Designer Ego w/ T.C. Petty III

board games, pretentiousness, criticism, art.

[tcpettyiii]

Rolls Election - PNP Beta Files

Click here to download the PNP Files immediately.

The citizens of Ohio are tired of politics as usual and have decided to elect a loaf of bread as governor. But, not just any type of bread will do. It must be the bread that has the dough to best fulfill the kneads of the people.

You are rival bread manufacturers; bakers lobbying for your specialty bread to be chosen as the Governor Roll. But, you’ll need the specialties of each type of bread to succeed. Use your hard-earned dough to expand your business. Advertise your candidate to fulfill the kneads of the populace, and push them forward along the campaign trail. Roll for change. Roll for freedom.

The Magical Transforming Cube

The goal behind Rolls Election was to create an intricate Euro game system that used minimalist space-saving mechanics without sacrificing gameplay depth. What that means is, a 90 minute strategy euro game in your pocket. 42 cards, 75 cubes, 5 dice. 3 to 5 players!

To achieve this, I’ve employed several game designy master tricks (role selection, dice selection, hidden agendas, rondel, roll-and-move, area majority, commodity tracks, small font) to create a game that feels rich in strategy and offers multiple paths toward victory. But, most importantly, it uses one of my favorite game illusions, The Magical Transforming Cube.

In this game, cubes are tokens that represent anything and everything. Depending on where they are placed, they can be simple markers along tracks, or factories, or advertising, or votes, or buns in the oven. What I enjoy about this is that you have an opportunity to choose how to transform your cubes depending on your strategy that game. It also saves a ton of space.

The Game

Each round of play consists of players rolling their die and then secretly choosing a role from their hand of 5 identical roles. These roles are then revealed simultaneously.

Then, in clockwise order, when its your turn, you will choose a die and place it on your Role. This gives you a special bonus. If you choose your own die, well that’s great. But, if you choose another player’s die, they get to Follow your Role (take the action of the role you chose). The bonus being that someone else will have to choose your die and give you an extra action.

This little twist drives gameplay and the roles give you actions that allow you to interact with different strategic elements. Maybe you’d like to move forward on the Campaign Trail to gain secret votes and learn the Kneads of the people. Maybe you’d like to advertise in the different regions of Ohio and turn that advertisement into actual votes. Or maybe you’d like build some factories that give you special abilities for the rest of the game. The possibilities are endless as long as you don’t think about what the word endless means too much.

If you enjoy role selections games like Puerto Rico, Roll for the Galaxy, and Glory to Rome, and want a unique twist on the Role Selection mechanic, you’ll probably enjoy Rolls Election. If you want all that awesomeness condensed to a pocket-sized experience, then you’ll love Rolls Election. If you want all of that stuff and want it for free, then you will absolutely lose your shit for Rolls Election.

I would love to hear your feedback. Check the final rules page for ways to contact me and what specific feedback I’m looking for.

Download the files today. Read the rules. Play the game. Send me feedback. Never forget.

[tcpettyiii]

Global Versus Local: A Multiplayer Dilemma

One of the biggest lessons I learned from the development of Don't Get Eated is that giving individuals different special abilities is one hundred times more complex than having a single, weird, multi-faceted event that affects all players. Little cards or text that people can't always see from across the table versus one blob of text or pieces or art at the center of the table. Local vs. Global effects; knowing which to use could save your life.

GLOBAL V LOCAL

It seems to make sense from an anecdotal standpoint. If I live in Pennsylvania, and you live in California, why would you be concerned that my local municipality is experiencing an unseasonable amount of rainfall? I'm way over here and you don't care. But, if the US president suddenly declared war on Canada, we would both be concerned and attentive to the situation.

This is the concept of Global effects versus Local effects. And it works very similarly in the tabletop world of cubes and spreadsheets and cards that turn 90 degrees sideways to activate powers. The entire farce is very much about perceived space and how we relate to it or choose not to relate to it. It's an analysis of psychology not logic.

If I have two reasonable starting positions to choose from in a game, I'm generally going to choose the location that is closest to myself. Aside from efficiency of movement, we all tend to understand territory as some sort of invisible area of interest in our own physical space. People are more interested in the stuff that directly affects them or gives them an edge. And unless it is kept secret from them, they are much less interested in the stuff that other people have that doesn't directly interact with them on a constant basis.

