The Anatomy of a Theme

Designers often think of theme as this one thing that gets layered on top of mechanics. I would argue that theme has number of ways it is expressed and that different types of games employ different expressions of theming. 

I divide theme into three main segments: thematic illustration, thematic setting, and thematic mechanics. Thematic illustration involves using representational art to make abstract games more visually and emotionally appealing. Thematic setting refers to the paragraph in most rulebooks explaining the connection between the illustration and the game. Thematic mechanics are game mechanisms that reinforce the thematic setting and help players make sense of the rules by providing a justification for play. 

How much theme is required for a game to be thematic is an area rife with debate. No mass consensus has been reached on the exact definition of an abstract game. However, many people have described loosely themed games as “essentially abstracts.” These games usually have thematic art and a paragraph in the rulebook explaining the setting/story of the game. Thus, in order to feel thematic, a theme must be more than a justification for why a game has certain art assets. Thematic games require the theme to be reinforced by and have bearing on the mechanics. Games feel themeless when they have abstract  mechanics, even when they have thematic illustration and a thematic setting. Seikatsu is an example of a game that has thematic illustration and a justification for gameplay (to be the player with the most beautiful garden view), but the mechanics of placing birds and flowers for best point combos has no bearing on the theme, and the bird scoring method even undermines the stated thematic goal (i.e. point-of-view no has bearing on bird scoring). The thematic goal (have the best view) somewhat aids players in remembering how end game scoring works, but does not provide a justification for the draw-one-place-one mechanic. 

Theme only exists experientially when setting is used to make sense of mechanics, no matter how loose the connection. Great Western Trail feels thematic (as far as heavy euros go) because the movement of pieces across the board echos the movement of historical cowboys and cattle across the US, amongst other thematic ties.

Oftentimes, a game will have thematic setting and illustration that are seemingly well-executed, but combine with the mechanics in a jarring way. Many games that purport to be about exploration, adventure, or terraforming end up actually being about managing corporations, stocks, and profits. Heavy euros fall into this category so often that I won't even bother listing specific examples. I don't mind a good economic game; it's the bait and switch that bugs me. This is referred to as ludonarrative dissonance. 

Similarly, other games mismanage expectations by overselling the theme. Nomads is a creative little set collection game that tried to oversell its storytelling theme (and its world-building) to a degree that some were off-put by the abstraction of the mechanics. I quite enjoy it as a game, but the point stands about not overselling an experience that your game does not provide. Again, this occurs because the setting and illustration (title and cover art are big offenders) don't fully match the experience of playing the game. 

Thematic mechanics cannot oversell or jar players with cognitive dissonance; by their nature they are both thematic and are how the game is executed. And as we have seen, thematic mechanics are where most players experience the feeling of theme. However, in order to build an even greater feeling of what I call "thematic transportation" some games will add evocative theming, scripted narrative, and simulative actions. 

Evocative theming encourages engagement by providing relatable or exciting themes that stimulate the imagination. Thematic settings that tell a brief compelling story are more evocative than those that simply invoke a certain genre of theme. For example, "Viking women on mission for revenge" is more evocative than "Vikings raiding a coastal region." 

Scripted narratives leverage the elements of narrative transportation, providing world details that encourage players to ‘enter’ the world of the game. Scripted narrative may appear as thematic setting, chapter breaks (similar to cut scenes in video games), or flavor text sprinkled throughout the game. Games with scripted narrative tend to feel the most cinematic, but are difficult to design because of the amount of detail included to avoid feeling abstract while still feeling like a game. 

Simulative actions are thematic mechanics that are so closely tied that performing the action creates the sense that you are actually carrying out the simulated activity. A great example is the hybrid game Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes. However, even more traditional games contain simulative actions. Sheriff of Nottingham has characters lie about the contents of their carts by having players lie about the contents of their bags. The primary difference for the players is that the lying is socially sanctioned within the bounds of the game. 

These last three are not found in every game with a theme, so I think of them as auxiliary to the first three aspects. None of the above aspects is an attempt to describe successful execution of theme, merely the way theme is presented in board games. 

