We are now well past two solid decades of creating interactive entertainment for commercial markets. If some hurdles have yet to be surmounted there’s still a great deal we do know about the design and execution of various genre types, and this knowledge should — at least in theory — help us hold down costs and avoid making the same stupid mistakes again and again.

If you don’t know about id Software they’re one of the storied companies in interactive gaming. Led by tech wiz John Carmack, id defined and dominated the first-person shooter genre with games like Wolfenstein, Doom, Quake and others. If there’s anything to be known about how these games work and don’t work — and how the technology behind these games can most effectively be mated to design — that knowledge should have so permeated the culture at id as to be part of its DNA.

In keeping with its fetish for cuddly titles, id’s latest first-person shooter is called Rage. GameRankings.com pegs the aggregate review score at about 80%, and most review sites are giving it 7 of 10. Not bad as these things go. But what, specifically, are the complaints?

Here’s Jim Rossignol from RPS, prefacing his final take:

What this is really about is how I feel after playing Rage, which is a feeling not uncommon to gaming throughout the ages: the feeling that the options a game presents are actually an illusion.

Now, what you need to know here is that this is A) a problem in all mediums and B) the single biggest problem in interactive entertainment. Every storytelling and entertainment medium must protect itself from outside intrusions, internal inconsistencies, and technical failings. If you’ve ever been engrossed in a movie when the projector fails you know what I mean. If you’ve ever read a novel where the author leaves a critical logical thread unresolved you know what I mean. If you’ve ever had a moron behind you at a concert sing along, off-key, with the performer you paid to hear you know what I mean. In entertainment there is nothing more important than maintaining the illusion of whatever experience you’ve created.

In interactive entertainment this obligation is magnified by the fact that the audience has expectations that literally cannot be fulfilled. What every interactive user wants is full-blown, AI-driven language, plot and character interaction. This is the famous promise of the holodeck, and its academic spawn. Unfortunately, that’s never, ever going to happen. So everything that logically spills from that incapacity — including audience expectation — has to be anticipated and managed from the get-go. And everybody knows this.   Read more

If you’re curious about interactive fiction, RPS has a post up about the 17th Annual IF Competition. As game-crazy and hardcore as RPS is, if they think it’s worth posting about it’s worth reading.

I never clicked with interactive fiction. I’ve got nothing against it and I know a lot of interesting work has been done with the form. I can never ignore the wires and limitations and get lost in the stories, but that’s my baggage — and a good share of it comes from knowing too much about the limitations of merging stories and interactivity.

Take a look and decide for yourself.

– Mark Barrett

Over the past thirty years or so, as computer and video games have become more mainstream, basic assumptions about the design of interactive entertainment have changed. In the early days, when the majority of the market was hardcore, designers aimed for more hours of play per title because longer games were in demand. (They often did so by rigging games with impossible battles and repetitive chores, but the demand for long games was real.)

Fifteen years ago or so the demands of the market began to change. Consumer research showed players in the aggregate preferring shorter and easier games. While hardcore gamers still existed, they now made up a much smaller percentage of a market that included casual gamers and people new to computer-driven entertainment. Presenting these customers with 100+ hours of hardcore (if not also tedious and unfair) gameplay made no sense, and ran the risk of alienating them from the industry.

Like mountaineers determined to cross another peak off their list, hardcore gamers tend to finish games no matter how grueling the experience. It’s a badge of honor and a way to differentiate themselves from the masses. Casual gamers, on the other hand, tend to explore interactive works like tourists, following their whims and interests for a few hours before heading back to the hotel for a nap. And according to a recent article on CNN’s Tech page, this sight-seeing approach is fast becoming the dominant response to interactive entertainment across all demographics:

“Just 10 years ago, I recall some standard that only 20% of gamers ever finish a game,” says John Lee, VP of marketing at Raptr and former executive at Capcom, THQ and Sega.

And it’s not just dull games that go unfinished. Critically acclaimed ones do, too. Take last year’s “Red Dead Redemption.” You might think Rockstar’s gritty Western would be played more than others, given the praise it enjoyed, but you’d be wrong.

Only 10% of avid gamers completed the final mission, according to Raptr, which tracks more than 23 million gaming sessions.

Let that sink in for a minute: Of every 10 people who started playing the consensus “Game of the Year,” only one of them finished it.

