Baddies in Board Games

I'm going to be building on last week's post about non-narrative characters. In this post, I'd like to discuss the thorny problem of evil player characters in non-narrative games. 

What qualifies as evil, especially in a non-narrative game? The problem with discussing villains is that the discussion can swing wildly from creative writing techniques to real world ethics (whether or not the person speaking is qualified to speak about ethics). So, let's set a simple definition for the sake of this discussion and try not to wade to deep into topics I'm not qualified to talk about. Let's define fictional evil as intentional harm to others for selfish or other immoral reasons. 

What type of evil PCs (or NPCs) already exist in board games? There's a whole spectrum, but most people tend to think about supervillains and forget the others. Disney and comic book villains are at the less evil end of the spectrum. We don't see much of their motivation in gameplay and these games are typically family friendly. As a result, the actions of the heroes and villains don't feel very different from one another. Similarly, some faction-based games have clear good and bad sides, but that knowledge comes from an outside source (e.g. any Lord of the Rings game where you can play as orcs). Anti-hero PCs, like in any given heist game, tend to have a clearly selfish motivation but the harm they do is typically either non-violent or violent against someone who is portrayed as more evil. Sometimes, baddies aren't more evil than the good characters, but instead are secretly a faction with hidden motivation. These games may end in a betrayal, but if the betrayal is not for immoral or selfish reasons then the character is not evil by our definition. Finally, we have characters that are clearly evil based on their actions within the game. These characters are the trickiest to design well. 

A believably evil character has goals and few moral compunctions about how they reach those goals. Not every game has the ability to showcase a character's values and motivation during gameplay (although I think you should try). Recognizable characters are able to lean on outside sources to establish why the baddies are bad. However, this means that your game must make sense within that larger context. If the Sauron in your game is trying to amass gold and dominate trade routes, any preexisting knowledge players have of the IP will only cause dissonance. 

Player characters that are believably evil are a tricky proposition. Often they must rely on either abstraction or absurdity, even if they have external sources. Vile acts carry a strong emotional component for audiences. Abstraction and/or absurdity helps relieve that emotional stress. Think about the abstracted murders of the many Jack the Ripper themed games. An excellent example of both abstraction and absurdity is The Bloody Inn. (Any small-ish card game will be necessarily abstracted.) In The Bloody Inn, murder is simply represented by moving a card to your player area. The absurdity of The Bloody Inn comes from the sheer number of crimes you'll be committing all while also attempting to run a profitable business. The Bloody Inn also uses cartoonishly macabre art to set the absurd tone of the game. 

A quick note about abstraction— All board games abstract theme to a certain extent. However, the type of thematic abstraction we see in The Bloody Inn carries weight. Instead of focusing on graphic realism, this sort of abstraction allows designers to shift the players' focus to the decisions involved in evil acts. I'm not sure there is much value in grossing out players or making them violate taboos (more on this in a coming post), however exploring the decisions that can lead to devaluing human life, especially at an abstracted remove, is very interesting to me. Think about the difference between plays and movies. Plays often (not always) eschew special effects in favor of exploring the psychology behind actions. I think that emotional journey is a great reason to make a game with evil PCs and an even greater reason to include a certain amount of abstraction. 

A game that I feel does not succeed in this vein is Abomination: Heir of Frankenstein. Right off the bat, this game is much less abstracted, both in player actions and art assets. Again, abstraction provides a useful mental buffer for players to not get too emotionally affected by the actions they are taking. Further, while the number and severity of crimes in Abomination does trend to the absurd, the game plays it straight and not for laughs. Laughter is also a useful mental buffer when playing games with murder. The art style is macabre in a more serious tone, like what you would see in a grim dark RPG. Still, I think that where the game really falls down is in fumbling its source material. The serious tone and graphic nature of the game could have been forgiven if the external source it relied upon in theming lined up with the action of the game. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein uses the horrific setting of the book to make a point about the monstrous nature of society. In Abomination, you (a mad scientist type) are the monstrous one, not society. The tonal mismatch means that while the theme helps you understand what you are doing, it does little to address why. As a result, this game can't rely on the source material to justify your actions. [NB: Much of the positive feedback for this game was how well the theme came through a euro-style game. But I feel that is a failing of other euros, not a saving grace of Abomination.]

