Practitioner Knowledge

(This post serves as a rebuttal to some of the discussion around terminology in Ludology 278.)

How we talk about games changes based on our audience. General audiences need accessible language and the fewest specialized terms possible. For instance, the word 'drafting' does not appear in the rulebook for Sushi Go!. Enthusiast audiences tolerate a high amount of terminology, the acquisition of which is considered part of the initiation process. However, enthusiast audiences don't necessarily tolerate nuanced, under-the-hood process discussions. For instance, discussing whether colonial themes are appropriate narratives to keep returning to in new games is seen by a large section of this audience as "limiting the artistic process." (In my opinion, the problem here is showing the enthusiast audience part of how the sausage is made, rather than the whole process or not at all.) Academic writers and audiences use highly specialized terms that borrow from other academic fields and can be incomprehensible to non-academics. When we talk about games we should use the language that fits best with the audience we are speaking to.

The final group in our subset of gaming languages is practitioners. Practitioners are those who work in a field at a practical level. Practitioners exist between enthusiasts and academics. Enthusiasts receive many of their terms from practitioners, as do academics. However, practitioner language has a unique purpose. Practitioner language must be practical, precise, and internally consistent. Academics can define terms to mean certain things in different papers. Practitioners don't have the luxury of listing their definitions every time they use a term. Practitioners must also be more precise than enthusiasts. Overtime, practitioner language can become as incomprehensible as academic language, only more specialized because it serves a single field. 

Sometimes this means that practitioners will rename words that are in common use elsewhere. For example, in theatrical lighting the word 'lamp' refers to what non-practitioners would call a 'bulb.' At the same time, it is common for theatre sets to have floor and table lamps onstage. However, those lamps are usually referred to as 'practicals' (or practical fixtures, i.e. a light source that is visible to the audience). Specialized fields use their own names for the things they work with even if those things already have commonly used names. 

As board game design develops as a practice, terms will evolve to be more precise and to meet the needs of the practitioner, in this case the designer. As a result some terms will change, some will be created, and some will be discarded. This is normal, especially in specialized artistic fields. As texts are written, many of these words will be codified. A shared language enables practitioners to do their jobs efficiently and with as little confusion as possible. 

When I write about definitions and concepts on this blog, I am writing to the practitioner. Neither consumers nor academics need to know the difference between an associated action and a metaphoric action. On the other hand, practitioners need to know precisely what is meant by theme, immersion, resonance, and simulation—all terms that are currently used to mean a wide variety of things. Selecting a single practitioner definition (and creating more terms to fill in the gaps) is not arrogant; it is practical. It is also inevitable. (Trust me, you don't want to say 'light bulb' in front of a theatre lighting person.)

We need to be more clear about who our audience is (and by extension what type of information they have access to) and tailor our language accordingly. But we also have to develop our language as practitioners. Language shapes knowledge. The more precise words we have in our shared language, the more our knowledge can grow. 

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

How Research Informs Theme

Why research theme? Shouldn't gameplay be prioritized over theme? I usually spend at least several days researching theme early in my design process. My research helps shape my intended core experience which informs how my core loop develops. While researching, I always find ideas better than anything I could invent. But in the interest of actually writing a full post today, here are four more ways research will have a positive impact on your game. 

Abstraction

The predominant argument against extensive thematic research is that games are abstractions, and as such they cannot present very much in the way of thematic detail, especially mechanically—so why bother spending valuable design time researching? However, abstraction from lack of knowledge conveys ideas more poorly than abstraction from knowledge of a subject. Abstraction is the removal of details in order to present a more simplified representation of a concept. Knowing what details to preserve and which to remove requires an understanding of the subject you are abstracting. I prefer Bang! to all other social deduction games that I have played in part because it does the best job at evoking the theme, both subject and setting. Yet few people would list Bang! if they were asked to list strongly thematic games. The thematic experience is effective but not extensive; the theme works because of which details are preserved in a fairly simple game. 

Verisimilitude

Familiarity with your theme enables you to add the small flourishes that make the game feel grounded in something real. Attention to small details will make your game world feel as though there is a fully formed world that exists beyond the constraints of the game. This is especially true for players who have some prior knowledge of a subject. Players may not notice every detail that flows smoothly with a game, but if there is something that sticks out to them as wrong they will fixate on that detail. Keep in mind that a world you invented will most likely still have elements that exist in reality. Some of my favorite fantasy authors have gotten more mileage out of using obscure but real details than made up ones. Likewise, many sci-fi authors are well versed in space/technology design and research in order to present some plausible elements alongside less plausible ones. Research within genre media can also be important. If you want to play into tropes or against tropes, you have to know what the tropes are. 