I hope this exploration of the aspects of theme encourages you to look at theme as more than just a veneer of story stuck on top of some mechanics. Remember: theme is fun! Well-executed theme is an experience. Experiences create memories. 

Who Tells the Story?

One common debate in the board game design world is who tells the story: the designer or the players? How much of the story should be emergent and how much should be scripted? How much of the designer's job is making sure the players tell the 'correct' story? 

I have a hard time with this debate due to my theatre background. For me, this is like asking: whose job is to tell the story of the play- the playwright, the director, or the actors? This question is not a useful one for anyone working in theatre. Each has their own role in how the story gets told and retold over subsequent performances. 

Part of the problem may be that some designers attempt to tell a story the way a book would. This is not advisable (or really possible) because a game is not a novel. Another issue is that designers may not trust their stories in the hands of anonymous players. Let me just say, if you cannot trust your game in the hands of players, game design may not be for you.

But let's return to playwrights. What is it playwrights do? If you have ever read a play, it may surprise you to learn that often the stage directions found in published plays are not written by the playwright, but rather by a stage manager during an early staging of the work. Playwrights write dialogue. Actors and directors take that script and make all the decisions of where to stand and what emotions and actions to use in order to turn the script into a play. You do not have a play without all three roles. 

Sometimes, a board game designer fills the role of a playwright. Sometimes, she fills the role of both playwright and director- guiding more clearly where and how players are to move and think about their characters. Players are actors: they have the freedom to choose the actions and emotions that feel the most right in a given moment. The story will look similar from performance to performance, but will not be the same. 

Of course, game players usually have a greater freedom of choice and story direction than actors do. The game script is often an outline of choices for how to shape a story- much like an improv scene. Who tells the stories on SNL? The writers or the performers? That may depend on if you are asking a writer or an actor. (I can't find where I read it, but playwright Tom Stoppard once stated that the only thing he desired from actors was "good diction.") 

The problem, as I see it, is one of collaboration. In TTRPGs, writers are writing stories that are only completed or fleshed out when the module is played. That is the essence of TTRPGs, so the collaboration between author and player is expected. Perhaps there is less angst around TTRPGs because of the high level of improv or the expectation to deviate from the script. 

Let's return to the original question: who tells the story? I posit that the story is built as a collaboration between the designer and the players. Board game designers collaborate with artists and publishers, but also players, by anticipating how a design can be shaped into not only a product but an experience. A publisher has to agree on the premise of a "design as product" before they will publish a game. Similarly, a player must "buy in" to an experience in order to become a collaborator in the telling of the story of the game. 

Importantly, just because there is a secondary storyteller does not mean that a game designer is not still a storyteller or that she has no control over the flow of the story. Designers should not abdicate responsibility of storytelling. They have months and years to perfect their parts of the story; the players have an hour or two. The challenge a designer faces is to be willing to craft an experience to a certain point then relinquish control and let the ultimate outcome rest in the hands of the players. 

On Not Playing Ugly Games

If I printed out a pamphlet of board game design advice in comic sans, it would be unsurprising if many people threw it away without reading it. To many people, it is an ugly font, not to mention a lazy choice in how to display my information. Yet when some players state that they will not play ugly games, surprise abounds. I am a 'visuals-first' consumer of games and I would like to make my case.

I will not play games that make my eyes bleed. This applies to board and video games. This applies to art, graphics, and layout. If I do not find a game visually appealing, I won't play it; I don't care how good it is. I am not stating this as a virtue, merely as a fact. 

Good art reinforces theme and adds to the sense that actions have a purpose beyond getting points to win. Good art reinforces the atmosphere/mood of the game, deepening the experience of gameplay. Good art is a form of (visual) sensory pleasure (one of the 8 types of fun), which adds to the overall fun of playing the game. 

Good graphics are also pleasurable to look at. They reduce the mental load of game rules, allowing players to enjoy the dynamics of gameplay more fully. Good graphics and layout can also reinforce theme and prevent a game from feeling like filling in a spreadsheet. 

