formal learning, but it takes longer to figure out what works through trial and error.) The concepts I write about here trend toward that foundational sort of theory, the kind you are meant to forget. Think of these concepts as an optical illusion that once you begin to see it a certain way you can't go back to your initial confusion. This is the type of theory that teaches you not what to do but how to see. 

I am glad to see that some abstract concepts are making their way into the board game design canon. Psychology is the front runner at the moment. Learning aspects of psychology and applying it to board games is a cornerstone of the 'designing for experience' movement. Achievement Relocked is an excellent foray into the importance of psychological concepts in game design. I lucked into making loss aversion work for me, but understanding how it works makes me a better designer. 

There is a whole host of other concepts, however. None of them are essential anymore than understanding the types of auctions is essential to being a game designer. Instead they add more colors to you design palette. Concepts like art design theory, immersion, and resonance. 

For me, these concepts are far easier to grasp than probabilities or data merge. But everyone's brains learn differently, and what comes easily to me will appear as nonsense to someone else (and vice versa). I am reminded of the sound engineer that I took a drawing class with. She went from zero sound experience to national tours in 2-3 years. But she couldn't quiet the analytical part of her brain long enough to make much progress drawing. In contrast, no matter how many times I learn how to set up sound equipment, the knowledge seems to slide right out of my head. But drawing and painting concepts stick even though I wasn't a good artist prior to taking classes. This is why I keep coming at topics from several different angles—I want to find ways of explaining that will be absorbed by as many brains as possible. But not everyone can or needs to design using the approaches I use. 

Why learn theory? It will make you a better designer. And because you never know what bits you learn will end up being useful down the road. And if you learn something that doesn't stick, well, that knowledge probably ended up in the same place as my knowledge of how to properly hook up an amp. And that's okay. There isn't going to be a test. 

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