Also, an interesting phenomenon in our world is that people tend to not vote in local, directly important elections, (or even care to research the vote) but deeply care about the national elections. An alien observer might be appalled by this behavior from a logical standpoint, but it makes sense. If I turn on the television or peruse the interwebbings, I'm not going to be bombarded with advertisements for local elections or the minor/major issues that matter to my zone of existence, personally. Instead, flag-waving and muckraking advertisements that endorse or decry a major candidate or champion a specifiic viewpoint on hot-button issues such as capital punishment or abortion, these are what I'm forced to confront each day.

In games, these are situations where a player is so engrossed in what is happening on the board, that they completely forget that they have a situational advantage that is specific to them. Or more difficult to remember, a disadvantage. Even when it's crucial or beneficial to remember, they forget because the action on a global level requires their attention. Humans are weird. We also know that their brains can handle multi-tasking, but not well. Too many distractions and they end up writing long game design posts instead of actually getting game design work done.

THE GAME

I didn't really think too much about this stuff when jumping into Don't Get Eated. I mean, obviously I didn't want to have a game with 9 players where people could just start playing random special cards from their hands, but I did want to mix up the simplicity of the stare-down and the "play a card with a number from my hand" mechanic. I also had experience creating VivaJava, which tries desperately to hold 8 people's focus for 90 minutes and never were the interactions of "special abilities" too complex that players complained. 

And, I generally keep things simple. If I can't explain an ability in under twenty words, I throw it out. The longest ability text in the entirety of Xenon Profiteer, a game that is what we like to affectionately call a card-driven "cards with words" game, is 13 words long. So, I had a similar mindset going into Don't Get Eated. Keep it simple. Let the abilities be the "spice" to add extra flavor to the game mechanics, not the driving force. All the abilities happened on the NEXT turn, to encourage strategy, planning, and negotiation, and they were all related to the most standard concepts in the game. I figured that since the main mechanic of the game was focused around sharing information and collaboration, this interaction would be the glue that made all these abilities a bonus.

But, I found out very quickly that while "it works," some portions of the game became clunky or confusing when a barrage of different ability cards hit the table at the same time. Even the simplest of concepts, things like "add +4 to your next card total" or "play your next card after everyone else has played" invited odd interpretations and timing issues that had to be ironed out with playtesting. Any time someone had a card in front of them that very clearly delineated what special ability they could use and when, players would forget or "miss" them or forget to activate them at the correct times. In a group game, those types of blundering, wonky mistakes take an entire first game to fix, and might not warrant a second play.

The point of abilities is to get players on an unequal playing field. It sounds counterproductive or unbalanced, and it is, but it's a specific design decision. Just like a bad "bidding" game is one that doesn't quickly give players important and individual motivations to win certain auctions, a negotiation game without the opportunity for using clout or leverage is bland. And because my game had negotiations, I made the choice to give all players asymmetric decks and starting hands. I had my game design heart in the right place and I still do.

The interesting thing, however, was that the challenge card in the center of the table could be really complex, and could have modifiers from a crazy spinning wheel and after one round of play EVERYONE got it. This global effect drew everyone's attention, whereas these powerful cards that other players could use as negotiation tools were treated as piddly afterthoughts.

I'm being especially critical because the general reception for the game has been very positive, but the phenomenon was odd to me at the time. Everyone perks up at an interesting global effect in a game. And everyone kind of shrugs their shoulders when someone else has a cool card they decide to play, because it's too much information too soon. 

My first inclination was simply to refine the wording on the abilities to make the timing more clear, but that was just a band-aid. I could see from the playtest reactions that while it made for a more consistent and homogenized game experience, that it didn’t have the great initial spark that made the first groups of playtesters really throw around compliments. It’s so difficult when you make incremental changes to a game. The rough edges melt away but some of that initial spark of brilliance is also shaved dull. I wanted tension and high-fives. I was getting slow nods of approval.

With Don't Get Eated, my solution was to start making the center of the table "Threat" cards increasingly complex and difficult. The threat card is read "out loud" by The Ringleader and all that "stuff" just focuses people's attention to it. I found that the more stuff and challenge I added, the more it increased negotiations between players, because of the exciting tension created by revealing a new threat. And when something super simple was revealed, it made those cards feel more special. Lumping everything into the middle of the table as much as possible made the group have a group experience.

And for the players, I made hard cuts. If an ability wasn’t powerful enough or was too confusing, it was nixed. This makes it special and significant when a player has a power to use and also lowers the barrier for newbies. And I'm still messing with the mix of ability cards, but trying to downplay them and decrease their frequency so that when they do appear, people are surprised and delighted, not annoyed and squinting across the table and shrugging. I’m probably going to cut more by the time I’m finished.

