Before the class, I thought this:
Before taking this class, I was a passionate gamer (practically all my free time went to gaming!) and a “self-proclaimed” game designer. I am truly passionate about game design; I have read theoretical books and completed internships in the field. My mind was always full of brilliant game ideas, but embarrassingly, very few ever turned into actual projects—just two or three small video games, a murder mystery game, and a few board games. I attribute this stagnation to three core factors:
- Technical Limitations: While I enjoy coding, I am not a Computer Science major, and I hadn’t previously dedicated a significant block of time to mastering game engines.
- The “Art” Myth: I viewed games strictly as “artistic creation.” This gave the process a false sense of “sacredness,” leading me to believe I could only work when inspiration struck, rather than treating it like a job with a structured plan and step-by-step execution.
- The Perfectionism Trap: I love jotting down ideas in my notes app—I have over a thousand entries stored up. Yet, whenever I tried to organize them into a full design document or put them into practice, I felt a paralyzing sense of “not being ready.” Consequently, I fell into the cycle of endlessly revising my design documents instead of actually getting my hands dirty and building prototypes.
In the class, I did these things (that were particularly helpful):
If I had to summarize CS377G in a single word, it would be: Prototyping! Prototyping! Prototyping! If I could add one more, it would be: Playtesting!
I have taken game design courses before, but compared to CS377G, those classes missed the true essence of game design: Agile Development. There is a distinction between “Design” and “Artistic Creation.” If we strip away the mystique that art theory often assigns to “creation,” the core of “Design” is simply making something that is usable. Without user experience, “design” does not validly exist. Since user experience is a concept that is difficult to predict strictly through theory, the best approach is to turn the ideas in your head into a tangible reality as quickly as possible and start testing. The testing process itself holds a certain magic.
In the crucible of playtesting, I encountered a wide range of revelations. I found unexpected friction, such as the difficulty of teaching rules effectively and the over-complexity of system games, yet I also garnered unexpected praise—my interactive fiction piece received acclaim far beyond my expectations, with users finding moments of brilliance I couldn’t even fully explain. I witnessed the stark gap between my perception and reality, realizing that what I thought was the “most helpful” solution was actually the primary culprit causing confusion. Most importantly, I learned how to truly understand users and collect feedback by mastering the art of staying silent: resisting the urge to defend my work, and instead simply observing, interviewing, and surveying.
I learned this:
Centered around “prototyping” and “playtesting,” this class systematically shattered the three obstacles I had previously faced. First, regarding technical limitations, I must thank AI for enabling me to develop games through “vibe coding.” Instead of relying on standard engines, I challenged myself to build a new system from scratch. I realized that learning “technology” is like breaking through successive glass ceilings: by facing difficulties head-on and solving problems, my freedom increases. I stopped focusing excessively on the tech itself and instead merged it with my creativity. When my sword of creativity points somewhere, my “army” of technical skills must find a way to get there. Once that territory is conquered and added to my map, my creativity is unbound by yet another restriction. Moreover, witnessing my incredibly talented classmates—masters of music, coding, design, and literature—inspired me to keep pushing myself; as a Stanford student, I refused to accept “technical limitations” as an excuse.
Second, regarding the “Art Myth,” I realized this was tied to my background. My undergraduate environment (School of Psychology, School of Literature) emphasized “appreciation” over “creation,” often deifying artistic creation through theory, trapping me in a cycle of hesitation. CS377G deconstructed this “sacredness.” We had to build playable prototypes within a single class session and test them 48 hours later—tasks that sounded unbelievable before, yet I managed to complete them amidst the struggle. To achieve this, I practiced Occam’s Razor and MDAO, design tools that served as “spiritual midwifery.” I experienced what Hegel called an “upward spiral”: after smashing the sacredness of creation and starting to create in an unprepared, rough, almost “vomit-draft” manner, I entered a state distinct from mere daydreaming. In this state, I tried to regain order and master my tools, eventually finding myself closer to the Muse than ever before. The “sacredness” of art returned, but I had changed.
Finally, regarding the perfectionism trap, the solution echoes the points above: so-called “perfectionism” reveals a deeper imperfection, and the only cure is action. A video Christina played in class left a deep impression on me: we already have good taste, but there is a gap between that taste and our actual creative ability; the only way to bridge this gap is through constant practice. I also love the maxim from The Art of Game Design: “Your first ten games will be trash, so get them out of the way quickly.” Beyond using prototyping to break perfectionism, I found immense value in frequent playtesting. Previously, I only dared to test with friends, fearing that sharp feedback would damage my self-esteem, which was fragilely built upon my games. However, in this course, I experienced so much feedback—both negative and positive—that I gradually evolved into a cool-headed “data analyst.” Once a work is produced, “the author is dead”; I simply need to calmly analyze the feedback and optimize the work. My self-esteem should not be tied to the “current state of the work,” but rather, I should view the natural cycle of the work’s growth and my own self-growth through a growth mindset.
When I go to make games in the future, I will…
In the future, I will definitely continue making games. I will consciously apply the toolkit provided by this course in my practice, intentionally applying a bit of “pressure” and “sense of purpose” to my work, while sticking to rapid prototyping and playtesting. I believe this course embodies my interpretation of the “American Spirit” and “Stanford Spirit”: a scientific pragmatism paired with the courage to embrace uncertainty.
Finally, I want to thank Christina, Butch, and all my classmates—I feel that we have truly become a tight-knit group, and I was genuinely sad to say goodbye during our last class. I look forward to our paths crossing again in the future of game design!