Good visuals are appealing; they draw people in while conveying what the game is about. Bad visuals are off-putting. Bad layout and graphics confuse and obfuscate game rules. Bad art misrepresents otherwise good games. Bad visuals feel cheap and lazy and amateurish. 

I experience a game first with my eyes. Ideally, the color palette and art style accurately represent the mood and theme of the game. Ideally, the cover art and the board/card art are in the same universe of tone and theme. I am tired of beautiful box covers hiding hideous-looking games. 

I find bad art to be visually distressing. As an artist, I am perhaps excessively sensitive to color combinations and line quality and the emotion that any art, good or bad, can convey. I get overwhelmed by games with lots of tiny boxes of information laid out in grids, the way many heavy euros are laid out. Not only does that visual trigger information overload, but the theme gets lost in the grid. The phrase 'secondary board' makes me shudder. Again, this is not a virtue; this is how I process information. 

Good visuals have clear advantages in making games appealing to players. I have never heard someone wish that a game was uglier. Gamers who are not artistically sensitive are not adversely impacted by playing games with good art any more than they are by games with bad art. But just because some players do not need good visuals in order to have fun with a game does not mean that players who are more visually-oriented are wrong. People are how they are and should be allowed to pass on games they won't find fun (for any reason). 

Since publishers are embracing games as polished-looking products, this is becoming less of an issue, especially as old games get nicer reprints. But the question still comes up online a lot, presumably from bewildered gamers and designers who don't understand why art is all that important. Hopefully, this is an adequate primer. 

My Design Aesthetic

I'm getting to the point in my design journey that I have a few elements that I will generally put in my designs and recommend to others when I play their designs. I would not call these my rules for design, just strong preferences in design execution.

1. I have an aversion to rectangles. I'm not talking about standard component shapes here. I'm talking compounding the rectangularity of standard components with graphics and arrangement of components to make rectangles upon rectangles upon rectangles. I adore the player boards in Quacks of Quedlinburg. But if you're stuck with rectangles, they need to be visually mitigated by art/color/graphics. Seriously, this is my number one thing to critique in prototypes. That may sound mean, but I am at my best as a playtester when critiquing game-feel over gameplay: theme, layout, experience, etc. 

2. "Theme is fun."/ "Art is fun." I like fun mechanisms. But that's no reason to deny your game the fun potential that comes from good theme or art. If you are shopping for a publisher you can still have designed space for the possible future art and convey what sort of style would add to the fun-ness of the game. It is not asking too much for the $60 box of rules and components that I bought to both look and sound fun when I am trying to convince my friends to play it with me. I use color liberally in my prototypes for a similar reason: I want to attract playtesters and publishers by using all the tools available to me, and color is fairly easy to add even if all you have is a ten dollar maker set and some sticker paper. 

3. Story should be motivated by mechanism. If a character is described as 'greedy' the mechanisms should back up that description. I hate hate hate the lore paragraph at the beginning of a rulebook that has no narrative relation to what is actually occurring during gameplay. However, I do want to know why your factions are at war with each other, even if the reason is outside the scope of gameplay. 

4. Verticality is good, but it's better if it's motivated. A game that has an example of both is Santorini. The dimensionality of the pieces is motivated by theme and gameplay. The dimensionality of the board is not motivated. Whether or not unmotivated verticality is worth the added cost of a game is a debate still playing out between publishers and consumers. However, verticality that feels required by gameplay adds so much more to the experience than simply adding extra plastic or cardboard. 

5. Obfuscated scoring mitigates a number of 'player problems.' I really like not being sure who is going to win until the end of the game. I like pulling out a few hidden objectives and trouncing my strategic-gamer husband. I like it so much that most of my designs obfuscate scoring in some way. 

6. Card or tile flipping appeals to my sense of kinesthetics. I like the motion of flipping things over. I like revealing a new game state with a motion. I'm on my third design where this is a primary mechanic and I'm not bored with it yet.