The main lesson from all of this is that multiplayer games benefit greatly from having a central focus where interaction between players occurs and minimal elements in an individual player's space that could potentially interact with other players. Complexity is also greatly reduced by eliminating open information, because if there is something to see, players will see it. Expert players will process that information and elongate the game. New players will exhale deeply, shrug and ignore this source of too much information, preferring to focus on the things that they can more easily control.

I appreciate more and more the simplicity of a concealed hand of cards. Concealing certain pieces of information, whether they have significance or not, just makes so much sense. It causes players to ignore those distractions and make decisions more quickly. And not only that, it creates a game "above the table" that makes players more concerned about what other players might be able to do, i. e. it creates interaction.

I even incorporated much of this knowledge into other games I’ve created since, such as The Lady with the Dog pictured above. In the game, I wanted to create an emergent gameplay sandbox at the center of the table and keep individuals focused on the puzzle. Each player has one face-up card that is revealed at start, while everything else personal is kept face-down. I even incorporated some Friedemann Friese “stack management”, so that players can plan out their individual tactics or affect the board by specifically discarding tokens and cards to the bottom of their decks. It keeps a cycle of planning that doesn’t draw attention away from the action at center. And that secret information makes it all the more intriguing.

FOCUS

In multiplayer games, being too reliant on open individual special abilities confuses new players, slows the pace of a game, and shifts the focus away from actually playing the game that's on the table. Multiplayer games work best when they have a strong central presence that affects all players in some way.

I guess if your game is all about action and has little to no puzzle elements, this might be okay (but I'm not interested). And don’t get me wrong, it is certainly a thumbs-up to use these types of abilities in a 2-player game with a ton of direct interaction. Cards with little 6pt text that can barely be read from two feet away really have their only chance to shine in these situations.

But the point is, be aware that people would rather talk about Mad Max: Fury Road than the price of garbage disposal services rising in their local area. And every time you emphasize that players need to pay attention to other player’s minutia, players either forget it, ignore it, or spend way too much time analyzing it. Multiplayer games should focus on the global ramifications of actions and avoid localized, specific, and individual actions that interject and interrupt the flow of gameplay.

Be true to the game’s focus. If the game is about manipulating your own engine and managing resources, that’s fine. But, make sure players don’t have weird ability-based negative interactions that become triggered at odd times and require everyone to lean over the table to look at them. The open information needs to be clear and not have a direct impact on others. If the game is about shooting each other up wild-west style or dudes on a map, then conceal special ability’s so that when they appear it’s a surprise and can be shared/used/explained with the whole group watching. If player’s do have special units, make sure they have nice physical representation on a central area so it’s immediately apparent that the thing there is special. For example,I know that when I recruit the Elephant in Kemet, everyone definitely knows I got a damn elephant, because boom that awesome figure is right there on the board and everyone can guess that he sure as hell does at least something cool.

Act Globally. Think Locally. It’s reverse of what the green advertisements would want you to do. Make players have decisions that impact other players on a global scale and avoid making local problems, global problems.

[tcpettyiii]

Don't Get Eated - Get PnP'd

Welcome to Don't Get Eated, a game of cute animals and SURVIVAL.

Here is a link to the PNP File if you're just here for that. Read below for more information on the game. It is your chance to be involved in the development of another awesome Dice Hate Me Games title this year.

The Goal of Don’t Get Eated is to survive ten evil encounters (Threats) in the wild that threaten to send you running scared back to the farm. But, the threats here are more than you can traverse alone. Luckily, you have a group of friends to help along. Unluckily, they’d rather win than help you.

Don't Get Eated is a large-group, coopetitive, social game for 5-9 players. Each player chooses an animal with their own unique deck of 11 numbered cards and tries to survive 10 Threats and become the Fittest animal to make it out in the wilds away from the farm. Each turn a new threat is revealed and players must simultaneously play a single card from their hand to beat the threat. If they play a number equal to or higher than the threat, they survive, but only the player or players that play the Best total score the points.

But that's terribly inefficient. And players that go it alone will most definitely end up Eated. That's why teamwork is super important. When players reveal the same number, they form a Squad and receive a Squad Bonus! By forming squads, players can tackle challenges together and save their best cards for the bigger threats later in the game.

If you ever fail a challenge, you receive a Bite. Two Bites, and you become EATED. Teh Eated can only win if all other players become Eated. 

The surviving player or players with most points at the end of the game is the winner! (unless everyone is Eated in which case whoever has the most points)

Don't Get Eated is signed by Dice Hate Me Games and slated for publication later in 2015.