If you are going to design a game with truly evil playable characters, you really need to have either internal or external sources for motivation (ideally both). The Bloody Inn succeeds because we believe that the characters are greedy and that their greed drives them to commit horrific crimes. Even with external sources, Abomination fails at character motivation. "Because you want to be like Dr. Frankenstein" is a bad motivation based on the source material (spoiler alert: he dies) and "because the monster is forcing me to do it" is even worse, as it is not a motivation at all. Better motivators for evil acts would be single word traits, like pride, ambition, greed, or revenge. These traits can be made explicit through a character's actions throughout the game. One of the actions in The Bloody Inn is money laundering, which seems mostly to exist to drive home the idea of greed as a motivation.

Playable characters require more justification for their actions than non-playable characters. Asking players to perform actions that represent evil acts should not be a decision you make lightly. Whether your game is silly or serious, it will make some sort of statement about evil. That statement can be either simple or complex. The Bloody Inn makes a fairly simple statement: that greed is the root of greater acts of evil. I try to make a more complicated statement in Deadly Dowagers: strong ambition in a repressive society can lead to evil acts. I rely on both internal and external sources of motivation to justify character actions. My game more or less requires players to have a passing familiarity with the role of women in the Victorian era. Internally, the mechanics attempt to show that repressiveness as well as showing the single-minded pursuit of gain by distilling otherwise thematically named actions down to monetary transactions. Unlike The Bloody Inn, Deadly Dowagers tries to (mostly) avoid absurdity by portraying a more complex motivation for the characters. (One side effect of this complexity is that your villains may become somewhat sympathetic to your players.) 

Believable villain PCs need context, motivation, abstraction, and a message about the nature of evil to be effective. Absurdity is optional but helps draw players in. Should you design evil PCs in board games? If you are interested in emotion-driven design and thoughtful thematic integration, evil PCs can pack a punch. If you are only interested in evil PCs because they sound cool, I wouldn't recommend them to you for reasons I'm going to unpack in my next post. 

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

Non-narrative Characters

Over the past few years, narrative board games have been getting better and better. With representatives like Forgotten Waters, Sleeping Gods, and Destinies, more attention has been paid to the quality of character arcs (or simply interesting character descriptions) in games. The problem with stopping the discussion at narrative games is that most board games cannot rely on narrative tools to help shape characters (and certainly narrative games also use non-narrative tools as well). So, how do we show characterization in non-narrative games?

First, we need to recognize that a game character only exists for the duration of the game. Every instantiation of that character outside of gameplay is merely additional lore that can either support and flesh out a character or contradict what is revealed during gameplay (which is a bad thing). The game is the window through which we experience the character's world. What we know about the game is what we know about the character. It also follows that the characters we create for a world should feel like they are a part of that world. 

As I have written several times before, character goals (what a character desires most) should align with their win condition. Characters may have secondary goals, values, or desires, but characters must be driven by their win conditions to be believable. They should have a purpose in life that closely ties to the 'why' of gameplay. In other words, both the player and the character should be invested in the outcome of the game. 

A character's powers/unique mechanics denote their values. You only get better at building things by spending a lot of time building things (take it from me, a theatrical carpenter), therefore a character who is better than average at building must value their role in society as a builder. (Most likely, that is. Unless you indicate otherwise, your audience will generally assume a character performs an action because they choose to. Board games are, after all, largely about choices.) Since all we know about a character is what they do in a game, we assume what they do must be important to them or to the society they live in. How someone solves a problem says a lot about their worldview, which is why character mechanics are so foundational to a character's values. 

Rules systems beyond individual powers indicate cultural norms. If a thematic rule is not rationalized by physics we can assume the rule exists because of the culture within the game world. Scoring that doesn't allow a player to win by more than two points might indicate a culture steeped in notions of honor and fair play. A scoring system that only allows a player to win if they are ahead by more than two points might indicate a culture that places emphasis on merit and achievement. A theme will always feel pasted on if the core system does not largely resemble the world it represents. My game, Deadly Dowagers, uses rules restrictions to represent the restrictive nature of Victorian society, especially for women. 

Characters exist within the cultural norms of the rules and respond to them. Characters might be trying to be the best within their cultural system, or they might fight against it. Factions are the result of conflicting cultural norms. Factions are more believable if their values and beliefs are in conflict with another faction. Values and beliefs, of course, are expressed by their unique faction mechanics. Root displays this concept beautifully. You don't need to read the lore for Root to understand the values and friction of the factions, all of that is present in the mechanics. The Eyrie places value on tradition which is expressed through a programming mechanic. (Programming, like tradition, is slow to change in the face of new information.) Their isolation to one spot on the board shows how their previous power has waned and contracted. Their history and values shine through during set up and rules explanation, only to be reinforced by gameplay. Root also displays a shining example of faction friction with the Cats and the Alliance. You only need to glance from the sawmills to the faction named the Woodland Alliance to see the conflict brewing. The facts that the sawmills are being built by cats and that the Alliance are small prey creatures only underscores the conflict. So we end up with a faction that prizes industry above the homes and lives of others, a faction bound by tradition, a faction inherently weaker that must rely on coalition building, and a character who works outside of the rule of law, much the same way he operates outside the lines on the map. Any lore only exists to explicitly state and underscore what is shown in gameplay. 