I may have a few more, but these are ones I return to over and over. Again, this is just how my brain works and I, by no means, see this as a complete set of aesthetic rules. Rather, this is my design bias that I have chosen to lean into. Knowing your biases as a designer doesn't always mean avoiding them; sometimes it means leaning into your strengths to develop your artistic voice. 

Breaking the Rules

Probably the number one rule of writing or art is that you have to know the rules before you can break them. Part of knowing the rules is understanding the purpose of each rule. When you know the reason a rule exists, it becomes easier to know when to break it. 

One of the most cited Rules of Board Game Design is "rush to prototype." Producing a 'minimally viable  prototype' ensures that your game idea is worth pursuing before sinking hundreds of hours into iterations and playtests.  Of course, the minimum amount of what you need to test an idea varies widely from design to design. Another rule is to not spend time on art, but instead focus on core gameplay. (The immediate corollary is that publishers are only human and will be influenced by prototypes that are visually appealing.)

In reality, 'rush to prototype' and 'don't worry about art' are different codifications of the same concept: make a game that people want to play before worrying about anything else. Most of the 'basic' board game design rules boil down to this. The 'rules' are attempts to explain how to do this in a way that will work for most designs. However, much of the standard advice requires accompanying paragraphs to explain why a certain rule exists. We need to rework the 'rules' for clarity, much the way we would a game manual. Here's my proposed list:

Proposed New Basic Rules Of Board Game Design:

1. Make a game that people want to play before worrying about anything else.
2. Physically make a game, not in your head. Reality and theory often don't match.
3. Do not spend more than a month making a game before attempting to play it, although less time is better.
4. Play the game you make before adding or changing anything. 
5. Prioritize clarity of gameplay over theme/art. 
6. Play your game with other people. Often, if possible. Take notes.
7. Iterate your game with the goal of making other people want to play it. 
8. At some point, making your game look nicer is what will make other people want to play it. Your game still needs to be good regardless of how it looks. 
9. You need to love your game and still be willing to let it grow into something beyond what you first imagined. This may include publisher re-themes. 
10. Don't expect to recoup any money you spend on prototypes, etc. 
11. Consider the manufacturing cost of publishing your game before pitching with regards to components. 

That being said, I think that designing games primarily for yourself, as a hobby, means you can do whatever you like. Not every hobby needs to be monetized. 

I break a number of these rules with my designs that have garnered publisher attention. I spent far too long working on a prototype for my game that has 128 double-sided tiles. However, that was after a solo proof-of-concept with colored glass tiles that I knocked out the same day I had the design idea. I spend longer than I need to on finding free art and graphics for all my early prototypes. I am a theatrical artist, so some aspects of design are just fun for me and I make no apologies. My style lends itself to making visually appealing games that I then work toward making play well (which I don't recommend to others, although I know Ryan Laukat has admitted to this "flaw" too). Lately, I've been working a lot on flavor text for a design, but that is mostly due to the fact that my regular playtest group is suspended right now. 

This leads me to my point about breaking the rules. That double-sided tile game I mentioned above? I made it to be my "art game" (think art house cinema) to show off what I can do without regards for publish-ability. It has too many components for the weight of game it is. The set up takes too long for the length of gameplay. And yet I have had two publishers contact me about pitching it after they heard about it on Facebook. The takeaway here is that really good ideas are worth more than flawless gameplay. But I know that if I'm breaking Rule 11 (128 tiles, after all), I need to be better about the rest of the rules, especially when it comes to quick iteration. Breaking one rule can make you a visionary; breaking all of them makes you obnoxious. 

Learn the why of the rules. Then break the rules. 

