Book Announcement

Do you remember that super secret project that caused me to go on hiatus this summer? I'm sure my regular readers will not be surprised to learn that that project was a book on game design theory. Thematic Integration in Board Game Design will be out in January. I'll post again when orders are open. 

In the meantime, what is this book and why would you want it? TIBGD takes my past blog posts on theme and puts them in order, provides additional examples, and fixes my slapdash approach to grammar. (Apparently using 'out' phrases is my thing: suss out, find out, clean out, call out, etc. These have been removed from the text.) The end result is a coherent treatise on what theme is and how it should be approached in board game design. 

If you have received any benefit from this blog at all and were looking for a way to show appreciation, buy this book. Seriously, I have never and will never monetize, advertise, or otherwise try to cash in on what I write here. There may one day be another book, but you should consider this book the only way I may ever see a dime as a theorist. 

That said, I don't believe in paywalls. Don't buy the book if you're happy reading the rough versions of my ideas here for free. There isn't very much there that isn't already on here. (The little that isn't found on the blog comes from other places where I have written or spoken, and those may be harder to find in the future.) 

Now, two more things. 

First: it has come up several times recently that people are mildly shocked when I state that I want to hear more from people who disagree with me. This is even part of my motivation for writing a book: I want my ideas to have enough legitimacy to be disputed. So, once the book comes out if you have opinions about where I went wrong, write about it then drop a comment on the blog so I can find it. I think theme is an important topic and the only way to prove that is if I'm not the only voice talking about it. 

Second thing: I had intentions once the book manuscript was done to devote time to regular blogging. Life recently threw me a curve ball and this post has been almost a month in the making. I have lots of things to write about, but getting the writing done has been absurdly difficult. I imagine that the person most upset about this is me. I can't make any promises about content going forward. However, I will be attempting to maintain a once-a-month schedule over on Ludology if you need a fix.  

This book was one of the most challenging projects I've ever undertaken and I'm absurdly proud of it. At the same time, I've already got ideas for new chapters in a potential future edition. Which will all preview here for free. Thanks for going on this journey with me. 

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

Communication is a Design Skill

Maybe I'm projecting, but when I sit down to playtest with people who know me from my online presence, I feel like they are invariably disappointed. You could probably read this blog and come away with the impression that I am good at game design, or that having me as a playtester will yield helpful insights. 

The truth is, if I am smart at all, I am only smart about a very narrow band of topics. I have a hard time with rules complexity and strategy as a player, and that comes out in my designs. Fortunately, there are a few things I've gotten better at which make me a more effective designer and playtester.

One thing writing this blog has done is make me a better communicator. I've found this skill helpful when playtesting games by other designers, because I am able to articulate what parts of the game didn't work and why I think they didn't work. As a designer, I'm still working on how I teach my games to playtesters and communicate affordances in the components and rules. Sometimes I succeed better than others. 

The good news is that this is a skill every designer can improve on. We all have our weak areas, but strong communication skills can help us show off our design strengths. A good way to do this is to playtest your rules teach. Learning to give the players the correct amount of information in a useful order will make you a better designer and help you when you go to write your rulebook. 

Playtesting your teach means you have to be comfortable enough with your game rules that you can not only convey them to players, but you really need to be able to simultaneously pay attention to the players to ensure that you are aware of any confusion that occurs. You may want to practice on people you know before practicing your teach on strangers. I'd also recommend being a playtester for designers who have a number of published designs. Pay attention to how they run the playtest. Heck, take notes. 

Another way that communication is important is within the design itself. We talk about player confusion a lot, but another way of describing player confusion is to say that the design is doing a poor job of communicating with the players. You may have found that your design will go through a phase where all you are fixing is graphical issues until you hit a point where players begin having issues with mechanics again. Most players won't be able to give feedback on mechanics when there are glaring usability problems. Eliminating those problems allows the game to communicate better with the players and thus the players are more able to give structural feedback about systems. 

Becoming a better communicator will make you a better designer. All it takes is some practice. 

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

More About Rules Complexity

In a previous post, I talked about ways rules complexity can eat away at your complexity budget. I want to delve a little further into my point about memory. 

When I play games with my parents, my father has an especially hard time learning the rules. He doesn't have a lot of experience with board games and only plays them when I am around. There are several lessons about rules complexity that I can glean from trying to teach my dad any number of supposedly gateway games. 

The biggest one is that number of steps matters. Quick turns with fewer distinct action options is by far the best method for lighter weight games. Where I think designers can get tripped up is that we are unconsciously chunking a number of steps into a single unit. Chunking allows experienced gamers to learn games faster when familiar elements are present. However, designers cannot rely on chunking when teaching new players, particularly at the beginning of the game, because every player will have a different set of game experiences to draw from. Instead we must view every mechanism as its component parts. Deck building, for example, is a mechanism that includes card drawing, playing, acquisition, and shuffling. That's a minimum of four steps before you include any other rules. Worse, card shuffling may not occur every turn. Any step that does not occur every turn should be considered higher in memory load than the steps that occur every turn. 

Games where base rules are quite simple and the complexity is revealed via board state or conditions on cards are generally easier on new learners, with some caveats. Number of icons should be considered a part of rules complexity. Each icon is a piece of meaning that has a relationship to the rules that must be memorized (or listed on the player aid). Intuitive icons can decrease rules complexity—like a hammer to represent a building action—but very rarely will this be true of all icons in a game. The worst offenders are space-themed games that have no intuitive icons whatsoever. 

One way to know that you have exceeded your complexity budget is if your intended audience cannot pay attention to their progress toward the endgame because their attention is wholly focused on the procedure of taking each turn as it occurs. Not every game needs to be mastered on a first play, but turn procedure should be sufficiently clear after the first few turns. 

If you are designing for more casual audiences (or looking to reduce memory load), don't hide endgame scoring conditions in the rulebook. Make sure all scoring is represented in some way on the table, even if some conditions are represented by face down cards. Having to check the rulebook to find out who won at the end of a game is a bummer for new and casual players. 

I'm a fan of games that you can learn as you play, especially with casual players who aren't used to a long teach. However, even some casual players would prefer a full rules explanation to just getting started. Either way, reducing memory load is an important design step to making a game easier to learn. And remember that you cannot rely on chunking when writing rules. 

Generally speaking, games have more rules than designers think they do. This affects how easy they are to learn and the overall perceived complexity. Awareness of this issue can help you to tailor your design to your intended audience. 

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

Nov 12-19 I will be at Tabletop Network and BGGcon in Dallas. Stop by the Unpub room if you're there. 

Next Game Blues

Most creatives know that at some point in the process they will suffer thru feeling like their work is terrible and they should just give up. Knowing that this is a part of the process can help you push past this feeling and get your project to a place where you can be proud of it. However, one thing I think we don't acknowledge enough is that moving from a finished project to a new project magnifies the bad feelings. 

When I have a game in the late design stages, my tendency is to believe that I have grown enough throughout the process that all subsequent games will be easier. I will be a better designer and each design will be better than the last. This is, unfortunately, not how it works. I have plenty of bad ideas and abandoned designs. I may never have a better game idea than Deadly Dowagers. I may never sign another game. However, any future success I do have will be because I pushed through the suck. Showing up, making bad games, and accepting feedback is the only way to eventually produce a good game. 

I get particularly down when I am starting a new design after having spent a lot of time polishing a nearly finished game. The "next" game will always be the hardest one. There will always be new challenges. And for those of us with modest to low design output, it may be many, many years before the "next" game gets easier. 

This is where I see a lot of designers give up. If your first game turned out to be a pretty good concept, you may not be prepared for the struggle to find the fun of your second game. And successful designers don't spend a lot of time talking about the designs they've trashed along the way. 