Computer and video games are not cheap to produce, and the best of breed — often called triple-A or ‘AAA’ titles — can be more expensive than big-budget films. Sinking previous development resources into a product most consumers will never fully experience might make sense if the expense was recouped through additional sales, but that’s a huge gamble in even the best scenario. Making the odds worse is the ugly fact that consumers are simply hard-pressed to find time to play and enjoy longer works.

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The Ditchwalk Book Club is reading and discussing Rust Hills’ seminal work, Writing in General and the Short Story in Particular. Announcement here. Overview here. Tag here.

Mystery is the first of three types of suspense that Hills analyzes, and I think it’s fair to say he’s dismissive of mystery as a technique. Despite my own life-long enjoyment of mysteries as a genre, I don’t disagree with his reasoning:

Stories where mystery is deliberately the method, and curiosity about the ending is the whole desired effect, are usually trick stories with wow endings.

Even as you may be bristling at Hills’ highbrow perspective, you probably know exactly what he’s talking about. Mystery can become an all-consuming, story-obliterating objective. As Hills himself notes, everyone has read a book in which the only reason for turning the page sprang from a singular desire — curiosity — to find out the answer to a mystery. Works in which mystery is the “whole desired effect” cannot help be feel insubstantial, if not insincere.

Yet: like sex, mystery does attract attention in fiction. It’s often meaningless attention, resolved by some equally meaningless bit of cleverness, but it works.

To see the raw effect of mystery and curiosity, think about any magazine headline with the word ‘secret’ on it. For a certain percentage of the human species that’s all that’s needed to invoke curiosity, prompting the reader to investigate further. It’s simplistic, even idiotic, but it works.   Read more

More posts on feedback and workshops next week. Over the weekend, if you’re interested in interactive storytelling, here are a couple of items of interest….

First, a nice article from Mike Stout talking about game-design mechanics. Whether you’re curious about game design or interested in improving your skills, this article frames questions and answers relative to depth, which is a useful and appropriate context.

Second, a review of the storytelling in Starcraft 2, from Luke Bergeron, who thoughtfully omits any spoilers. I haven’t played the game, but over the years I’ve seen far too many product reviews like this. Twelve years after Half-life and we’re still stuck.

– Mark Barrett

Lots of people say what they think. Chuck Wendig says it the way he thinks it:

I ride you people pretty hard. I’m like an old man on the lawn, shaking his walker at you interlopers. “Get the hell offa my property! Quit screwin’ around!” Next thing you know, I’m thumbing two homemade rock-salt shells into the breach of a double barrel. Ch-chak. “Old Man Wendig’s gonna make Swiss cheese out of our backsides again! He’s lettin’ the taco terrier out of her hermetically-sealed cage, too! It’s like Jurassic Park, and we’re the goats in the T-Rex paddock!”

I deft you to find anything similar outside of a state-run institution.

But that’s Chuck. He’s got attitude to burn, and the writing skill to weld that attitude to a web page. If you want a little entertainment with your subject matter, you’ll get a feature-film’s worth at TerribleMinds.

(I can’t tell you if Chuck’s site is safe for work or not, because for all I know you run the Hell’s Angels Deli. Still, it’s a question you might want to consider.)

But here’s the thing. Chuck isn’t just entertaining. He also knows what he’s talking about craft-wise. He knows about writing, he knows how he writes, and he knows the difference. And that puts him in a pretty small camp.

So pick yourself out a pretty one of these, and one of these, and maybe $500,000 worth of this, and head on over to Chuck’s site. He’ll welcome you with open arms, as long as you’re cool with the pulled pin.

– Mark Barrett

You’ve undoubtedly heard this before:

I’m old enough now that I can attest to the truth of that saying from both observation and personal experience. The antidote, of course, is to recognize behavior patterns and interrupt them — provided you have the clarity of mind to do so. It’s not easy, and it runs against the human tendency to resist change and protect the ego, but it can be done. As is also often said, admitting you have a problem is the first step.

A related but much more insidious problem involves the repetition of behaviors over the course of generations. These generations may be literal, coming along every twenty years or so, or they may be developmental and occur with greater frequency. In each case, however, new generations are predisposed to repeat experiences precisely because they arrive on the scene oblivious to what has gone before.