Emotional Knowledge 

When you are familiar with a subject, you can better judge how lightly or seriously you can present it. Understanding the emotional content of a subject requires more than just cursory knowledge. You have to know the subject well enough to understand how knowledgeable players will feel when they play your game. Most people will forgive the details you sacrifice to the abstraction of gameplay as long as the game 'feels' like the theme. Playtesting can help reveal the experience a game will provide, but is limited by the demographics and proclivities of your playtesters. Cultural consultants can help, but awareness of pitfalls at the beginning of a project will be useful both to you and any cultural consultants brought in later in the process. 

Resonance

Resonance is familiarity plus unexpectedness minus chaff. Verisimilitude covers familiarity; abstraction covers chaff. That leaves unexpectedness. Research can reveal delightfully true details that will make your game more memorable by their inclusion. For example, I found a list of real Victorian charities to use as flavor text in Deadly Dowagers. The names were far funnier than anything I could come up with and felt more appropriate to the setting because they are contemporary to the setting. Instead of using flavor text to display my own cleverness, I creatively curate details that shine a light on all the wacky, delightful things that already exist in the world. 

Yes, you should research your theme. But you should research with an eye for design. Learn how the people closest to the subject matter feel about it. Learn enough of the details to know which to leave out and which to leave in. Make sure to leave in some of the most memorable details, even if they only make it into the rulebook. The amount of time spent on research will have an outsized impact on your final product. 

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

Ways to Express Setting

Two weeks ago, I wrote about setting in a more mechanics forward way. This post expands upon that one by exploring the types of thematic elements to be considered when expressing setting in a game. 

The key to a good setting that is integrated into a game is research. Unfortunately, you can have a research degree in your theme and still not know how to express those details in your game. Design is the process by which we curate which details are expressed and in what way. Setting is a very broad term that can be broken down into a few more specific categories. Not every game needs every possible expression of setting, but hopefully thinking about setting in a variety of ways will help you to come up with more immersive, thematic solutions during the design process. 

Setting as a Physical Place

Geographic location can be shown via maps and illustration or thru the types of actions and resources available. A house will be illustrated differently than a mountain but will also provide a different environment for players to interact with. Maybe a necessary resource isn't found in the location where the game takes place. One way to show that would be to have that resource only available thru purchase rather than collection. Different locations will also have different accumulations of natural phenomena. While laws of physics don't change, natural forces will be more present or less present in different locations. Game designs may seek to capture temperature, precipitation, natural disaster, gravity, air current/wind, biome growth, natural selection, etc. in their mechanisms. The Coldest Night models severe cold thru negative effect cards, and most of the game focuses on building a fire without smothering it. Attention to the amount of thematic time elapsed within turns and between turns can make actions feel more grounded in reality. Some actions may take longer to accomplish than others; actions that require more time mechanically should also require more time thematically (and possibly vice versa). 

Setting as Anthropology 

Settings that contain intelligent life forms will be impacted by those life forms even if they are not represented in the game. Petrichor has players controlling clouds whose stated purpose is to water crops, specifically, as opposed to plants more generally. The existence of crops (and, in an expansion, cows) provides a setting where human farmers are active participants in the life cycle, even if they are not depicted in the game. Where intelligent life has an impact on setting, there are a number of ways that can be represented. History, like geography, can permeate illustrations as well as mechanisms. On the illustration side, shiny new buildings deliver a different concept of history than ruins do. On the mechanic side, knowing your setting's history can help tailor the rules to give a better sense of why things work the way they do in this setting. Games with combat especially benefit from having a sense of why the conflict exists, of what is worth dying for. Local laws or politics also add justification for certain rules, but in turn can add immersion by implying there are in-world lawmakers behind the rules. Even if you are playing as the lawmakers, older laws or traditions could impose restrictions on how you must act. Traditions are one aspect of cultural mores. Cultural mores are social guidelines that are enforced by a particular culture. Cultural mores could include religious practices, acceptable dress, food taboos, good manners, etc. Many laws are universal across cultures, such as prohibition of stealing, but cultural mores are distinct to a specific culture. Representing cultural mores or values in some way helps your setting feel like it belongs to a specific culture instead of using that culture as window dressing. 