Learning to tolerate being bad at something is how you stick with a skill long enough to become good at it. Producing bad designs gets you to the good designs. But importantly, most designs start out "bad". As designers, whether to others' games or to our own, we need to tailor our feedback to helping get a game to where it will be fun rather than focusing on the ways it is bad. Because of course it's bad. That's how the process works. Let's be more charitable to ourselves and others. (But also, let us not be so nice that a design doesn't make the necessary changes it needs to become good.) 

Designing bad games doesn't make you a bad designer. It's a part of the process of becoming a better designer. 

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

Oct 21-22 I will be at ATX Protospiel in Austin, TX. Nov 12-19 I will be at Tabletop Network and BGGcon in Dallas, TX. Come say hi if you are around. 

Boring Themes

Usually when we talk about boring themes, we are talking either about personal preference or about overdone themes. Certainly, themes just looking to cash in on the latest fad but with nothing new to say can be said to be boring. But today I want to look at what makes a theme boring within the context of playing a game.

Many themes seem like they should be boring, but players end up loving them. Many people point to Wingspan as the surprisingly enjoyable theme, but there are many other games with themes that are a great deal more surprising. Eurogames tend to have very boring sounding themes, although you can argue that their fans don't care about theme. However, some euros, like Pipeline or Barrage, are very theme forward in spite of the theme centering on a topic few people would claim casual interest in. These themes are not a draw in themselves, but they catch the imagination when learning to play. The water physics of Barrage especially keep the players engaged with the thematic level of gameplay. 

The point is that boring topics aren't necessarily boring game themes. This being the case, boring themes must have a different cause. A player might say, "The theme didn't add much for me," or "I didn't care about the theme." But player feedback like this does little to illuminate why the theme didn't positively add to the experience of play. In general, players are good at knowing how they feel during play, but not why they feel that way. It is up to the designer to diagnose the cause of a boring theme. 

What causes boring themes? I argue that themes that don't engage the player's imagination or impact the mechanics are boring because they are easily ignored during gameplay. However, let's get a bit more specific. 

Your theme might be boring because it doesn't provide purpose to the player's actions. If all of the actions are stated in a purely mechanical way and feel purely mechanical, your theme isn't adding much to the experience of play. (Where are the "letters" in Love Letter? I am going to die on this hill.) Themes should provide a sense of purpose to the actions that are taken in the game. And because I apparently can't go a month without saying it: the win condition of the game should align with the thematic objective. 

Your theme might be boring because it doesn't give an identity to the players. This one usually goes with purposeful actions, but a major way to add interest and decrease confusion is to make it clear to the players who they are and what they want. Lack of player identity isn't likely to be the sole reason a theme is boring, but it can be a contributory factor. 

Your theme might be boring because it is not dynamic within the game. This is the reverse of actions that are impacted by the presence of theme. In this case, the theme responds to the actions taken. What does this mean? It means that when actions are taken, there are thematic results not just mechanical results. Water flows downhill, unless a dam is put in place. Birds lay eggs that hatch into more birds. Letters get delivered to the intended recipient. 

Boring themes are themes that don't relate to what occurs during gameplay. These themes are boring largely because they are irrelevant. As designers, we can do better. 

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

The Abstraction of Space

I talk a lot about how human scale phenomena are more resonant and thematic-feeling because those events/things are more easily accessible to our imaginations. We can be transported by them because we have a clearer sense memory of them, or a clearer idea of what it could be like if it is something we have not experienced. Representations of gravity, temperature, speed, weather, smells, and more all evoke our own lived experiences. Themes that rely on human scale experiences tend to be more evocative. 

Even themes that are unrealistic, such as high fantasy, tend to be grounded in familiar settings, such as medieval Europe. Forests, farms, and walled cities are all very human scale and familiar. The same goes for eldritch horror: gas lit streets are not very far removed from the historic sections of those same cities that can be visited today. Magic is not as easy to make evocative, because the concept of magic is meant as a shortcut or alternative to natural processes. But as long as some part of the setting remains human scale, the theme can feel anchored in some sort of logic. 

It is the themes that eschew a familiar human experience that have a more difficult time, regardless of whether those themes represent real phenomena or not. The best example of this is games that are set in space. Space is, of course, real. And a small handful of humans have experienced what it is like to leave our home atmosphere. But the scale of space and the change in physics (gravity, air, speed, etc) give the setting of space a baseline that is beyond what the vast majority of us can imagine. Added to this, most space-themed games include "magic" in the form of fantastical technology: wormholes, faster than light travel, etc. There is nothing to anchor the theme's physics to a familiar experience. 

The result is that space games are more likely to suffer from feeling abstract. The most thematic space games likely feel thematic because they rely on thematic elements other than just vessels in space. Mars at least has gravity. The abstraction of space is exacerbated by game boards with black backgrounds only decorated by round objects in the form of stars and planets. Many true abstracts are also presented on a plain background with round tokens, which is a much more familiar sight to many of us than large scale stars and planets, and certainly more human scale. Thus we associate the form factor with abstraction more strongly that with real celestial bodies. 

Of course, space-themed games sell well. Many people enjoy techno-magic. Thanks to decades of science fiction, space is also associated with diplomacy and negotiation, which translates to game mechanics that feel appropriate to a space theme. Many people like certain aspects of the more abstract qualities of space as a theme, such as point-to-point travel. And the concept of space has always been aspirational, so there is an emotional component. While I don't care for space as a theme for the most part, I have no problem with the people who enjoy it. 

Rather, the point of this post is to illustrate that just because a theme is "realistic" does not mean it will feel thematic. Likewise, fantastical themes can feel grounded in reality. Understanding the relative abstraction of a setting can help designers calibrate how thematic the game is likely to feel. 

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

Thematic-feeling Mechanisms

There is a difference between the logic of the theme informing the design of the mechanics and those mechanics actually feeling thematic. Sushi Go!, for instance, does not feel particularly thematic despite the drafting loosely representing a conveyor belt sushi restaurant. The metaphor of the conveyor belt is entirely escapable; it does not add to the experience of play. 

When we attempt to design highly thematic games, we must implement one or more "inescapable metaphors" (or simulative actions). In general, the more representational the action the more the players can access the theme. In this regard, simulative and literal actions work better than mere metaphors for driving home the theme. Most players will not have degrees in media criticism that they put to use by teasing out how the setting impacts the available actions. They will know when a game feels like the theme and if it doesn't they will call it abstract. 

There are three primary ways to make a game feel more thematic. 

• Mechanisms that evoke sense memory. When I talk about theming the physics of your world that is because human scale physics are not just familiar but will produce a visceral response in players. The game will feel more "real" if even one element reminds players of how the real world works. Heat, gravity, etc. are powerful tools that when modeled in games will make the world of the game seem grounded in reality. Importantly, the mechanisms must remind players of the sense of feeling hot, cold, vertigo, thirsty, and so on. The goal is to evoke sympathetic sensations as opposed to scientific accuracy in the theme. This method gets used a moderate amount. I see it most often in smaller games modeling simpler ideas. 
• Gameplay decisions that evoke the theme. Most detective themed games involve players solving mysteries in some way or other mechanically. The closer aligned the decision space is to the theme, the more thematic the game will feel, even after multiple plays. There is a lot of rich territory to explore here around player agency, loss aversion, other player psychology topics, and how those topics can be integrated into various themes. This method is very underutilized (except in the detective genre), and I want to see much more attention paid to the theming of the decision space of a game. 
• Themes that evoke emotional reactions. This method is the most used in games. However, the emotions typically evoked tend to lean toward "I find this art/subject matter to be appealing." I think we can do better. Instead of asking players if they are interested in playing a generic nature game, find an aspect of that thematic genre that has a strong pull for your intended audience. For example, a game about baby giraffes trying to complete an obstacle course, which is difficult because they're still learning coordination. The goal of compelling themes is to take the reaction from "Yeah, ok, sure" to "Heck yes, I want to play that right now!" The major caveat here is that that response tends to only get you to the point of a first play. In order to maintain a sense of theme throughout play, you really need the other methods and/or simulative actions that fall outside of those methods. 

