I’ve always just been a person who plays games for fun – if a game isn’t fun, it’s not worth playing. That being said, I’ve always tried to find the fun in games, and actually, find the fun in everything! Everything could be a game, I told myself. Classes, homework, tests, social interactions, they’re all different types of games, or they can be. As a result, everything can be fun.
As sobering as the following realization may be, it is unfortunately true: not everything can be a game, and not everything can be fun. Games have rules, objectives, other players, resources, etc. When any of these aspects falls short, the game is broken and it’s not really your fault – though it might feel like it sometimes. I’m not going to say I’m the best game player ever, or that I know everything about game design; I don’t think anyone can truly be that knowledgeable. If they were, what’s the fun in knowing everything about games, leaving nothing to discover? Play is spontaneity and anticipation. It’s strategy combined with luck and stakes. You play the game, but you don’t know if you’ll win, even if you play your best. And you should be okay with that.
Well, sometimes you lose… and it doesn’t feel okay. Maybe you didn’t understand the rules, maybe they weren’t explained correctly, maybe you didn’t know what resources you had, or maybe you didn’t even know what your objective was. A good game designer should never put their players in this position.
I worked with two very different sets of people this quarter; through them, I learned how people can make assumptions about their players that could be wrong. How if you keep iterating on a concept, it really can get better and you’ll be glad you stuck with it. How you can build a game for your players, not just for yourself. The core of game design that I took away is: doing is learning. Practicing is learning. Playing is learning. To design, you have to do and do again. So I did. It wasn’t always comfortable, or painless, but I did. I learned that there are games out there I can’t convince myself to like because… they’re just not good games for me. The mechanics aren’t compatible with the aesthetics and objectives, the narrative didn’t make sense, the complexity was too much for too little enjoyment.
I came into this class with an exact idea of the types of games I wanted to design – heck, I came in with complete visions of games that I hope will exist in 3-5 years because I would have made them! I didn’t make them here, I ended up making games that I never thought I would, in categories that I rarely play. But there were learnings that I discovered I can apply to any game I hope to make. Players need incentives. There’s no intrinsic and extrinsic here; if you want a player to explore an aspect of your game, you have to give them a reason to want to do it. Players come into a game with very different skill levels; it sounds like common sense, even if you’ve only played games with other people and never designed them, but it’s true. Designers need to account for some levels of deficiencies in their players – to a certain extent. Narratives map onto mechanics; if the narrative doesn’t make sense, the mechanics might not either.
I learned what I tend to value in a game – logic, creativity, a clear connection (perhaps a narrative) incorporating all the resources, players, and objectives into a single whole of a game. As such, I tried to include little pieces of myself in my games: authenticity to the story, complexity, an immersion, and wit.
The next time I try approaching a goal, I know how to set myself up properly as a player who knows the rules. I can design my goals like game objectives, and do my best to win.