So, what is the purpose of lore, other than clearly stating what the mechanics may only have implied? Any lore that isn't directly related to the action of the game exists to establish the atmosphere of the world. Setting the tone thematically adds texture to your world but also allows you to prime your players for a certain experience. A jokey tone implies a different gameplay experience than a chilling tone. So, You've Been Eaten has some of the best intro fluff I've come across in that it establishes the world of the game that exists during gameplay, sets the tone of a light, not-so-serious game, and is funny in its own right. Fluff that doesn't underscore the events of the game or set the mood will instead distract from and muddy the gameplay experience. Which isn't to say you can't make jokes, but they need to be jokes that make sense in the universe of the game. 

Creating rich characters in board games will never look the same as it does in novels or movies. That doesn't mean, however, that we shouldn't be creating compelling characters in our games. But the primary way we do that is by world-building through our mechanics, not apart from them. The game is the world. The actions are the character. 

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

Community Questions

In this post, I'm answering a couple of community questions that I received on Meeple Syrup Shop Talk on Facebook. 

David Weiss asks, "How do we take overused themes and twist them to produce new types of gameplay experiences?" 

The short answer is: your theme has to be a story. Not a noun and a pre-generated set of artwork. I've indexed some of my posts on theme here, so I won't go into too much detail about how nouns are insufficient as themes. (A lot of my answer to this question is in those posts, so check them out.) A compelling story or set of characters is vital to overcome over-saturation of a theme. Sometimes, fresh art direction or component development can work instead, but I don't think this guarantees a memorable game the way a compelling story hook does. What are some shortcuts to developing a compelling story? 

• You can change up the protagonist. Make the zombies the heroes.
• You can change the ending. The Axis falls to zombies. 
• You can avoid stereotypes/tropes. Zombies now like liver. 
• You can change the mechanics to better fit the theme. Clank! is a great example. 
• You can develop the moral code of your characters. Give them a worldview. 

Ok, that last one needs some unpacking, but that's largely for a later post. In brief, games are stories and like narrative stories they express values. If you are aware of the values you/your characters are expressing, you can leverage your story to be more emotionally powerful. I guess that's not really a shortcut, and it's not easy to just start doing. However, I'm going to be increasing my focus on value-expression in the coming weeks if that's of interest to you. 

JahFree Secrest asks, "How can player interaction or lack thereof be used to support the theme of a tabletop game?" 

Well, to start we need to recognize that player interaction falls under mechanics and our goal is 'theme and mechanic alignment.' My first tip is to find the movement. Player interaction frequently involves movement such as passing cards, and movement is where theme can become embodied. Eye contact and, yes, dialogue are also important thematic elements of player interaction. It's my go to example,  but Sheriff of Nottingham has players passing components and talking to each other as part of the mechanics. 

Another angle is to look at mechanics as the way characters express their worldview. A cut throat game needs an appropriately cutthroat theme. If players lie or bluff or steal in game, that must inform the theme. I'll be writing more about the intersection of player-characters and mechanics soon. As an aside, player interaction doesn't have to involve conflict. How players interact in a cooperative game also indicates the worldview of the characters. 

The only thing we truly know about a game world is the experience of gameplay. The only things we know about characters are the actions they take. Player interactions are the only window we have into how characters feel about each other. Forget art and lore; the world is found in the game mechanics, including player interaction. Build out the theme around the experience. 

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

Empathy in Wingspan

Happy 100th Post! I asked the denizens of Meeple Syrup Shop Talk to contribute ideas for my 100th post. I'll be using some of the other responses in future posts (because I simply cannot be brief), but I chose this topic based on a question by Elizabeth Hargrave. 

Elizabeth asks, "How can we experience or encourage love and empathy in games?" 

My first reaction to this question was, "But I know you know the answer. After all, you designed Wingspan." Then I realized that unpacking that statement could help me explain a concept that I feel I have struggled to explain in the past. 