Setting as Artistic Expression

Setting does not have to be simply a realistic representation of the physical or cultural traits of a location. Setting can be stylized for emotional effect. Time, as artistic expression and not realistic simulation, can be used to give a sense of urgency or calm: the pace of the gameplay is a major component of a game's emotional atmosphere. Color choice and line quality are aspects of illustration that convey atmosphere. Being able to communicate what kind of atmosphere your setting has is important even if you aren't a visual artist. For example, you may need to give guidelines to an illustrator that the art should have muted colors and flowing lines, or dark, saturated colors and sharp, abrupt lines. Those instructions leave plenty of room for the creativity of the illustrator but they each convey very different atmospheres. Genre tropes can provide shortcuts to conveying atmosphere thru illustration or thematic labeling of actions and resources. By presenting familiar tropes, you provide players with clues for what to expect from the experience of play. The relative intensity of gameplay creates an atmosphere for the game that will either work with or against your setting. Tight and tense mechanics provide a different experience than cozy and breezy mechanics. The setting can reinforce the experience of the mechanics or it can mitigate that feeling (e.g. Root) or it can provide commentary on the type of experience provided by the mechanics (see below) or it can feel mismatched and lead to player dissatisfaction. 

Setting as Commentary

Setting can never be totally divorced from the cultural context of the audience that is consuming the media. Setting a game in a particular time and place will convey meaning to players, often in the form of subtext. The Grizzled works as a commentary on war because it is set in a particularly horrific war that is also far enough removed in history that no one alive today fought in it. The intended audience is also familiar enough with WWI that they can jump right in with limited explanation. The commentary is fairly surface level (war is more sad than fun), thus not risking misinterpretation. Some games present certain themes as good in order to point out that they are bad, to mixed results, especially if the game lionizes particular behaviors. In other media, settings can be metaphors used to comment on contemporary issues. Board games are only beginning to explore satire and commentary, and I am unaware of a published game that makes a point about something different from what the game purports to be about. (The play The Crucible, for instance, is set during the Salem witch trials but is a commentary on McCarthyism.) I anticipate that over time board games will expand more into the territory of intentional commentary. I wouldn't recommend new designers start at this point. However, it is important to acknowledge that the hobby is filled with games that are unintentional commentaries in which perspectives they elevate and which they ignore. 

This is the kind of work, the sorts of considerations, required when we so off-handedly say, "Just integrate the theme with the mechanics." In addition to story structure aligning with game structure, we also must give our settings enough touchstones to provide a sense of place: geographical, anthropological, atmospheric, or metaphoric. While it sounds like a lot of work, really what you will be doing is imagining the world you are trying to evoke and limiting some of your design decisions to options that best evoke that world. Most of what I write is just a detailed exploration of ways of imagining solutions to design problems. That's really what design is: imagining possibilities, curating ideas, and implementing the best ideas into the whole project. 

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

The Female Power Fantasy

Here's a post that's outside of my usual fare. I've had this one in reserve for awhile, and I'm no longer ahead on posts. This is not directly board game related, but here we are. 

I'm fairly sure that anyone who has seen a Marvel movie has a pretty fair idea what a male power fantasy is. The handy-dandy thing about the MCU is that we even get different flavors of male power fantasies in the same movie, cf. The Avengers. There's the super strong and indestructible version of the male power fantasy, the super smart and rich version, and the otherworldly superpowers version. Or a combination of the above, as seen in later movies. (I'm taking for granted that every version of the male power fantasy is fit and handsome.) These characters seem different on the surface, except for all being ridiculously handsome, but they largely have the same goals and ambitions. At its heart, the male power fantasy is about dominance over antagonists and achievement of ambition. You can also throw in protection of those weaker than the protagonist, but that only applies to certain heroic MPFs. Power fantasies can, after all, also take the form of villain characters. 

This makes sense, because power fantasies are about having/gaining power. But they are also about how characters use power. And often MPFs are about gender stereotypes, or at least archetypes. For the male side that means strength, charisma, and success. But what do female power fantasies look like?