"How did you meeples meet?": Relationships in Board Game Design

Humans are social creatures. Relationships of all types, good and bad, are essential to the human experience. One of the chapters in Backwards and Forwards caught my attention by the lack of representation in board games: “Customs, styles, politics, laws, tastes, and almost everything else change from age to age, period to period. But something we know intimately changes little: relationships among family members.” (David Ball, Backwards and Forwards, p. 85)

Family relationships are rarely present in board games. Family connections can be found in quite a few games, but the dynamics of relationships are not explored. Frequently, families are used as a twist on resource management, like in Agricola. Historical games may use women as a form of currency. Most often though, family connections are merely flavor text. Gloom is merely a set of odd characters having a bad time. 

Friendships are also largely absent from board games. Instead, players are likely to be asked to join factions or create a political or strategic alliance. These relationships are transactional, lacking the narrative implication of an emotional connection. 

Players are usually asked to see their characters in terms of what occupational role they fill, which is usually connected to the mechanics of play. Even social deduction games follow this axiom; any relationship leveraging occurs in meta-play. Games are seen primarily as systems still, which prioritizes systemic-style content like military and political organization. 

Relationships are perhaps seen as the purview of TTRPGs, which have time to develop nuanced characters and narratives. What would relationships add to board games?

Relationships are something all humans understand. Including relationships adds a level of context that short cuts the route to emotional engagement. Compare the dramatic difference between two rival leaders going to war and two brothers raising armies to fight for control of a kingdom. Simple relational details can propel a theme from overdone to compelling. 

Relationships give verisimilitude. Regardless of how fantastic your world-setting is, relationships will make the world feel lived-in. Players may not understand the hierarchy of different classes of character, but will instantly understand the dynamic between older and younger brothers. 

Relationships can be leveraged for interesting mechanics. Board game design has not seen a lot of this. I think friendship mechanics would look different from alliances. Perhaps instead of a restriction on when and how alliances take place, friendships could be with any other player but require another sort of strategic compromise, like trading the actions available to each friend on a given turn. Betrayal in a friendship context has the possibility to add drama over breaking an alliance. 

Relationships do not have to be positive. Revenge and betrayal are much stronger when 'it's personal.' 

Ask yourself, who are the characters in my game world? How are they related to each other? How do they feel about those relationships? How can I leverage those relationships for more compelling social dynamics between my players? 

Phew, I made it through the whole post without once mentioning Fog of Love. I should probably play that at some point. 

Connecting Actions and Narrative: A Look at "Backwards and Forwards"

I recently read a book that's been on my shelf for a long time. Backwards and Forwards: A Technical Manual for Reading Plays by David Ball is a step by step approach to script analysis. As I've stated before, script analysis is a useful tool when looking at board game design. Crafting a good story is important not just in the lore of a game, but also within the emergent narrative of gameplay itself. Today, I'm summarizing some of the main points in Backwards and Forwards and applying them to board game design. Quotes in italics are excerpts from the book.

On Actions
"Action occurs when something happens that makes or permits something else to happen." (p.9)
Backwards and Forwards begins with an analysis of what constitutes an action. Actions are caused by triggers (the first event) and result in heaps (the second event; the result of the action). An action requires two events in order to be an action: a cause and a result. In board games, we can use this definition to cover game actions and narrative actions. Mechanically, each action has to have a reason to occur (the trigger) and an effect (the heap). Players should feel that the mechanics are connected and do not simply occur unconnected from the rest of gameplay. Narratively, actions should feel motivated by the story. Players should understand why two characters are trying to kill each other (the trigger) and what the result will be if one succeeds (the heap).

"Each trigger leads to a new heap. (Each event causes or permits a second event.) ...But now the heap, the second event, becomes a trigger: a new first event of a new action." (p.12)
Each action must make sense and progress to future actions. Players should be able to see a clear line of their choices during gameplay that leads to their success or failure. In themed games, mechanics must progress the story as well as the game. A mechanism might work well but still feel out of place due to the theme.

"Only when we look at events in reverse order can we see, with certainty, how the dominoes fell, which fell against which." (p.15)
Once there is an end to your game, narratively or mechanically, work backwards to ensure every action serves that end. This prevents parts of the game not directly connected to the win condition from proliferating. Additionally, you can avoid having the early parts of gameplay feel rote or unnecessary by working backwards through your game and stopping where the actions stop being meaningful.