Let me start with a scenario. You see a donation link online for a nature preserve. How likely are you to donate $5 to that particular preserve? What if I told you that that preserve was an important habitat for the scissor-tailed flycatcher, the bird on the cover of Wingspan? Does your familiarity with that image increase your chances of donating? 

The thing I love about Wingspan is that the game relies on attention to detail to express its love of birds. We are never presented with injured or distressed birds that we have to save, just details unique to each bird. And that's what I'm getting at. 

Theme with proper attention to detail can get people to care about a topic. However, I believe that positive imagery creates a better emotional response that negative imagery. The African American community has spoken out about the fact that quality of representation matters as much if not more than amount of representation. Positive depictions of cultures in entertainment media has a real world impact on how cultures are perceived. 

But positivity cannot be forced. It needs to come from genuine care. (If you yourself do not possess empathy, but want to make a game that produces empathy in others, that's going to be an uphill battle.) False positivity comes off as creepy and agenda driven. Positive depictions rooted in real cultural practices invite viewers to "imagine others complexly" to quote John Green. Then the next time viewers are presented with an aspect of that culture, they will remember the positive associations they already have about the culture. In other words, I love the cover of Wingspan, so I'm making a donation. (This is a made up scenario; flycatchers aren't a threatened species.)

Lots of the things we "love" are just feelings of nostalgia for what we remember. Games are great vehicles for creating nostalgia— we make happy memories with people we care about. What better mind-state to introduce people to topics that need more empathy, like marginalized groups or threatened species? 

I'm not saying that negative depictions don't have a place. But especially for marginalized groups, negative depictions (in this case, negative refers to depictions of victimization or villainy or stereotypes) can be actively harmful,  particularly when created without input from the groups in question. Having empathy means not trying to speak for or over others.

Having a deep appreciation for a culture leads to attention to detail, which in turn helps foster appreciation for that culture. Even if the culture in question is birders. 

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

Thoughts on Sustainability

One of my pandemic hobbies has been to watch environmentally conscious YouTube videos. I've found channels dedicated to climate change, channels that break down the issues with recycling, and channels that look at the environmental footprint of various materials. I'd like to apply some of the things I've learned to board games. 

First off, we can't determine a material's sustainability by only looking at its end-of-life OR by only looking at the materials used to produce it. We have to consider both, plus emissions from transportation. And from my limited knowledge, transportation is probably the biggest environmental problem in board games (see DW Planet A link below for more about shipping). Shipping from China all over the world in container ships is industry standard but it's not good for the environment. So, in an ideal world we would have local micro-factories that could produce components and assemble games for each region you would otherwise ship to. Obviously, that's a huge shift that comes with a host of problems logistically. (Counterpoint: we already do localization for games; this would just take it a bug step further.) But local manufacturing is what I think would be the most sustainable (probably even after a swift to all electric transport). For now though, the lighter the components, the fewer shipping emissions (an argument in favor of sometimes using plastic). 

Then there are smaller steps that are happening now. Reducing or eliminating plastic wrap packaging is a good goal, provided the games arrive safe and playable. Losing inventory is possibly worse for the environment than thin plastic is, because of the energy required to replace it. I would say though, that papertape sticker tabs would be more environmentally friendly than plastic stickers (most stickers and tape are non-recyclable plastic). The less there is to throw away in a game, the better for the environment. But if something needs to be tossed, it would be nice for it to be biodegradable. I'd also like to see board game companies include 'how to recycle' instructions in the game box. 

Ideally, all paper products would be recyclable and made of recycled materials; wood components would be made from certified sustainably harvested wood; and all metal or plastic components derived from recycled material. If you want to do a really deep dive though, you need to consider inks and finishes. A plastic layer on paper goods can be sort of separated from the paper, but only the paper gets recycled using current methods. Inks should be produced by companies that aren't pumping pollution by-product straight into rivers (actually, that goes for all factories). Additionally, the longer components last, the better for the environment. The board game resale market is one of the most sustainable things about the hobby. (Because print-and-plays cut out global shipping, they are fairly sustainable as well.)

When looking at manufacturing companies, there are a number of certifications (like Certified B Corporations) that let you know that a company is actually doing the environmentally positive things they say they are. Other terms to look for would be carbon neutral or carbon negative. 

Some things I don't think are sustainable in the long term: 3D printers on a large scale (unless you're running them on renewable energy, you reuse the excess filament and miss prints, and you ship locally), non-replayable/resellable games like escape room games, expansion FOMO in Kickstarters that encourages people to buy more game than they'll ever play, and 'table presence' components that lack game function. The 3D printer thing is largely based on how long they take to run compared to injection molding or laser cutting combined with current limitations on the materials they can use. 

