Designing for Others and for Myself

There are two schools of thought among designers. One is to design the type of game you want to play and not worry if there is an audience. The other is to design primarily with your audience in mind. Both of these concepts are a little foreign to me. 

As an independent designer, I find motivation to design when I enjoy the games I'm working on. So, at the beginning of the process I am designing for myself. This is further compounded by the fact that many of my game ideas will never see the light of day. In order to keep exploring new designs to find the good ones, I need to amuse myself. In order to keep working on a game to get it to a sharable state, I need to care about it. For me, I care about a game most when I am excited by the theme. When I get excited by a theme, I am more willing to put in the three to five years of work it will take to get the game (potentially) published. 

It's only once I'm playtesting that I start to get invested in the game as a product. I begin to trim down my wild ideas, cut mechanics, and dial in gameplay. All of which is done with an audience in mind. Because I am also not working three to five years on a game if no one else wants to play it. This is where I start to focus more on mechanics that draw players in and that create the experience I want. I'm generally willing to add, cut, and rearrange elements in order to improve gameplay and make a more appealing product. I'm less flexible on thematic changes during playtesting, unless I'm in talks with a publisher. 

When it comes time to pitch, I'm prepared to change anything thematic or mechanic. I've likely spent several years working on my game. Now, a publisher wants to pay me for it and take over some of the work that the game still needs. If a publisher wants to see some changes before they offer a contract, I will make those changes to the best of my ability. There is no other feeling like a publisher getting excited about your vision and wanting to make it real. That's the real reason I'll never self-publish. The game may end up vastly different from what I imagined, but as long as there is a healthy line of communication I don't mind. After all, I'm not the one investing thousands of dollars in production. (Of course some things can hurt to change. I have started responding to certain feedback by saying "I'll mull it over and see what I can do" to give myself a window to feel sad then get excited again about the new direction.)

Unless you are a full-time employee at a design studio and don't get to pick your projects, you should work on games because they excite you. Then you should spend the rest of the design process making your game excite other people. 

Touchstones and Stereotypes

Representational art presents certain difficulties for creators. We find these same difficulties in themed board games, especially within certain genres of game. What are these difficulties? Balancing touchstones with stereotypes and clichés. 

Representational just means "not abstract." When we depict specific things or people, we run into two problems. One is that, in order for our theme to resonate, we must present something comprehensible (that is, familiar) to the audience. On the other hand, overfamiliarity results in clichés and potentially harmful stereotypes. 

A touchstone is a standard or criterion by which something can be recognized.* Without any touchstones, a theme will not 'fit' into a particular genre. A horror game must contain at least some recognizable horror elements. A fantasy game needs some magic, otherwise it might just be an adventure game. A game depicting aspects of a real world culture needs to be recognizable by people from that culture (but also accessible to people from outside the culture, if that is the goal). 

A stereotype is a widely held but fixed and oversimplified image or idea of a particular type of person or thing.* Stereotypes are familiar and can be easily confused with touchstones. Some of the time they can seem interchangeable. But touchstones are dynamic. Horror movies have evolved since the 1950s. New art creates new touchstones that build new conventions. Stereotypes are not dynamic. They are lazy categorizations because they do not take into account new ideas or information. I could pretty quickly come up with a game theme set in the American Old West, but only if I rely heavily on stereotypes. I would need to do a lot of research to create an Old West world that felt like it had something fresh and true to say. 

Both touchstones and stereotypes are simplifications of broader concepts, which is why they get used in board game design. Board games hide nuance in the mechanics. If the theme is not closely tied to the mechanics, the theme won't contain any nuance. This puts satirical games in a tricky place. Using stereotypes to poke fun at them is difficult in a medium that relies on abstraction. Thematic integration can help emphasize a lack of seriousness, as can illustration. But it's worth pointing out that most people are not as good at satire as they think they are. Use of stereotypes in general can lead to telling unintentional stories in a design. As a designer, I want to be intentional about the stories I tell. 

Often it is better to avoid stereotypes altogether. Culturally resonant touchstones can uplift communities. Stereotypes can make a theme feel dated, because they retread old ground. Stereotypes have nothing new to say and often what they do say is untrue or no longer true. They are neither kind nor educational, merely familiar and within arms reach. 

I'll leave you with a definition of cliché: a phrase or opinion that is overused and betrays a lack of original thought.*

*Definitions taken from lexico.com. 