Sense memory, decisions, emotions. Thematically integrated games will feel thematic if they get inside the players heads. To feel thematic, theme need to exist not only on the table but also in the players minds. This is the power of a thematic-feeling game: to get under the player's skin and make them feel. To me, this is the pinnacle of design. 

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

A Game's Conceit

A brief description of your game that's meant to grab the interest of players or a publisher is a hook. A description of the central actions that players take over and over throughout the game is a core loop. If you are describing the fictional or historical subject and setting depicted in the game, that's the theme. You should be able to describe all of these concisely when asked about your game, plus at least one more aspect: the game's conceit. 

A conceit is the basic idea of what is happening in a game. This includes the main decision point(s), the main objective, and possibly a little of the theme and/or mechanics. For example, the conceit of Clank! is for players to try to amass the most treasure without making too much noise then escape the dungeon in time. How players do this is by deck building, but while deck building is the main mechanic, it is not really part of the main conceit of the game. However, the conceit of Dominion is build up a deck, then pivot to buying victory points. Basically, a conceit is the answer to "What are we doing in the game?" without going further into the description of "how." 

When describing the objective of the game, you can describe the mechanical objective or the thematic objective. However, I would use whichever makes the most sense for the crucial decision points in the game. The pivot in Clank! shifts from plundering treasure to rushing to escape. You could try to frame that mechanically, but it makes more sense in thematic terms. In Dominion, the pivot is the shift to buying victory points, so mentioning the theme doesn't add clarity. Pivots are an obvious decision space when thinking about conceits. On the other hand, you may not want to bring up a pivot if you want players to discover that moment for themselves. The important thing is that if there is a single decision point that stands out in the game as vital to progressing toward the objective, it likely belongs in the description of a conceit. Whether that decision point is framed mechanically or thematically depends on how it is framed in the game. 

I consider a conceit different from just explaining the objective of the game. When players ask about the objective, they want to know the threshold for winning and nothing else. Again, a conceit is "what you do in a game." That should include the objective but also a hint of the action and decisions that will occur. Objectives are usually framed as "be the first to do X" or "get the most of Y" without letting you know what that will look like. Being able to state an objective simply is important but only useful when attempting to teach the game (or on a sell sheet). Clearly stating the conceit of the game is useful when introducing the game to players, marketing, etc. 

So, what's the difference between a conceit and a hook? A conceit is always, only the one sentence description of what happens in a game. A hook could be a mechanic or component or thematic element. The conceit could be the hook, but a hook is the most interesting part whatever that part is. The conceit is only ever the main idea of the game. Knowing both will allow you to talk about your game in a way that clearly highlights what the game is and what makes it interesting. 

Referring to the main idea of a game as a conceit is not a hill I'm going to die on. I usually borrow terms from literature or theatre when trying to name what I am describing. I don't insist on the term or any term I've coined. I suppose I bring this up now because I really don't see designers adding "conceit" to their lexicons. That's fine. I care more that designers get better at describing their games. 

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

On Attribution

It puzzles me that listing playtesters is generally accepted as a practice in an industry where writers, developers, editors, etc often don't receive credit for their work. I think we think that because playtesters generally aren't paid, their payment is credit in the rulebook. But because developers, writers, etc were paid, they don't also need credit. I believe every rulebook should have a credits section, even if that section is in fine print. It is especially important to credit people who were paid for creative work. If that work was valuable enough to receive payment, it should be valuable enough to receive credit. 

I have no problem with people who choose to do creative work under pseudonyms, provided that the pseudonym covers a specific person or persons. If you want to use a studio pseudonym, the best practice would be to also credit your creative team by name in a credit section. 

Why is credit important? Obviously, designers who are uncredited can still list games on their resume in order to procure future work. Is credit just street cred or an ego boost? 

No, crediting creatives is important for documenting, studying, and criticizing bodies of creative work. Currently, only a few board game developers have a reputation outside of being known to certain publishers for being good at what they do. And the current system of becoming more well known is word of mouth. In addition to recognition, crediting developers consistently across all the games they work on allows critics greater insight into the creative process. Designers and artists are often not the only creatives who work on a project. Give credit to the ones who make good games great. Board game historians will thank you. 

Providing full credits also conveys to the consumer the reality of making a game. This is never a one person project. (Unless you're hand crafting your own components. I only know one person that applies to.) Games take way more work than most people expect. The timeline to get a book published is around half that of a game. Listing everyone who worked on a game conveys the amount of work and money that went into creating it. This is very similar to why movies have credits. 

Lastly, people really do deserve recognition. Especially people who belong to marginalized groups and people just starting out in the industry. Creative output is the unique work of individual imaginations. That is irreplaceable. The reality is that the pay is never going to be enough when margins are as tight as they are. So, the least you could do is also provide proper attribution. 

If you are reading this and have failed to fully credit creatives in the past, I urge you to go add as many names as you can to the expanded credits section on BGG. It's never too late to recognize people's work. 

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

Insecure Guide to BGG Ratings

 Or How An Insecure Designer Perceives BGG User Ratings.

We all have slightly different systems for how we rate games. Some people take full advantage of the ability to use hundredths in decimal points. Some people truly believe no game is a ten. This post is not about that, but about how creators perceive the ratings their games get. This is a silly post to remind designers (especially this designer) that perception is not reality. Some people actually do like games that they rate a 5. Those people probably don't understand the impact on a game's rank, but that doesn't mean they are acting out of malice. It just feels that way sometimes. Anyway, here are how the most common BGG ratings feel to insecure designers.

1: "This game is rated too high and I mean to change that."

2: "This game is rated too high, but I don't want it to be obvious that I am trying to tank the score."

3: "I want the designer to know I think they are bad for designing this game."

4: "I want the designer to know I think the game is bad."

1.5, 2.5, 3.5, 4.5: "I dislike so many games that I need sub levels to keep them straight."

5: "Someone made me play this game. It's not for me, and that's the game's fault."

5.5: "This game is the definition of 'meh'." 

6: "I used to like this game, before I discovered good games."

6.5: "I own this game because my spouse likes it."

6.75: "The first time I played this game was fun, but I haven't been able to recapture that experience."

7: "I own this game, but I have only played it once."

7.5: "Played it twice. Would probably play again."

8: "I respect this game's design."

8.5: "I think this game is actually good."

9: "I backed the deluxe edition on KS, but have only played it once."

9.5: "This is one of my favorite games, but I don't rate any game a ten."

10: "I am a big fan of some aspect of the game, and am thus blinded to the game's flaws."

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

The Transportation Paradox

Long time readers of this blog will know that the concept of immersion can be divided into absorption and transportation.  Transportation is the sensation of being transported into another world for a time. The term comes from literary criticism where it is known as narrative transportation. I refer to transportation in board games as thematic transportation so as to include games without traditional narrative structure. This post is just an observation about thematic transportation. 

Transportation, generally, is most effective on passive audiences. When we watch movies or plays or read books, the only thing we are asked to do is suspend our disbelief so that the story can affect us. For the span of a few hours, we can almost fully set aside our real world concerns. 

I contend that more active participants in an activity must juggle competing concerns of safety, rules, and transportation, thus making transportation more difficult to achieve. The next level from audience is "serious improv" where actors perform dramatic scenes without lines or instructions on how to act. This level adds safety concerns, which are significant because this kind of improv can delve into traumatizing topics. LARPs and TTRPGs can at times fall into this category, although they typically also have rules. 