I'm excited to see publishers actively exploring options for increasing sustainability. However, it's a long road and we won't get there if we stop at the plastic wrap. The first step is increased awareness at what true sustainability would look like. I recommend checking out these YouTube channels: Gittemary Johansen's Impact of videos, Our Changing Climate, and DW Planet A. 

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

The Secret Sauce

Every game idea is an egg that, given effort, can hatch into a fully playable game. Not all of these games will get (or need to get) published. Every designer is capable of designing bad-to-mediocre games. But spending time on a design that will never transcend mediocrity can be a waste of time and effort (depending on your design goals). How do you figure out which of your designs has the greatest potential to succeed? 

If you're still in the idea stage, you don't. You don't know how a game will play out until it's been played. Get some notecards, a pencil, a dry erase board and marker, and cubes from the nearest copy of Pandemic, and make a prototype. Play it by yourself and then with other people. Make improvements. Eventually, you will have a playable game. Should you keep working on it? 

The truth is, knowing when to abandon a game is an important skill. But in practice that skill looks more like a deep understanding of what makes a game publishable.

The first question I ask myself with a new design is: "Does this game excite me?" If the answer is no, hit pause on that game and work on something else. If you aren't excited by your own ideas, no one else will be. I get excited about different aspects of different games: the theme, the mechanics, the table presence, etc. But I have to have something that I'm invested in, because that usually ends up being the selling point of the game at the end of the design process. 

The next question I ask myself is: "Is this design a step forward for me?" In interview after interview, designers and publishers have said variations on the idea that whatever their latest game is is the best thing they've ever worked on. It doesn't matter if it's objectively true; it needs to feel that way to you. Something about your game needs to feel better than what you've done before. This is similar to my first question and is also about my investment level in my own design. It's also about approaching game design with a mindset of discovery and growth. 

Later in the process, I focus on finding the hook. A hook is what makes a game interesting before you play it. It's a single sentence that 'hooks' players into playing the game. Games will change during the design process, and sometimes that means the hook will change as well. I need to pay attention to what resonates with playtesters and lean into that if I can. If I can't locate an interesting enough hook, my conclusion is that, until I can, my game would not be very marketable. If my game looks and sounds too much like a dozen other games on the market, I will probably abandon it because I don't need to put that much effort into something that already exists. 

Before I even think of submitting to a publisher, my game needs to excite my playtesters. A game isn't finished when it's playable. A game needs to generate interest and excitement with playtesters, especially ones who have played it before and want to play again. Friends and family don't count here. Playtest with gamers, designers, and your target audience. 

When I've taken a game as far as I can with regular playtesting (including playtesting with other designers), I make an effort to playtest with publishers.  Sometimes this looks like submitting a game to a publisher for their consideration, but I don't recommend that as a first step. There are a lot of small publishers (who are also designers) at conventions and protospiels (including online events). Get at least one to play your game. Developers are also a good option, but I like the cold dose of reality that a publisher brings to a playtest. If your goal is to have a traditionally published game, at some point you need to seek out serious critical feedback. My biggest redesigns are always after conversations with publishers. Publishers know how to get a game to become a product. 

Sometimes I develop games for months before abandoning them. You can't always tell right away which games are worth pursuing. If my game excites me, excites playtesters, and works as a product with a marketable hook, that's the secret sauce. That's when I would shift gears to pitching (or self-publishing). At any step along the way, I might shelve or abandon a game. My goal is to identify and move past mediocre games so that I can put my effort into the games with the greatest potential. 

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

Being Better Playtesters

I want to talk about playtesting as a designer. No, not your game; other games. A lot has been said about designers who derail feedback sessions with suggestions that attempt to redesign the game on the fly. In my experience, those instances are outliers. (But, you know, don't do that.) Usually, I can expect 50% or more of players to barely provide feedback if at all. This post is for that 50% and anyone who wants to become a better playtester.

Let's start at the beginning. Ask before you play. Ask what genre of game a designer has brought before sitting down at the table. Ask how long the playtest will be. Don't put yourself in an unhelpful situation. Your job as a playtester is to be useful. You will not be useful if you need to leave halfway thru the game or if you hate the type of game being presented. I generally avoid 2-player card combat games (of any flavor) because I have no experience playing them and don't really care to. However, I will sometimes approach a game if the designer is specifically looking for unexperienced players. Usually, these playtests only involve rules explanations and a couple of turns, which is more reasonable since I don't care for these types of games. (And yes, hint to designers: low investment playtests for noobs are a good idea when testing rules and icon clarity.) 