I did not have a lot of success googling 'female power fantasy.' The few forums that discuss such a thing are filled with people denying that there is a difference beyond gender of the character. In other words, female power fantasies are just male power fantasies that have been gender swapped. I'd like to put forward a different idea. 

I was two years into developing Deadly Dowagers before I finally realized why women enjoyed playing it as much as they did. But looking back on all the playtests I had, I came to the conclusion that the theme of the game was appealing in a way I didn't design it to be: it was a power fantasy. And not one that relied on strength or intelligence or charisma. Instead, the female power fantasy of Deadly Dowagers is that of self-determination. Characters are given control over when to start and end relationships and how they spend their money. That doesn't sound like much, but take a look at domestic violence statistics and you start to realize that women aren't looking for dominance so much as the ability to make their own decisions free of consequence or interference. Of course, in story-telling, we often see traits taken to illogical extreme for effect. As a result, one of the most enduring FPFs is the American musical Chicago, a story of women getting away with murder. Outside of murderesses, female power fantasies tend to look more like Rey Skywalker or Carol Danvers—heroes who look like MPFs on the surface but who are driven by a desire for self-determination over the male expectations imposed on them. (Incidentally, I think that trait has made these characters misunderstood by their respective fandoms. It doesn't help that, yes, the writing involved could have been better.) 

I think it's probably an indictment of our society that when we imagine the kinds of women who achieve total self-determination that the only ones we can think of are magical, indestructible space-women and criminals. But from these existing FPFs we can glean a few lessons. One is that FPFs require resonance with the real experience of women. Not every female super hero is a female power fantasy. Some really are just gender-swapped MPFs. (And there's not really anything inherently wrong with that, except some lack of depth and resonance.) Female power fantasies must be grounded in the experience of what it means to be coded female. 

Another thing we can learn about female power fantasies is that a lot of the resonance comes from subtext. Regardless of what you think about Captain Marvel as a movie, it is undeniable that women resonated with the final confrontation in a way that men didn't, because women understood a lot of what wasn't said in that scene. This is a point in favor of diverse story-tellers, because resonant subtext all but requires lived experience. 

Lastly, in order to be a FPF, it must be important to the story that the main character is a woman. As in, if you changed her gender the story would lose resonance and not make as much sense. And here we finally can tie back into board games. There are very few board games with female playable characters that have both good representation and a story that requires female characters. Board games are still largely telling stories from the same perspective they always have, but sometimes we change the art up a little. (My joke is that everyone knows that spaceship crews are required by galactic law to have exactly one female crew member.) I have perused some lists on BGG and by my count the number of games that meet my added criteria of women being necessary to the story is in the single digits. On this blog I have alternately called for more specificity and more abstraction. To quote Jason Perez, I want more stories, not fewer. I'm not saying that gender (or any other aspect) should be integral to every future game theme, but that sometimes it should be. 

Now take everything I said and apply it to other marginalized groups. We can tell complex stories via game design. They look different from traditional narratives, but that just means they require more care. 

If we want to grow the hobby, we need more resonant stories from diverse groups of people. If we want thematic representation, we need characters that are more than just re-skins. If we want better stories, we need to be aware of resonance and subtext. 

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

On Setting

In previous posts, I have outlined ways of looking at plot and character in board game design. This post is all about setting. Remember that in board game parlance, theme encompasses both subject (characters performing actions, more or less) and setting (the context for the actions). 

Setting is often expressed solely through art, which makes it very easy to change during development or for later editions. However, I want to look at some ways to think about how setting can be expressed more deeply in a game. The following are the concepts that I lump under the category of setting that can be represented in a game design: geographic location, laws of physics, passage of time, history of location, local laws and politics, cultural mores, emotional atmosphere of narrative, genre tropes outside of plot, and any other forms of context that inform the narrative. 

First, let's take a look at how components are typically used to express theme. Boards are large and static as far as components go, which is why they are effective to represent locations. The action of the game is done on top of the board, within the location. Tiles are a go-to for locations that are undergoing drastic change during the course of the game (or variable locations). Cards and tokens are often used to represent people and items— things that can move/be moved around a location. Dice are generally abstract, which makes them well-suited to representing non-physical elements such as actions. This isn't prescriptive; feel free to explore other thematic uses for components. Consideration for how components can express the characteristics of what they represent is important in a well-knitted theme, however. Using components to reinforce the rules of the world grounds the game in its setting. Using components in ways that are unintuitive can unmoor a game from its setting.