The more a participant must actively think about concerns beyond experiencing the narrative, the less transporting that narrative can be. This is one reason why actors rehearse, to reduce how much they have to actively think about their blocking and lines. The more they can rely on muscle memory, the more they can immerse themselves in the scene. We see this as well in complex TTRPGs. The more rules you have memorized, the more space you have to explore the setting. Players new to D&D, for example, will have their heads down in the books trying to figure out what they can do rather than interacting with imaginary world around them. This crosses over into board games as well: the more time players spend stuck in the rulebook during play, the less time they will spend experiencing the theme. 

But board games takes this difficulty a step further. Because players cannot simply experience the theme. They have goals as players that must be achieved in order to play the game correctly. There is a game state that must be managed. When we design thematic games, we ask players to stand in two worlds at once. We want them to be transported by the theme, but we also want them to remain aware of the rules and win conditions. This hampers their ability to be fully transported. 

We can take steps to mitigate this phenomenon. We can theme the scoring and end game so that players are always acting as their characters. We can limit the amount of non-thematic elements and icons. Such measures don't always make the game easier to play, but we can also simplify the rules. Another trick is to add blocks of narrative text. Alternating passive listening with active play allows players moments when they have no competing concerns and can focus solely on being transported. I'm not a big fan of this option because it only works if the writing is good and if it makes sense to pause the gameplay. 

Thematic board games strive to achieve an experience that they aren't really equipped to do well. But if we were to change board games in order to make them better at transportation, they would cease to be board games. The things that make board games a distinctive activity are the things that impede transportation. It is a Sisyphean task. However, those moments of transportation, when players get swept away by the theme, make the imperfect conditions worth it. Perhaps more so, because the deck is stacked against us. 

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

A Better Way to Speed Pitch

I am going to take a critical look at speed pitching in this post. I want to be fully understood that I have nothing against the concept of speed pitching. I am not saying we should do away with it. However, I do think that for something that comprises the majority of formal events that connect publishers with designers, it has some glaring failures. I think that's worth discussing. Also, I have a suggestion for a type of event could work alongside (or in some cases, replace) speed pitching. 

If you aren't familiar, speed pitching or publisher speed dating is an event held at cons for select designers to pitch to a number of publishers over the course of an evening. The designers set up their games and the publishers rotate from table to table. Because there is an irreducible minimum in the amount of time this takes, the events are upwards of two hours long. Even then, the number of designers and publishers that can be involved is very limited. 

In my experience with speed pitching, the designers were selected to offer a variety of games to the publishers present so that they were more likely to see a game that fit their line. But that also meant that every publisher was taking pitches for games they could never publish. The fact that the designs are adjudicated is supposed to make up for this inefficiency. On the design side, designers are supposed to benefit from pitching practice and face time with publishers. 

It is my opinion that in trying to accomplish so many things, speed pitching does none of them very well. That does not mean it is not enjoyable, or that it hasn't resulted in contracts, or that it should be stopped entirely. But it has grown to be a default event that designers vie for placement in, when other types of events might serve better. 

When it comes to pitch practice, that could easily be an event unto itself. I'm not sure I love the shark tank approach (because not every designer wants to be publicly criticized), but a pitch workshop would be easy to organize, especially among just the designers. 

When it comes to networking, I admit I would prefer a come and go mixer, and I imagine some publishers would prefer that too. Ok, I am aware that mixers exist at conventions. I'm pointing out access to networking events exists beyond speed pitching, but also that networking events for new designers could certainly stand to be expanded. 

Both of the above suggestions could cast a wider net while not asking publishers to add much to their packed schedules. But I haven't yet addressed pitching. There are a few important aspects that need to be included in any sort of mass pitching event at cons. One is that publishers need to feel that the event can be added to their schedule without any sacrifice on their part. The other is that they need to feel that the games involved will be worth their time. Succinct and high quality. 

The structure that has been bouncing around in my head for weeks now is the one I participated in when I attended a grad school fair connected to URTA, the University/Resident Theatre Association. Grad school applicants were screened/sponsored then created displays. Those displays were set up at the event, then the school representatives toured those displays while the applicants were out of the room. The representatives signed up for slots to interview the various applicants and in the afternoon the interviews occurred. 

Of course that is much too long an event, but I think a modified version could work for cons. First, designs would need to be adjudicated, much like they are with speed pitching. However, more designers could be accommodated. Then, a room could be set aside for sell sheets, rulebooks, business cards, etc to be perused by publishers. For example, designers could bring their materials the night before or morning of and set up in a playtesting space. Then publishers could wander through before the vendor hall opens, during which time designers would not be allowed in the room. They could leave their booth number indicating they would welcome a chat with a designer, or take a sell sheet, or what have you. Then, pitches could occur at or after the con at the publishers' discretion. 

Obviously, the major drawback here is that publishers would have to be willing to do this on top of scheduling pitches before the con. Adjudicated sell sheets are probably not enough to lure publishers away from their morning coffee and con prep. Which is why I think this event should be either multiple days or multiple spaces (even if it is just multiple tables) based on the type of game. That way publishers could know before entering that there are six party games, eight euros, and twelve fillers on offer. I am positive that if you tell a party game publisher you have a stack of adjudicated party game sell sheets that they will take a look. And if there was a requirement around the types of materials provided, it would have the minimum positive effect for designers of a hard deadline to complete a pitch package. The real hurdle would be adjudication, but that could be done by multiple people. 

I know that leaving out sell sheets has been tried before, but I hope I have made it clear that my proposal is more than that. Speed pitching is inefficient and feels like it exists to be fun more than professional. If the goal is connecting quality games with publishers while lowering the barrier for entry to designers, there are better ways. I'd like to see more opportunities for designers who need to make the most of one or two cons a year, but don't have many contacts in the industry. That can look like many different things. We don't need to do away with speed pitching. I could see an event like what I've outlined occurring at GAMA, which needs more designer focused events anyway. 

There is currently a gap between playtesting events and booking pitches where a lot of professional development and support for designers could be happening. It doesn't need to look like what I've described. I would be happy to help organize that support, if you are someone looking for volunteers. 

ShippBoard Games will return to a more frequent post schedule in August 2023.

Announcement and Summer Schedule

Since I already have slacked off on writing posts in May, I think I need to admit that I need a break.... to work on something else that I hope will be exciting for readers of this blog. On that note, I may post here occasionally in the next two months, but if I don't it's because I am applying the effort that normally goes here somewhere else. 

In the meantime, I have joined Ludology as a segment contributor, so you can listen to my voice instead. (I mean, I don't blame you if you don't. I don't like listening to me.) The segment is called Thinking Beyond Mechanisms, and it is similar but different to what I write about here. Generally, I will try to cover other people's theories and perspectives a bit more over there. (This blog is the incubator for my original ideas about board game theory.) Look for my first segment in two weeks. 

Once August hits, I hope to be able to resume blogging while producing the podcast segments, but I can't say for sure when the other thing will give me back enough brain space because I don't know for sure when it will be done for real. (If you're reading this and worried about some other commitments I have made to you, I'd only be worried if it's writing related. Seriously, three writing projects is a lot of words that need to sound smart and I am running out of them.) 

Anyway, I hate posts like this, but I know that all six of my regular readers will wonder where I've gone if I just go radio silent. 

ShippBoard Games will return in August 2023. 

In Defense of Inefficiency

It should be obvious that as designers, when we design efficiency games we are really designing the inefficiency that the players must grapple with. (Likewise, we don't design balance so much as imbalance.) Broadly speaking, we are always designing inefficiency into games, because games are made up of goals and obstacles, and the obstacles always introduce an element of inefficiency. That inefficiency is what makes a game interesting. However, there are more ways in which designing inefficiency can be a positive thing. 

The hobby has a large amount of "efficiency games" where the main focus of play is finding the most efficient (or really, the least inefficient) route to the endgame. But I am struck by how few truly inefficient games are in the hobby—games where the main focus is on the least efficient route. For example, if you play Telestrations as efficiently as possible, the game will fall flat. The disconnect in communication is the fun part of the game. I've not played a published version, but when I play the best players come up with concepts for a starting sentence that cannot be easily conveyed and is inherently silly. This ensures that communication will break down across the game, resulting in very funny reveals. 