There are two main reasons for the perpetuation of such generational blindness. The first is the failing of previous generations to pass along useful knowledge, or to make knowledge available and digestible in ways that are accessible and relevant. The second is the failing of new generations to recognize that a distinction must be made between what is new to them (as a group or as individuals), and what is actually new.

For example, at some point most people becomes fascinated with their own sexuality, often to the point of distraction. Yet no one would argue that this process for any individual sheds new light on the human condition, or represents a break from the past. Coming to terms with one’s own desires and biological essence is exciting, intoxicating, and so utterly commonplace as to be mundane. That such newness can feel transcendent to the individual or group is clear, even as it is demonstrably not new. (Without ‘going there’, try conceptualizing your parents or grandparents as the sexual being you believe yourself to be. Because they are/were.)   Read more

Who is Ken Rolston? He’s the guiding light behind The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind and IV: Oblivion. If you’re interested in interactivity, interactive storytelling (of any kind), and/or computer games as a career, you should play and understand Ken’s games.

What is narrative design? It’s a title that didn’t exist five years ago, back when I took a break from the interactive industry. At the time, the designer of a game was akin to the director of a movie, and that held true regardless of the type of interactive entertainment that was being produced. The problem was, some games were so heavily narrative — and some designers so completely unprepared to control and author a narrative experience — that game-centric designers started becoming a detriment to the final products they were producing.

Narrative designer as a title recognizes the fact that putting a story-centric game together demands particular skills — just as does game design and art design and architectural design (level building). A narrative designer handles the storytelling in an interactive work, either on their own, or by directing a team. If you’re interested in narrative design, you should be interested in what Ken Rolston has to say.

Speaking of which, here’s Ken on consistency, one of the most important aspects of interactive design:

Filling a game’s world with appropriate content that sets the tone — in-game books, artwork, maps, signs, languages, and so on — is paramount to crafting consistency and believability.

“The best thing you can do is find artifacts that feel in the mind like they’re touchable. They’re evidence of another world,” Rolston said. That extends to every corner of the design, even the fonts used in the game.

More from Ken here, including an awesome PDF of his recent talk at the Montreal International Games Summit.

– Mark Barrett

You’ve probably never heard of this game, and even if I gave you a copy you probably don’t have a Super NES in your closet to play it on. If you did, however, you’d get a first-class lesson in storytelling for the video game market. A lesson I assumed was lost to the always-receding hardware horizon.

Today, however, I ran across a wonderful write-up and analysis of Chrono Trigger by Michael Brannan, who was participating in a contest in association with the IGDA Game Writers’ SIG. Here’s a sample:

Chrono Trigger’s story is a massive, sweeping story that spans a world consisting of several kingdoms across five distinct time periods (not counting the Day of Lavos in 1999 and the End of Time). In a nutshell, Chrono Trigger follows Crono’s journey through time, beginning the morning of the Millennial Faire celebrating the beginning of the year 1000 AD and follows Crono and the allies he meets on a quest to stop the Day of Lavos from occurring in 1999 AD.

If you’re interested in interactive entertainment, or in the history of the industry, or you were lucky enough to play Chrono Trigger back in the day, take a look. In an industry that often can’t be bothered to remember yesterday’s games, let alone the techniques that made them great, this kind of reference work is shamefully rare and desperately needed.

– Mark Barrett

Whatever you think about interactive entertainment (commonly referred to as video games or computers games), and whatever you think about the long-term potential for interactive storytelling, there is one critical and indisputable difference between interactive works and all other forms of entertainment. Movies, books, television, theater and even live-action sports are all witnessed, while interactive works are participatory.

This may seem like an obvious point, and perhaps even trivial, but it isn’t. It’s not only central to what makes interactive entertainment compelling, it’s a revolutionary change in the relationship between entertainment product and intended audience. Because players/users make choices instead of witnessing other people’s choices, the meaning inherent in an interactive work is heightened and intensified, both personally and culturally.

To see this clearly, imagine any gripping or emotionally-charged scene you’ve ever experienced in a passive form — a great moment in a novel, a thrilling scene in a film. Now translate that experience from one you’re witnessing to one you’re participating in. Instead of reading about the gunfight, you’re shooting. Instead of watching the heroine slip past the mob, you’re doing the sneaking. Instead of witnessing Sophie’s choice, you have to make Sophie’s choice.   Read more