Defining Theme

I talked about theme recently on Shelf Stories, and I'll talk about it again during GDC (more on that in a future post). I've talked about theme before. However, I want to summarize in one place my current definitions of theme and its related terms. I'm not listing world-building and narrative definitions here, although they would belong in a more comprehensive list. This is just an overview of some of the higher concepts around theme in board games. 

Theme encompasses the setting, story, and tone/mood of a game. It is expressed via illustration, components, mechanics, narrative description (embedded narrative), and flavor text. I refer to these items as the elements of a game. Illustration can either be thematic or atmospheric. Thematic illustration uses representational art to connect the components more closely to the thematic hook/game world. Atmospheric illustration uses either representational or abstract art to convey the mood, or emotional content of the theme. 

The thematic hook of a game (aka, the answer to "what is the theme?") is best defined by this formula: "Noun + Verb + Win Condition + ?". Themes should have verbs, should be tied to the win condition of a game, and should be able to be phrased as questions. 

There are two layers to be considered when designing thematic elements: whether they are motivated and whether they are integrated. Motivated elements have an in world reason for existing; they are justified by the theme. Integrated elements aid in transportation and emergent story-telling. All integrated elements are motivated, but not all motivated elements are integrated. For instance, evocative actions are actions that are named after the thematic reason they occur, which makes them motivated (and possibly integrated). On the other hand, simulative actions—which simulate the physical or emotional experience of the action—are always integrated and generally transporting. Again, simulative actions are evocative, but evocative actions may not be simulative. 

Immersion can be broken into two categories: absorption and transportation.* In board games, thematic transportation occurs when a game "sucks in" players, causing them to feel as though they have entered an altered reality. This could occur in a narrative heavy game (either emergent or embedded narrative**) or in games that rely on emotional simulation. Emotional simulations focus on players feeling certain emotions that are aligned with the theme or the character they are playing. Emotional simulations can occur alongside embedded narrative but do not have to. 

Thematic resonance is depth, shape, and clarity of theme. Themes resonate when they combine familiar concepts with unexpected twists. 

I've written about a lot of these concepts before and will again, so I'm not going to link to every post where I've mentioned them. You'll just have to browse on your own. 

*Calleja, Gordon. In Game: From Immersion to Incorporation.

**LeBlanc, Marc. GDC 2000. 

On World-Building

In an upcoming talk (I'm on the GDC circuit, y'all!) and an upcoming interview (link here), I talk about how I want less world-building in games. I'd like to expand on what I meant to clear up any confusion. 

I don't want designers to do less world-building, if that's what brings them joy. I just want less visible world-building in the box. How I probably should phrase that is I want fewer and shorter "lore dumps." Lore dumps are defined by Matt Coville as the parts of a book that people usually skip. 

I've been using the term world-building rather sloppily to mean the work put into creating your world and also the lore that players see (because that is how other people use the term). But I think we can do better. From now on, I will try to say what I mean. And what I mean is: lore dumps are almost always bad in board games; please stop putting them in the rulebook/box. 

Research, creativity, and knowing how your world works are all pretty good things to spend design time on. You can over do it, but as long as your game is fun I don't care what you spend time on. Do what makes you happy. You don't need to write a novel before you design a game, but if that's what you really want to do then go for it. I'm not against the act of world-building. 

There's a big caveat here, though. Don't put that novel in your game box. I don't buy games for their short story anthologies. Reading, when not a part of how the game is played, is a solitary experience. I, personally, play games as a form of structured social interaction. Yes, Asmodee has novelizations of their games. Sold separately. Only give players what they think they are buying. 

Lore dumps are distracting from the core experience of your game. As much as possible, I would prefer any lore fluff to be concise and used in a way that allows players to "opt in" to the lore. I'll be posting more about opt-in lore later. Longer lore dumps are better served with separate products, kickstarter updates, or fan pages. I'm not against the existence of lore dumps; I simply don't want them in the box. 

Within a game box, I prefer a "show; don't tell" approach. Any important truth about your world should be evident within gameplay or art assets/components. If it's not evident/emergent then it's not really important in the context of your game. And if it's not really important, then why is it in the box? 

For a deeper dive into other ways to think about world-building (as opposed to lore dumps) I encourage you to watch this panel from d4 in which professional world-builders talk about the craft. 

We're not in a Renaissance

This is just something I've been mulling over. I mostly hear people say we are in a 'golden age of board games,' but occasionally I hear people say that we are in a 'board game Renaissance.' Makes sense, right? There was an explosion of creativity and productivity in board games with new innovation and advancement of the art form over the last fifty years. 