Clearly, party games have an advantage when it comes to introducing inefficient play, because players take those games less seriously. However, I believe that we could develop other genres of board games to capture different aspects of inefficiency. In video games, we see lots of inefficient play: side quests, achievements, extraneous areas of the map, multiple dialogue choices. Players who "100%" a game are not playing with efficiency in mind. Another type of inefficiency in video games is walking simulators. In these games the goal is not to finish but to experience the environment. And let us not discount the sandbox titan that is Minecraft, where play can continue for years after reaching the end credits. 

I suspect that inefficient play in video games is most prevalent in and developed out of solo play. Solo play across all games tolerates more inefficiency than multiplayer. Solo RPGs have also been able to stretch the bounds of what a game can be through journaling and other media, like sewing and drawing. Sewing a map in the RPG A Mending is about as inefficient as you can get, but that is the main hook of the game. 

Where solo sensibilities in video games seems to have leaked into multiplayer games, the reverse seems to be true for board games. Solo board games seem by and large just as focused on efficiency as multiplayer games. This seems to be true because solo board games use the same central mechanics as multiplayer but modified for solo play. I don't think we can take styles of play associated with efficiency and try to encourage inefficient play. I think we need new genres of play.

Where should you start, then, in designing an inefficient game? I would start with choosing where I want the inefficiency to be. Competitive play (even in cooperation against the game AI) is inherently efficient in our current cultural context. So I would put the focus on aesthetic play, social play, or creative play. While I think narrative can be a tool for inefficiency, narrative play by itself in the context of board games won't move players far enough away from an efficiency mindset. The goal of play will need to be very clearly something other than winning, such as in Telestrations, where the goal is the funny reveal. 

I don't have more advice about how to design an inefficient game that isn't a party game, because if I knew how to create a new genre of play whole cloth, I would be pitching that to publishers. I would like to see board games break into unexpected territory. Inefficiency seems like one place to start.

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

Dramatic Questions

I have mentioned before that your theme should be able to be stated as a question, but I have never linked that question to the literary concept of a dramatic question. This post fixes that.

A dramatic question, also called a major dramatic question, is the source of conflict in a narrative. Dramatic questions are used by authors to guide their work and make sure that their story feels as though it has a point. Actors and directors must consider the major dramatic question of a play in order for the spoken text and the action to feel cohesive. 

Determining the major dramatic question is central to thematic integration in board game design. If you don't know what is driving the events of the theme, they will feel unfocused and random. To determine the major dramatic question, locate the central conflict in your theme. Why do the characters take actions to overcome obstacles? Is it survival? Prestige? Vengeance? What are the stakes of their success or failure? For instance, it is clear in Everdell why you are building a town ahead of winter; what is not clear is why your town needs to be better than the other towns (or districts?). If players didn't interact at all you could say it was because they exist in different places. But players not only compete for resources, they can visit each other's towns. 

When you have determined what the central conflict and stakes of the theme are, double check that they are aligned with the mechanical objectives of the game. If the central conflict of the stated theme is to become the most powerful warlord, but the main action of the game is farming, then the dramatic question is probably the wrong question. If you aren't sure if you have the right question, ask your playtesters "What was this game about?" after they play it. If you really want to keep your original dramatic question, you may have to refocus your mechanics to more closely align with it. 

When the game objectives are aligned with the dramatic question, ask yourself at what point is the question answered. Most of the time, the question should be answered at the very end of the game. If the question of "Who is the strongest?" is answered halfway through the game, your game may be too long, or need catch-up mechanics, or you may need a second dramatic question to carry through to the end game. Ankh is a game that switches the dramatic question from "Which god will prevail?" to "Can the remaining gods together defeat the more powerful god?" We don't see a lot of games that switch dramatic questions partway through, and I think it would be interesting to see that more often. Even games with strong pivots usually have a single dramatic question, such as Clank!'s "Who can get the most treasure AND get out alive?" Here the question has two parts but it is a single driving question. (In my opinion; you might consider this two questions.) Whereas in Ankh you won't know what the second question looks like until you arrive at "the merge." 

If you have a dramatic question with clear stakes that is aligned with the player objectives, consider adding an inciting incident to your game! Read more about that here. This will take your dramatic question and establish it narratively for your players and can make the whole game feel more thematic as a result. Honestly, this is what elevates So, You've Been Eaten from other games of a similar weight and style. 

Dramatic questions don't have to be life or death. They are a guide post to game development by stating why the characters are engaged in the action of the game. They help focus the narrative of the theme. They help ground the game logic. They help craft the thematic hook. If you are interested in thematic integration, start by figuring out the major dramatic question. 

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

Goal Categories

In the last post, I mentioned the project management triangle, i.e. good, fast, cheap; pick two. This post continues that musing. 

If we pair off the three sides of the triangle, we get good/fast, good/cheap, and fast/cheap. This is one way to look at possible goals in games. However, if we massage these categories and squint a little we can perhaps extend our understanding of goals in board games. 

If I were to assign the title 'efficiency' to one category, it would be fast/cheap. To me, that speaks to real world efficiency systems, even though good/fast could also be viewed as a type of efficiency. We are familiar with efficiency goals in board games. Some concepts within efficiency-goals are speed, least cost, puzzle solutions, putting items in order, performing actions in order, and developing heuristics. We certainly see the concepts of cheap and fast within efficiency, but also other more emergent concepts. 

Efficiency is so baked into our concept of board games that it is hard to get away from. The timing element becomes necessary because games must have an end and a winner declared at the end. Winners that are determined either by scoring or by first to complete an objective encourage efficient play. There is something delicious about inefficiency but it is difficult to capture in board games as we currently understand them. 

I am giving good/fast the label of achievement. Achievement is often about being the first and/or the best. This echoes C. Thi Nguyen's concept of achievement play which places the focus on winning over enjoyment of the process of play. Concepts found within achievement-goals are recording high scores, domination of other players, themes of status and power, but also voting and negotiation as a form of social leveraging. Combat games often blend efficiency puzzles with domination goals. 

Like efficiency, achievement is deeply ingrained in board game design. We declare winners; we keep score. In the contemporary hobby, we log plays and attend tournaments. Steam achievements keep players returning to video games that they have already 'completed' in order to be able to display their mastery by completing objectives that few other players have completed. 

There isn't anything wrong with efficiency play or achievement play. However, by focusing too closely on these driving goals, we fail to develop other enriching kinds of play. 

I approach good/cheap a little differently than the other traits. Firstly, my understanding of cheap in the triangle is not 'poor quality' but rather solutions that didn't require tons of money. What really makes good/cheap stand out is the absence of 'fast.' This goal category is about slowly developing quality solutions. Therefore, I label this concept growth. An acorn growing into a tree is a good metaphor for this category. I also view this category as the least economically motivated, because efficiency is not present in any form. Concepts found in growth-goals include personal development, discovery, cooperation, and creativity. 

Two subsets of board games leap out as having growth-goals, and they couldn't be more different. Party games are often played for the joy of creative discovery and any scoring mechanisms are ignored. Achievement-goals are not fully left behind, because correct guesses can allow players to 'win' a round. Likewise, efficiency may still be present in party games with timed elements. However, party games are unique in the hobby in that playing for a set time and declaring a winner are routinely ignored. 

The other type of game that focuses on growth-goals is the narrative-driven sandbox game (and other narrative-driven adventure/campaign games). These games are long and full of discovery. Players play a sandbox board game primarily to experience it. The focus on winning has more to do with avoiding loss of progress. Because if you lose, you won't be able to experience the next bit of the game, at least not without some tedious administrative actions. I'm not sure this is the best model for growth-goals because the amount of content required to create this kind of experience doesn't lend itself to shorter, smaller games.