Once you agree to play a game, take notes.  I recommend taking notes on your phone. It's always with you, and you can delete the notes after. (I recommend using a notebook for your own games though, so the notes are all together and chronological.) At the beginning of a playtest, I often pose questions in my notes: "Will X become a problem?" "Does Y work how I think it will?" I also tend to be very brief: "Card draws- confusing." I can generally remember what I meant when feedback starts. Writing for too long can slow the game down in some cases, so it's better to be brief. Taking notes helps track your experience throughout the game, including the rules explanation.

When feedback starts, state your biases and competences. Do you tend to like this type of game? What are your strengths as a playtester? For example, I always let designers know that I'm better with early ideas and late stage polishing, but I'm not great at math and balancing. However, I'm a good test case for if your rules overhead is too much for a gateway+ gamer. (I'm really bad at learning rules by being spoken at AND by reading them. I need a combo plus visual examples.) You should have at least some idea of when you give the most helpful feedback as a playtester and let designers know. This information should be presented as useful context (I've played a lot of this mechanic, so I was already familiar with the basic rules.") and not obnoxious braggadocio ("I'm so over deck-builders so I didn't have fun, but I can totally make your game better than all of those other games."). 

During your feedback, address problems before suggestions. Identifying what's not working is a good skill to hone as a designer, and playtesting is a great time to build that skill. Try to categorize each of the problems: UX, rules complexity, imbalanced strategy, edge cases, etc. A lot of times, a game's rules and experience are being obscured by confusing implementation (or a poor teach), and as designers we should be able to identify if the problem is a rule or bad iconography. 

When it comes to suggestions, offer paths to solutions. For my own games, I tend to ignore playtesters' suggestions in favor of simpler solutions that achieve the same results, and I expect other designers to do the same. As a result, I tend to point towards the experiences I was hoping for but that didn't occur. Sometimes, there are obvious ways to get there, and in those cases I will tell the designer what I think needs to change. (And I have had well-known and respected designers do the same to my games. Which flys in the face of "don't give suggestions" as a general rule.) More often though, I will say things like: "I was looking for a bigger risk-to-reward scenario, but I don't know how you could get there," or "I really wanted the gems to mean something thematically, but that's up to you." The goal of this kind of feedback is to set the designer up to get inspired and explore the problems in a deeper way after the playtest is over. 

Address practicalities and limitations, especially when playtesting digitally. But tailor your feedback to the stage of design. If the design is at the 'throw everything at the wall' stage, the designer probably isn't all that concerned about the cost of dice. Still, throw a comment in about it, but it can look more like: "When you get there, you need to consider streamlining your components." Also, address the target market. Just because I would prefer all games be designed with me in mind, doesn't mean my feedback needs to be only about my preferences. It helps if you are aware of lots of games and can point the designer towards examples of games to research even if you aren't a fan of those games. (Top 10 or top 100 lists can help you get familiar with a lot of games very fast. Those lists usually hit on the main mechanic and unique trait of the games mentioned. They can be great for finding lesser known games from which to draw inspiration.) 

Unless you would buy the game right now, don't focus on fun and boredom. As a designer-playtester, I limit my adjectives to what I find interesting and exciting (or not interesting and not exciting). I never ask designers if they had fun playing my game because I don't care if they did. They weren't playing to have fun; they were playing to find flaws. Better questions to ask: Where did the game feel slow? Did you want one more turn or one fewer turn? Were you invested in what you were doing? You can ask these questions of yourself as you playtest, as well. Don't forget to take notes about the answers. 

Mention what worked. I don't get worked up about the ratio of good-to-negative feedback as a playtester.  If you're giving quality feedback, most designers will want to hear it. So, positive feedback (ideally) isn't about making a designer feel better. It's about convincing them to preserve what is already working in the game: "These are the parts that work; don't change them." Sometimes the beating heart of the game is located in a different place than where the designer thinks it is. Talking about what you liked helps a designer find or confirm where the core of the game-experience truly is. 

I've only ever had one truly negative designer playtest. Far more often, designers are either too nice or have nothing much to say at all. And if that's the case, then why playtest? I need my game improved more than I need to hear nice things. The great part about becoming a better playtester is that you can model the behavior you want to see and hopefully contribute to a more productive culture of playtesting. 

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