On Narrative 
"First the playwright presents the world in stasis....And for a play to begin, there must be an intrusion....Stasis comes about at the close of the play when the major forces of the play either get what they want or are forced to stop trying." (pp.19, 20, 21)
Each action has a cause, a reason for that action to be taken. Which means the first action in a game must have a reason for occurring. The story must have a reason to begin. Any lore before the game starts must make sense within the context of the beginning of gameplay. If the lore feels unrelated to the beginning stage of gameplay, players will not understand why they are playing. Ideally, exposition should describe the state of the world just before the first action in a game. Similarly, a game's ending should make sense. Victory points are fine, as long as there is a reason the game ended when it did (such as a time track, etc). Ideally, the intrusion that starts the narrative rolling should be related to when and how the story ends. Note: if the lore of what happens before or after the game sounds more fun that the actual gameplay, players will feel cheated. The most interesting parts of the story should occur during gameplay. Otherwise, you are including a companion short story/novel not lore related to the game.

"Dramatic conflict...is the force that drives the play from action to action." (p. 31)
"[A] play's conflict is between what someone wants and what hinders the want: the obstacle." (p. 28)
Any game with a goal and an obstacle has conflict. This is different from violence or aggression. If a game causes players to overcome obstacles, even if it is non-competitive/non-scoring, it has conflict.

There are four types of conflict:
"1. Me against myself.  2. Me against other individuals. 3. Me against society. 4. Me against fate, or the universe, or natural forces, or God or the gods." (pp. 30, 31)
Conflict in games looks like player vs. player, one vs. all, player(s) vs. game, etc. Other types of conflict could include players vs. time, or even players vs. having to be creative under pressure. Make sure that the conflict present in your game is the conflict you intended. Do this by examining the goals and obstacles in your game. There will be many different types of conflict, varying by the variety of mechanical and thematic actions in the game. Some of the types of conflict present may not feel right in the overall context of the game. By examining your conflicts, you can identify which are outside the intended experience of the game. 

"A forward is anything that arouses an audience's interest in things yet to come." (p. 45)
"A forward is any of a myriad of devices, techniques, tricks, maneuvers, manipulations, appetizers, tantalizers, teasers, that make an audience eager for what's coming up." (p. 46)
"Sometimes the promise of the forward is not fulfilled.... [T]he effect of the forward is the same: the audience has been maneuvered into paying close attention." (p. 57)
Any action, event, phase, or resource not available at the beginning of the game should be used to increase player engagement by keeping them excited for what's to come. Space Base's multi-tier market is a great example of this. Players can see expensive items long before they can buy them. These elements can help build tension through to the end of the game. A good game should tell an interesting story (even if it's an abstract game). 

"Not only do forwards keep us interested, but forwards focus attention where the playwright wants it." (p. 47)
By holding some things back, designers can redirect the attention of the players to certain strategies or narrative events. Timing is important not just from a balance standpoint but from an emergent narrative one. 

"[C]haracter in drama is revealed in one way: action, that which a person does—deeds." (p. 60)
"Action results from what a character does to get what he or she wants (motivation) in spite of obstacles." (p. 62)
"Description must be validated by examination of action." (p. 63)
I don't care how much you insist on a particular narrative in your lore, if it's not born out in gameplay it's not the actual story of your game. For instance, I am a big fan of Scorpius Freighter. The lore states that the players are smugglers. The game plays like 'trading in the Mediterranean in space.' The 'bribes' could easily be taxes. Other than flavor text, no part of the gameplay indicates that what you are doing is illegal. Perhaps the smuggler theme is more desirable from a marketing standpoint, but from an artistic view, it feels pasted-on. Honestly, most games are guilty of this on some level. In which case, any game that bucks the trend and matches a lore description to gameplay experience will automatically be ahead of the curve. 

Honestly, there's more I could go into, but that's enough for this post. Check out the book if any of this intrigues you. 

Backwards and Forward by David Ball is available here.