I don't propose that efficiency, achievement, and growth are the only types of goals that can or do exist in board games. I'm merely using the project management triangle to point out the area that I feel is most ripe for experiment, which I have labeled growth. I think the easiest way to implement growth-goals in board game design will be to continue to blur the lines between TTRPGs and board games. RPGs have been exploring this space since their inception. Video games also have some lessons to teach but they may be less directly portable into board games. 

Periodically, people will say that we have exited the innovation phase of board game design and have entered a refinement only phase. This is pure silliness. Board games look nothing like what they did a century ago. In another century, they will look nothing like they do today. And we get to participate in that evolution, by finding underdeveloped areas to explore in our designs. 

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

On Victory Points

Victory points are a weird thing. They are almost always used in themed games, but they often aren't themed. Instead, they are representative of value accumulation. This sushi dinner in Sushi Go! has this much value; that dinner has that much. 

Value is different from worth. How much something is worth implies a consensus for an exchange rate. Put more simply, worth implies cost or price. Value can be more individualized. I have many possession that are not worth very much, but I value them highly. Value can also apply a moral or ethical component: this action aligns with my values. 

When a game assigns points to objectives, those points represent how highly each objective is valued. The real world cost of resources is less important within the value system of a game than the overall player experience. "Is sashimi more or less expensive than a maki roll?" is not a question I ask when playing Sushi Go!. Instead, I ask "What card will give me the most value for my turn?" 

When we assign points to objectives, we assign in-world values to those objectives—"This piece of sushi is more valuable than that piece." Sometimes the values we assign are conditional; wasabi only has value when played at the right moment. Values can be interrelated, affecting one another. 

Assigning values conveys cultural information to the players. We are saying that in the world of the game, certain actions or resources are more culturally important than others. For example, in the real world we have artificially restricted the supply of diamonds to the market in order to preserve their perceived rarity. And in our culture, rare things are valued more highly, regardless of usefulness. 

Most Euro games place high value on efficiency. I am reminded of the so-called project management triangle: "cheap, fast, good—pick two." Many Euros focus on cheap and fast, but what if we let players pick which development path to take at the beginning of the game? Some games do this, allowing players to focus on producing fewer, more expensive resources or more, cheaper resources. But what about taking longer to produce better quality for less expense? I'm sure it's been done, but I'd like to see a game that really leans into the choices inherent in this triangle. 

A system of values is also a values system. Is efficiency the most important moral value in the game? The game Kanban EV is self-aware that the values inherent in a hyper-efficient system are perhaps not the most ethical and leans into it. Some games ask players to make clear moral trade-offs in order to win, asking players what they are willing to sacrifice for victory. Other games do away with victory points (and the value judgments they incur) altogether, but these games are often still efficiency puzzles that have similar values systems despite not having victory points. 

Designers should be aware of the value systems they design into their games. Simply renaming victory points to honor points, etc, doesn't bypass the issue. Using currency instead of points allows for more ethical flexibility (we are all used to the idea of money being used for unethical purposes), but still conveys the value of importance and worth. Of course, objectives and win conditions also convey values, but in a less granular and relative way. When victory points are assigned, each objective can be ranked against the other objectives, producing relative values. 

So, should you use victory points? Sure! But be aware of the value system you create by doing so. I, for one, would not use VPs to represent humans lives. And I designed a game about murder.

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

Evil PCs in TTRPGs

...Or how the medium affects the message. 

General wisdom states that it is easier to present well-crafted dark, sensitive, or even controversial themes in a TTRPG than a board game, because the medium of a source book and more open, extended play allows for more cultural context, safety tools, and thematic nuance. On the whole, this rings true. But I am writing this post to explore some thoughts I have about when board games might be better at exploring some of these topics. 

I have no interest in playing an evil character in an RPG. When I role play, my favorite part is the creative problem solving. I create characters with different ethical bents to help me explore how different personal strictures lead to different solutions to problems. I'm not ruling out ever playing an evil character, but I'm not very interested in how to creatively solve a problem evilly. 

I'm more open to playing evil characters in board games. I've written before about how and when this can work as a design. In this post, I'm going to focus on the unique issues that RPGs face. (I'm folding LARP into RPG for this discussion.)

RPGs are storytelling experiences where the storytellers are also specific characters in the story. As a result, RPGs are uniquely immersive/transportive (in a way that board games are not). The emotions and choices are more personal than in other forms of entertainment. 

Which would be fine if the act of play were truly separate from the real world. But inasmuch as the magic circle exists, it is permeable. We bring our morals and ethics and histories with us into play. When a game offers a moral choice our first instinct is to act according to our own morals. This can be overridden if we go into the game with a clear plan to act other than how we normally would. How the particular game is pitched or framed will also have an affect on our actions. If I sign up for a D&D game set in Dis, I will go in with different expectations than I would my usual game. 

Even if expectations are set, there are certain issues to take into account. Many of these apply to both RPGs and board games. 

Firstly, there are levels to how bad an evil action will feel depending on a number of variables. Asking a player to literally lie to another player (Sheriff of Nottingham) is a hard 'no' for some of my friends. Player characters are always going to be more 'real' than NPCs in the minds of players, so player to player conflict in RPGs is more fraught. GM-voiced NPCs will in turn be more real than unnamed, background NPCs (or board game NPCs). How real and present a character feels affects how bad you will feel mistreating them. 

This leads into the point that the more in depth the simulation/scenario, the more resistant players will be to making the evil choice. As I have written previously, abstraction allows designers to explore the psychology of evil while still having an enjoyable game. 

Lastly, I want to explore the idea that some stories are better suited to certain forms of entertainment over others. 

The Sondheim musical Assassins is a serious exploration of evil wrapped in catchy music. The music broadens the appeal of the show, but also makes the topic feel less serious than it is. Board games, with their art and abstraction, can do the same thing but not necessarily with the same subjects. Because the main event in Assassins takes place in living memory, it would be a terrible board game. Board games and RPGs are about player interactivity. When considering evil characters of history, a certain amount of historical distance is necessary for players. (This is not the only consideration, and war games operate by their own rules that I'm not qualified to speak on.) Deadly Dowagers goes a step further by not having historical figures/real people depicted at all, while still using historical distance. 

Returning to Assassins, sometimes levity is useful, sometimes not. Board games can control the nature of satire in a game. I'm not sure RPGs can produce reliable satire. There is something very earnest about inhabiting a character. Both RPGs and board games can employ absurdism which also creates emotional distance from actions. 

I believe games can be powerful forms of storytelling, but they have unique issues because of their participatory nature. Good movies often don't make for good plays. They each have different strong suits. The same is true for board games and RPGs. I don't have a particular interest at this time in developing a Deadly Dowagers RPG. The card game explores the choices to a level of abstraction that I am comfortable with. 

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

Why Role Reversal Works

(Yes, this is another post about Deadly Dowagers. Look, I've been kicking these ideas around for 2-4 years. Now that my game is out, please humor me. I promise to write about more general topics soon.)

I've been interested in role reversal as a literary device for a long time. In my undergrad directing class, I directed a scene (The Battle of Bull Run Always Makes Me Cry, 1995) in which I chose to gender flip all the roles. The scene was light fare (i.e. appropriate for an undergrad). Think David Ives, but less zany. The scene is about a woman recounting a date with a man to her female friends. It's trope-y (and fails the Bechdel test for what that's worth). So I explored those tropes through role reversal. 

At one point, one of my actors approached me to ask how gay I wanted them to play the scene. I didn't have the language then that I do now, but I tried my best to redirect the question. The characters weren't supposed to replace female tropes with gay tropes. I wanted them to play it straight—not in sexuality, but in earnestness. I was trying to explore the idea that sensitivity and vulnerability in relationships are not a single gender's issues. To be frank, this was around 2007 and I don't think my actors understood or believed me, but they toned down the acting style. 