Setting can be expressed in a simulationist way, a stylized way, or an associated way. (This is similar to how I break down types of thematic actions.) Elements of setting can be presented as simulations through using the game rules to provide similar boundaries and affordances found in their real world counterparts. For example, moving vehicle pawns down a road drawn on a board would be simulationist. One form of stylized presentation is hierarchic scaling, which presents more important information in a larger format. In our example, roads that are more frequently travelled would be drawn to be larger. Another form of stylized presentation is fantasy (i.e. not reality). A fantastical way of presenting roads would be to ignore distances in favor of portals that move pawns instantly from one point to another. Obviously, some game mechanics will have that type of instantaneous movement even if the setting is a realistic one. This is a case where understanding how theme can be expressed helps you make decisions in what your rules represent. If a theme is realistic but all the mechanics lean more into stylized representation, then the game will feel more abstract and disconnected from the theme. If you include one or two simulationist mechanics, the theme will feel more grounded in reality. Lastly, associated mechanics are ones that are merely labeled thematically, but are totally abstracted. Tracks are a common associated mechanic. 

Which style of mechanism you use depends on what you want your rules/mechanics to convey. (Conversely, how you theme your already existing mechanics depends on what you want to convey.) Rules can convey physics— movement, speed, gravity, etc— via simulationist mechanics. Rules can convey societal values via simulationist or stylized mechanics. Historical laws can be represented by simulationist mechanics, but social mores could be evoked through mechanics that provide the same emotional feeling as living in the society depicted. Societal values can be conveyed through how open or restrictive the rules are, whether the game is cooperative or competitive, which resources are the most expensive, and what goals the game presents to the players. 

Rules can act as a cinematographer, framing the experience, building and releasing tension, and providing a structure for the story of the game. Rules can also be expediters, providing quick check points then getting out of the way of the narrative. Most thematic games have some of both. Knowing what your rules convey and what they can convey helps you guide your design to a more thematic experience. 

Integrating the setting of your game into the mechanics is harder than integrating plot and character. There is a lot more nuance and artistry involved. Real world settings require research and often cultural consultants. (NB: Fictional themes may also require cultural consultants.) In real or fictional themes, setting done well will add texture and depth of experience. Relying on art and flavor text for setting ignores a number of tools that can add richness to your theme. 

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

Central Thematic Metaphors

In the (next to) last post, I mentioned visual metaphors within component design. Strong metaphors in game design can bring a theme to life. Metaphors do not need to be visually expressed, but metaphors with a visual component add richness and verisimilitude to the gameplay experience. 

I focus my early design process around a central thematic metaphor. Each design has only one central metaphor, but that metaphor develops and becomes more complex as the game develops. A central thematic metaphor is the non-negotiable part of a game design for me. I can change every last mechanism, but as long as they express the same core idea and feeling then I am still making the same game I set out to make. A central thematic metaphor is similar but distinct from the concept of designing for the intended experience. You can do both at once, however. 'Intended experience' is what we want our players to feel while playing. A central metaphor is a more cognitive expression of an idea that ties strongly to an object or activity. For example, my set collection, opera writing game (working title: Operetta) intends for players to feel the frustration and pressure of trying to get a song just right, with the focus on the emotions matching the theme. The central metaphor is gathering ideas to build a draft of a libretto. The metaphor focuses on the actions and components of gameplay and the intended experience focuses on emotions. I am more likely to change my intended experience than my central metaphor as the game develops, because, for me, the metaphor is where the game lives. 

Central thematic metaphors are mechanically expressed. A strong metaphor permeates the design process and filters into the mechanics, even if the original metaphoric concept was more 'curb appeal'-based. In the example above, the verbs 'gather' and 'build' guide the types of mechanics I need in my game: card/resource collection and some sort of crafting/deployment. Negotiation or other high-interaction mechanisms would pull the experience away from what should be an individual endeavor—having and synthesizing ideas. Central metaphors are useful when determining how pieces move, rhythm of play, amount of player interaction, and complexity and difficulty of gameplay. 

