Final Class Reflection

Before this class, I thought about games mainly in terms of systems—rules, code, balance, and mechanics. I loved playing games, and I was already developing my own, but I often approached design like solving a technical problem. I saw games as puzzles to be built for others to solve. What I hadn’t yet realized was how powerful, emotional, and personal games could be when designed with deeper intention.

Throughout 247G, I prototyped physical games, narrative experiences, and systems of hidden roles and emotional tension. I built Code War, a social deduction game that introduced innovative roles and rules. I also worked on The Vessel, a narrative sci-fi horror game about infection, memory, and moral ambiguity. Through these projects, I learned that design isn’t just about fun or polish, it’s about asking: What experience do I want to create? What emotional journey do I want to invite players into?

Several class concepts changed how I see game design. The MDA framework helped me understand how mechanics ripple into dynamics and, ultimately, into player emotion. “What Do Prototypes Prototype?” taught me to design with questions in mind—not to validate a product, but to explore possibilities. And Shira Chess’ feminist lens on play made me reexamine who my games are for and what kinds of stories they center. These readings stuck with me because they challenged me to consider not just what a game does, but what it means socially, ethically, emotionally. I tried to implement this by designing mechanics that support narrative stakes. In The Vessel, I tied dialogue options to emotional states and unreliable memory. In Code War, the ghosts aren’t just flavor, they shift power dynamics in a way that supports the themes of surveillance and misinformation. These weren’t just features—they were expressions of my design intent.

I also experienced plenty of challenges. Balancing complexity with accessibility was hard. I often fell in love with a mechanic before realizing it confused or overwhelmed players. Playtesting forced me to let go of ego and listen. Sometimes, I discovered players were reading a moment very differently than I intended. At first, that felt like failure, but I learned to treat it as a gift. Those moments revealed what the game actually was. I grew as a designer by becoming more empathetic, more curious, and more willing to iterate. I now think of game design as a conversation with the player, with the world, with the stories we tell, and the systems we live in. It’s not just architecture but choreography.

If I keep working on games, I want to design more slowly, more thoughtfully. I want to build with care. Our narrative game The Vessel only covers the events of Day One so far. Because of time constraints, we couldn’t tell the full story we had envisioned. I don’t just want to finish The Vessel because it’s unfinished. I want to keep working on it because I believe in the emotional experience it can offer. I want to give space for each character’s story to unfold, for the consequences of early decisions to ripple through later days. I want to keep experimenting with how unreliable narration and player memory can be turned into gameplay. This class taught me that good games take time—not just to build, but to understand. They need space to breathe, to shift, to be reshaped by the people who play them. Moving forward, I want to leave more room for that process. To listen more carefully. To ask better questions. To design not just systems, but experiences that linger.