You see, when we switch up roles it allows us to view our assumptions from a more critical angle. We can begin to question tropes and the status quo. We can refresh tired material or we can take risks. Sometimes we can do both at once. Of course, my undergrad directing class was pretty low stakes. Let's switch to board games. 

There are a lot of games with male murderers. Every Jack the Ripper themed game, for example. This is one way Deadly Dowagers explores role reversal, however it would be a mistake to think that this is the reason some people are uncomfortable with the theme. (It's the relationship between murderer and victim that is upsetting, which I address in the previous post.) 

The real role reversal I wanted to explore was that of turning powerful men into the game's resources. Women and minorities have long been resources or resource generating mechanics in Eurogames. There is one game in specific that I had in the back of my mind as I designed Deadly Dowagers, because it put women on the cover and in the title but relegated those characters to late game resources. (The game was not so successful that I feel comfortable calling it out by name, but it got attention from the major reviewers.)

You could argue that I reversed that scenario of minorities as resources in my game as a 'tit for tat' design flourish. But as discussed, role reversals exist to help us question our assumptions. The men functioning as resources are not a way of saying, "Oh yeah, two can play at that game!" but rather, "Is this ever ok? Either in real life or in games?" 

You may be now thinking, "If it's never ok, why did you put it in the game?" Because I believe that punching up is sometimes ok when you have a deeper message than just the punch. That is after all, the definition of satire. No message means you are being mean for no purpose. 

I've imagined every possible way you could tell the story in Deadly Dowagers. Men murdering their wives for their money does not work because it punches down. (There are other routes we could have gone that would have watered down the message by introducing other implications outside of the scope of the intended story.) The role reversal of giving power to the powerless is a strong storytelling tool because we can explore the positives and negatives of having power from a different angle than we usually encounter in the real world. 

Role reversals make you question your assumptions. If you aren't questioning your assumptions, either the message of the work was lost or there was no message to begin with.

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

Satire in Deadly Dowagers

I've mentioned before that women respond to Deadly Dowagers in a cathartic way and that this does to a certain extent undermine the intended satire. But I respect the experiences of women so I leaned into the catharsis instead of trying to be heavier-handed with the satire. I also know that author's intent doesn't really mean a whole lot compared to what messages the audience actually receive from the work. But because it only took a week for someone to wildly miss the point on BGG, I thought I'd share what I was actually trying to do in the game. 

The first iteration of Deadly Dowagers was "Inheritance," which explored how the aristocracy built wealth. The point then was to show that the nobility hadn't always been that way but came from somewhere. Not much of a message. 

When I pivoted to A Much Better ThemeTM, I committed to the players being the villains. I wanted the murder of the men to be a difficult decision emotionally because I wanted the game to be clear that the women are the baddies. Society is also to blame in the setting, for sure; that pressure is there and drives the decisions the women make. That is also intentional. The game is a meditation on what forces are at play when otherwise "good" people go bad. And lest you mistake my meaning, greed and ambition are the main driving forces, with societal forces following along behind. 

But what of the men? Do they deserve their fate? I only gave two art direction instructions to the publisher. One was to make sure the mills were water and not wind, because we committed to setting the game specifically in England. The other came after a question about whether the men should be boorish or evil looking. I nixed that hard. The men have to be neutral or the theme does not work. (The fact that this note seems to have spawned art that is best described as husband NFTs is endlessly amusing to me.) If the men deserve their fate, the satire is lost. If the men are too sympathetic, the catharsis is lost. The experience of the game hangs on the men's portraits. 

So what is the satire? I mention regularly that the theme is a metaphor, which most women take to mean that the husbands metaphorically stand in for all the men in their lives who have harmed them. And I don't want to take that catharsis from them. But the metaphor in the satire is that the men stand in for anyone who is dehumanized and harmed for the sake of someone else's profit. (Calling the game anti-capitalist would be much more accurate than misandrist.) By giving the men names and faces and a relationship to the player, the game is doubling down on the message that their fate is wrong; the whole system is wrong. 

But the solution is not for the women to be demur and return to their traditional roles. This is why the game is set in the Victorian era. If you only know one thing about the Victorian era, it is that women were highly repressed. So I rely on that outside knowledge to add tension to the theme. Because the systemic repression of women was wrong. But harming people for power and profit is also wrong. There is no right in this theme, except to learn and grow when the game is done. 

If the theme were played for laughs, or even for catharsis only, I wouldn't have allowed it to reach publication. Like if the Hunger Games trilogy were only a page-turner about kids killing each other and not a treatise on war and pacifism. I believe the message is what renders the content acceptable or unacceptable. Players engaging with the content on a surface level only was very much a concern during playtesting. Why I'm comfortable with the game being out in the wild is that players know, even when they can't explain why, that the theme was carefully crafted to be about something other than shock and awe. 

The musical Chicago isn't a celebration of murder, but an indictment of the American justice system and the media. But it's also fun and a bit silly at the same time. Anyone mature enough to play a game about serial murder is mature enough to handle that a theme can be both irreverent and serious. 

This is my defense for Deadly Dowagers. I don't expect author's intent to carry much weight. But maybe it is helpful to know there was an intent. 

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

Knitting Agency into Theme

Sometimes perfect pairings are discovered that change the way you think about the individual elements. Take for example noodles and tomatoes, which originated in China and South America respectively, but which in combination are associated with Italy. In this post, I want to talk about another synergistic pairing.

There are two common uses of the term agency, when referring to the ability to choose which action to take. One is in gaming, particularly board games: "Does the player have enough agency?" This idea is central to the book Games: Agency as Art, which posits that the curated agencies of games are a unique art form. 

The other, of course, arises from what might be described as feminist film discourse: "Do the female characters in that movie have agency?" 

I've said previously that the reason why Deadly Dowagers resonates with women is because it is a female power fantasy. I still believe this to be the case. However, a more nuanced take would also include the fact that not only is the theme knitted to the mechanics, but the both the theme and the mechanics are an exploration of agency. 

The rules of Deadly Dowagers aren't quite what gamers expect when they sit down to play. There are restrictions that you don't find in other tableau builders. For example, there is not an income phase every round. Rules explanations, in my experience, are often accompanied by the addendum "because you're a woman, that's why." (People who grew up adhering to similar gendered expectations tend to not bat an eye at the restrictions because they are familiar with how this world works.) 

Of course, even in a restrictive society it is possible to have some agency. And restrictive games usually have more meaningful choices than purely luck-based games. Games like Obsession use this synergy to convey "how society was back then" but don't actually engage with the extreme inequities baked into the society in question. Inequities like how a woman's property legally belonged to her husband when they got married. 

I had many, many playtesters ask me why Deadly Dowagers didn't have balls, shopping, or courtship, i.e. the feminine pursuits associated with "the era."* But stripping out the expected trappings allowed me to laser focus on the important thematic choices in the game. As well as allowing me to explore what it actually feels like to be a woman in a world that grants you little agency. The point is not to feel feminine but restricted and a little unsettled. Heading Forward is an example of a more serious implementation of this idea of limited agency leveraged to emphasize the theme, in this case recovering from a brain injury.

Games have limited agencies, which is what makes them both frustrating and fun to play. Those limitations and frustrations can be used to represent other times in history when a group of people faced limited agencies. We don't have to only theme Euro games around successful inventors and entrepreneurs. 

It turns out pairing the artistic medium of agency with the theme of agency works really well. I think there is design space here to develop much stronger thematic experiences by leveraging the player experience of making challenging or difficult choices. 

*Deadly Dowagers is set in the mid-to-late Victorian era. Obsession claims to be set in the Victorian era but has strong Regency sensibilities. Pride and Prejudice and Bridgerton are Regency era settings. Downton Abbey is Edwardian and post-Edwardian. Yes, the difference matters thematically. 