We are not, however, in a renaissance. Renaissance means "rebirth." The era we are in can't be a rebirth because we are not rediscovering texts and principles of bygone eras. The actual Renaissance was not about suddenly becoming good at art and science but about a rediscovery of "the Classics"— Ancient Greek and Roman texts that served as the foundation for the innovations of the Renaissance. We are still writing our foundational texts. 

As a field and an art form, board game design has only really existed since the late 20th century. Prior to that, games were developed as interactive toys/activities or over the long process of oral tradition. Yes, there are exceptions to that, but those exceptions do not a 'design era' make. In the history of board game design, everything prior to the 1970s will be lumped into a single introductory chapter. We can quibble over the exact decade, but sometime in the late 20th century, board game design became a field unto itself. Many/most of the earliest designers are still alive. 

We have not yet entered a new era. We have moved through several periods: pre-Catan, the Euro period, the (competing) Ameritrash period, the Kickstarter period, etc. However, all of these changes within the hobby are part of the same era. We are in the "early Disney movie" era; we haven't yet had our Beauty and the Beast moment (in my opinion). 

I think that some people believe that because we are more formalist now than twenty years ago that we have entered a new era. It's true we are no longer in the Wild West of game design (if you will allow me to mix my metaphors). But the fact that we are codifying our design principles and creating standards of excellence for the first time (industrywide at least) only further proves my argument that we are in the height of what is the equivalence of Ancient Greece. 

Given that this is the first era of board game design, we can't also be having a renaissance. We also aren't in a renaissance because we are still figuring out what board game design means. Building Blocks of Board Game Design was published in 2019. I would argue this is our only foundational text as of yet. (Foundational texts should be universally useful to either practitioners, students, or both.) We can't have a rebirth until we've finished being born the first time. 

And I think that's exciting. What I love most about board game design is getting to be a small part of the people who are deciding for future designers what this art form is all about. And if you are designing, developing, publishing, or playtesting, you get to be a part of that, too. 

Pecha Kucha Kon '21

This blog has been dark for a few weeks because I've been working on some other projects. One of those is a video for the Meeple Syrup Show's Pecha Kucha Kon. A pecha kucha is a presentation consisting of 20 slides with 20 seconds spent on each slide. I presented on the principles of design, but all the videos are worth watching if you are a game designer. While you're at it, follow Meeple Syrup on YouTube and Facebook. They're a great resource. 

The playlist will be updated as more participants turn in videos. You can find it here. 

I've got a much bigger project I'm trying to wrap up that I will post about closer to the event. 

On Taking Notes

 I don't post WIPs anywhere. I have yet to write a designer diary (although I'm sure that's in my future as my games get announced). The way I share my progress in my designs with the community is through updated prototypes and playtesting. But just because I'm not posting about my progress doesn't mean I'm not tracking it. 

I essentially keep design journals. I have a handful of notebooks and each game gets a section of a notebook. I scribble ideas, work out thematic elements and component distribution. I list elements to implement in the future. I also keep a list of possible publishers. I transpose anything I write on loose pieces of paper to keep my thoughts in one place. My journals are combination workbooks and records of design progress. 

As I playtest, I will rewrite my playtesting notes into my journals reordered to emphasize actionable suggestions/complaints. Then I write out a list changes I plan on implementing and check off that list as I complete items. I will go back through my notes to see if initially discarded ideas will work once the game is in a different shape. I am often surprised how much feedback ends up making its way into the game months after the feedback was given. 

I reference these notes when writing rules, making component breakdowns, building prototypes, etc. Eventually, I do shift to writing my notes in a word doc. My digital notes serve two purposes: shareability and editability. Those files tend to be rulebooks, changelogs, full component descriptions, and flavor text scripts. Other than rules writing, which I do fairly early and often, all of these files are generated through discourse with an interested publisher. Otherwise, if I need to write something down it goes in one of my game journals. 

I'm pro-writing-by-hand, but that's not the point of today's post. My first point is that keeping notes in one place is practical and useful. You can even use those notes to write a designer diary post if you so choose. My second point is that keeping useful notes doesn't have to be complicated or high tech. I'm a firm believer in graduating to more sophisticated programs only when you need them. I'm not going to spend time learning project manager software that I don't really need at this juncture. 

Lastly, I want to throw in a good word for note apps on phones. They aren't the best use of memory for long term storage, but for short term they're a game changer. I have become a much better playtester by taking notes on my phone while playing a game. It enables me to give more detailed feedback and more accurate impressions of how I was feeling at certain points in a game. I picked up this habit from my local design group and I'm hooked. But I take notes for the game I'm testing with paper and pen.