I contend it is easier to make a metaphor central to gameplay than an emotion. Action verbs and concrete objects (like a manuscript) are easier to generate ideas around. The emotion of an intended experience acts more as a guidepost as the game develops. I can check the latest version of my game against how I intend it to feel using playtester feedback. However, it is possible for me to make the game more in line with the intended experience while also making it less thematic. The central thematic metaphor helps keep the theme present as the game develops. If the game really needed changes that took it away from the theme, I would look at changing the theme in order to maintain a strong metaphor. I don't do this in my own designs, however. If I can't get mechanics to work with the metaphor I have, I generally shelve the design. 

My interest in thematic metaphors is largely why my games' themes so far have followed my interests and hobbies. It's easier to ground your theme in a metaphor if you are pretty familiar with the theme already. Otherwise, research is your best friend. Research themes you might want to make a game about. Look for an aspect of the theme that suggests some element of gameplay. From there, distill out a central thematic metaphor and intended player experience. That's essentially a design vision, and if you write it down you have a design vision statement. 

I know that's not how many, if not most, designers approach starting a design. But if you want to design a thematic game, I suggest giving central thematic metaphors a chance. 

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

On Rulebooks

This post is about rulebooks (or manuals, if you prefer) for purposes other than final publication. In other words, if you are done playtesting and planning on self-publishing, then your rulebook will need additional, vital elements that I may not mention about here or in my linked template. However, if you are doing blind unguided playtesting, rulebook playtesting (more on this later), submitting to a contest, or submitting to a publisher, then I have some thoughts for you to consider. 

First and foremost, and this goes for all rulebooks, ever, including future printings of published games, put an icon glossary in your rulebook. List every symbol and what it means. Lists of components are de rigueur, but I rarely play games that tell me what the symbols mean. I judged 25 games for Cardboard Edison's contest this year, and none of the games had an icon glossary. Even if you think your icons are obvious, list what they mean. Dragging icons into a word document is not hard. If you have no other images in your rulebooks, still have the icons. (Keywords are consider icons for the purposes of this discussion.)

Prioritize being professional and usable over being clever. This dictum could apply to every aspect of the process, but here it means that your rulebook should be a rulebook. It should look and flow and be usable like a rulebook. If you try to make it look like something other than a rulebook, you will most likely compromise the usability. For instance, if your rulebook is laid out like a novel or a cookbook or an Ikea manual, your players/readers may have a harder time looking up rules questions. Do not make the rulebook a friction point in your game. Additionally, your writing should be clear and free of excess adjectives. Don't use the words fun, unique, or exciting in your rules. Don't use your rules to describe how you hope the players should feel. Don't put fluff in the rules, except as icon/component/action names. Fluff should only be added in after the rulebook is deemed usable and should not detract from usability. (If you are a UI/graphic designer professional, go nuts. You should already know where the boundaries are.)

Use an A/B mindset when writing rules. An A/B mindset just means to think "if A then X, if B then Y." A lot of rulebooks, even of published games, either are incomplete or feel incomplete because they fail to mention contingencies. Every time you write a rule also include a contingency rule for the opposite case scenario. If the rule is "draw a card," make sure that you include a rule for if there are no more cards to draw. Maybe the deck can't run out in a game, in which case you don't need the contingency rule. I see this most often in pass/fail rules. Designers will include what happens if you succeed in an action but not what happens if you fail. Leaving out these rules leads to players guessing what to do in a game. That's bad. We want to eliminate players guessing about rules. I consider a lack of contingencies mentioned in a rulebook to be an incomplete ruleset. Incomplete rules communicate incomplete mechanics. (This is especially bad when submitting to publishers or contests.) Writing a rulebook can also help you clarify how your mechanics work, in case you didn't have rules for certain things. So, pay attention to contingencies. 

There are a number of rules exchanges available through fora. Many contests also function as rules feedback on rulebooks alone. I think that 'playtesting' your rulebook is a quick way to get mechanics feedback without having to set up formal playtests. I would suggest approaching rules exchanges for mechanics feedback, not just rules clarity/copyediting. I am sure every designer is capable of giving feedback on a game without playing it. 

If you are just playtesting your rulebook, you can get away with imperfect formatting and a certain amount of incompleteness. If you are submitting to a publisher, your rulebook should be worded in a way that could be published as is, with enough icons, diagrams, and images included as necessary for the publisher to play without you there to explain. Treat contests like they are publishers in your level of professionalism expressed in the materials you submit. 

If you need a template to get you started on rules, I am a big fan of Pencil First's rulebooks, or you can use my template and change it to suit your needs. 

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