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

Happy International Women's Day

I'm interrupting my regular Monday release schedule to announce that Deadly Dowagers is for sale as of today, International Women's Day '23. Deadly Dowagers was produced by a woman-led, all women team. 

I expect to have more posts specific to the game in the future (but keeping a focus on design theory), but, for now, you can buy the game here if the fancy strikes you. Or not. You do you. 

Exemplars of Theme

I don't have a top ten thematic games. Instead, I have a list of ten games that showcase different traits that I've written about before. I think that playing these games or the honorable mentions with attention to the traits I discuss here will drive home the different ways a game can be thematic. I'm not diving deep into how each game works here, because if you are unfamiliar with any of these games I think you should give them a look with an eye to how the theme is implemented. 

King of Tokyo

Standout trait: Clear distinction between the agential mechanisms of rerolling and locking and VP set collection and the thematic mechanisms (all the other ones). 

Additional traits: Strong thematic/mechanic hook, which I describe as combat Yahtzee with kaiju. This combination of familiar and unexpected elements makes it easy to pitch to non-gamers. 

Evokes genre. Other games evoke genre better, but few do as much with as few mechanisms. 

Honorable Mention: Betrayal at Mystery Mansion exhibits all of the above traits but may be more group dependent. 

Tokaido

Standout trait: Evocative actions. There are no agential mechanisms (or icons) once the game starts. 

Additional trait: Pairs an abstracted time track with the theme of a road in a way that really works. This shows that games can have some abstraction and still have the net result be thematic. 

Super-Skill Pinball 

Standout trait: Mechanically simulates theme.  Does so across multiple boards showcasing the diversity of pinball tables. 

Additional traits: Proves theme can be mathy and R&Ws can be thematic. 

One of the best examples of player as avatar, in that the avatar is the person playing pinball and you are the person playing the simulation of pinball. 

Sheriff of Nottingham

Standout trait: Mechanics that require above the table thematic interactions that are also literal actions, i.e. bluffing and negotiation. 

Additional trait: Avatar embodiment married to above the table actions encourages role play without requiring it. 

Honorable Mentions: Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes does the above but isn't generally considered a board game. The Grizzled does the above without the literal actions. 

Everdell

Standout trait: Evocative tableau/engine building through cards that build, populate, and (in some cases) operate a town. 

Additional traits: Thematic quests/achievements that use certain card pairings to evoke narrative concepts. 

Evocative resources that are thematic to the setting but also thematic in the materials used to produce the bits. 

A Fistful of Meeples 

Standout trait: Workers/meeples that have goals that are in conflict with other meeples. Each type wants to be around certain other types and not others. These relationships make the setting feel more alive and lived in than most meeple-centric games. 

Additional traits: Evokes genre. 

Example of a thematic game with no player avatar. 

The Coldest Night

Standout trait: A strong and deeply evocative sense of setting that flows from a short description of the theme to the simple mechanisms that capitalize on the emotion of desperation and leave the players' imaginations to do the rest. The player as avatar helps drive that feeling of desperation by minimizing the distance between character and player. 

Honorable Mention: Sushi Roll creates a clear sense of setting with very simple and clever component and mechanic design. 

Root

Standout trait: An emergent sense of world history based on how the factions work and relate to each other. 

Additional trait: Naming conventions and art hint at and reinforce the power dynamics between the factions, such as the Woodland Alliance (mice) and the Cats which build sawmills. 

Ex Libris

Standout trait: Harnesses players' intrinsic motivation for order and gives game world logic to it. 

Additional trait: Applies that intrinsic motivation to the job of the player avatar to create character motivation. 

Honorable Mention: Deadly Dowagers pits the intrinsic desires for power and status against the desires for honor and family to create tension within the players as a part of the gameplay experience. 

Cosmic Frog

Standout trait: Excellent example of a fantastical setting (using the art world definition of fantasy) that also shows the extreme edges of how game world logic can be used to reinforce rules. 

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

Starting a Thematic Design

I was recently a guest on the Meeple Syrup Show, where I talked about starting thematic designs. This post is a companion piece to that discussion, which can be found here. 

When I was thinking about my design process, I divided the steps into three general phases: scaffolding, outline, and details. Scaffolding addresses the initial have-an-idea process. Outline looks at building the bare bones of the design. And details is the rest of the design process. Obviously, the third section takes the most time, but I don't dwell on it as much because 1) this is about beginning a design, 2) the steps in the details section occur repeatedly and in different orders and proportions depending on the game, and 3) this part of the design process is discussed very regularly on other platforms. 

With that said, here's the process:

Scaffolding

1. Come up with an idea prompt. You can use a generator that involves various lists and dice rolls or pulling items out of a hat, which is what a lot of game jams do. You can keep an idea list in your day-to-day life and reference the list when you want to start a new design. You can jot down random phrases that sound like clues in Dixit as a jumping off point. (Example: "The spaces in between.") You can pull random Apples to Apples cards. However you do it, the prompt you settle on should interest you. 

2. Come up with an interesting question using your prompt then try to answer it. When you do, look for answers that suggest action. What stories does my prompt suggest? What actions could occur in those stories? Could those actions translate to mechanisms? Pick an angle you find interesting that has some mechanical promise.

3. Spend five minutes researching general knowledge connected to your idea so far. This could be historical information, genre tropes, or something else. When people summarize the topic, what elements do they include? Board games tend to present thematic information in broad strokes, so knowing the highlights is important even though you ultimately won't stop there. As you research, continue to look for mechanics ideas. 

4. Settle on which aspects you want to model in your design. These should be aspects that are interesting to you which can be modeled through game mechanisms. You should have a general concept of which mechanics are a good jumping off point for your design. 

Outline

1. Determine who the player characters are in your game. What are their thematic goals? What are their mechanical goals? How might that translate to a win condition? Are there other mini-goals that feed into the major goal?

2. Determine the obstacles that prevent players from reaching their goals. What presents a challenge mechanically? How does that challenge translate thematically? What are the consequences of failure? Is there an upside? How does a success help players toward their overall goal?

3. Determine the actions players will need to overcome obstacles and achieve goals. Some verbs to consider which are both mechanical and generically thematic: acquire, deploy, relocate, appraise/evaluate, communicate, create, build. You can adjust the thematic terminology later. For now, it is important to think in terms of action. 

4. Start a rough pen and paper prototype and attempt to play your idea so far. (I don't usually write much down until this point in the process. Experiment with writing while brainstorming, talking aloud, and just thinking, because you'll engage different modes of thinking. I prefer to let my mind drift and chew on a problem, but you may not.) This point is about as far as you can get in a short game jam. 

5. Do more thematic research. Make sure the actions you settle on align with the theme. I would recommend around an hour of research at a minimum at this point if you are designing with a real world theme. You should have a basic grasp of the subject matter and a sense of the emotional experience inherent in your chosen theme. This is important to have before you settle on mechanical structure in order for your mechanics to feel appropriate to the theme. 

Details

1. Playtest. Repeat until the game stops changing. Make changes. Make better prototypes. 

2. Research similar mechanics in published games. 

3. Do more thematic research. Incorporate setting details, character motivation, and other thematic conventions. Make sure you are doing justice to your theme.

4. Determine the hook of your game. I think it's okay if this is later in the process. You won't know what your game wants to be at first. 

I don't suggest this is the only way, or even the best way, to start a thematic design. However, there is a benefit to stretching your design muscles, and this is a highly portable method providing you have a smart phone. I do a lot of these steps instinctually and thus quickly, so I am unsure how following this format like a recipe will work. I think it's worth trying at least once, but I don't expect it to become how you design going forward. Instead, I highly encourage you to take what works for your design style and discard the rest. 

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