THE BACKSTORY

I had just bought the Fiasco RPG game manual and I have always been a fan of the children's book art style of paper-cuttings and mixed media. The abstract way that a shaky line or arrow could represent so perfectly the retro-heist aesthetic inspired me to start experimenting with abstract paper art in Illustrator. In a few hours, I had created a set of stark animal characters in monochrome with a Fiasco/Tex Avery typeface beneath.

The issue was what to actually DO with them. Chuckling to myself, I created the stupid logo you see at the top of this page with the words "DON'T GET EATED." A play on the cute internet icanhascheezburger speech that animals tend to employ in memes.

A day earlier, my friend Steve and I, were having a talk after finishing up a game of T'zolkin. On his shelf was one of the first games he had ever purchased after our infatuation with Settlers of Catan ten years ago, Montgolfiere. I mentioned how much that game specifically has informed my style of game design, even if I didn't think I actually liked the game itself all that much. But, every time we played I always lamented the fact that the BARON and the SQUADRON mechanic from the game was so slipshod, underutilized, and seemingly thrown in at the last second to give "gamers" a possible reason to strategize and not to simply play their cards randomly. He asked, "why don't you make a game that fixes that?" And so, after a few minutes of brainstorming, I did.

So, while the initial idea was a stereotypical plane crash scenario on a snowy mountain, over the next few days this game of surviving threats through the use of Squadrons became Don't Get Eated. And making this social play the focus of the game really created something unique. Now that all players had to face the same threat each round and all players had the option of forming a Squad each and every turn, playing randomly absolutely throttled you. Sure, it wasn't the resource conversion and nine turns ahead planning of T'zolkin, but each turn of the game seemed to matter.

My first playtest was with 8 players. I don't recommend that game designers jump into large group games with any sort of strategic element on their first try because there is literally no way to pre-test the game. You have to jump into it blindly. Luckily, I had made VivaJava and was used to a game where 8 players had to make strategic decisions and form changing teams each round. And the game just sung. No one believed that this was the first playtest on the first playtest and I took that as a really good sign.

Don't Get Eated was signed by Dice Hate Me Games after the third playtest. I had planned on having the game ready for Unpub 4, and so I had roped all of the crew behind the scenes into a game just as they had walked in the door the night before the event. We ended up playing two games in succession and Chris confided in me that he wanted this game immediately. 

Since then, it's been a year and a half of tweaks and minor changes to the system. Some experiments have been good, some have been cut hard, but with all that time for experimentation, we now have a really really solid game that I'm proud to create a PNP for and have blind playtested. AND it has a SPINNER. And not just an old-school spinner, but a spinner that provides randomized results at a percentage that I can control as a designer. I love it.

NOW PLAY THE GAME

I do PNPs because I like having the board game community involved and I legitimately care about the end result for each and every one of my games, big or small. Print it, play it, and tell me about it. Sure, I may completely ignore all of your finely crafted advice, but it's really about adding to the whole and getting your name in the credits of the rulebook as a playtester. If I hear the same complaints over and over again, I'm going to fix the problem and the game is going to be better because of it.

You can jump in and take a look with the link below. The game has 113 cards and the only component you need to really worry about is a spinner

DOWNLOAD THE PNP WITH THIS LINK

Thank you for playing!

T.C. Petty III Award Winning Designer

[tcpettyiii]

The 2015 Oscar Recap

A little background on my perspective heading into this Oscar event: I have spent the last month visiting my friend, Eric's apartment and watching each of the films nominated for Best Picture (which were downloaded semi-legally). Out of fairness, I was able to watch every single nomination with the exception of American Sniper. And also, out of fairness, American Sniper was the only nominee that did not impress my friends that had seen it previously. I paid for pizza during the Oscar event and viewed it in total darkness at said friend's home tonight. Surprisingly, no alcohol was imbibed. Without further ado, here is my list in the ugliest of infographics.

My favorites for the evening were most definitely Whiplash and Birdman. I assumed Boyhood would be given the Best Picture in deference to the premise and the amount of dedication required for a film to be filmed in real-time over the course of 12 years. Even though the child actors were average, the scripting was stilted at points, the film quality varied between shots, and the story could have ended at any point, the innovation just seemed too difficult to ignore.

Sadly, as is mostly the case in previous Oscar ceremonies as well, the female roles of the Best Movie categories tend to not translate into Best Actress or Best Supporting Actress nods. Most of these came from Indie films that I had not seen, so aside from pulling for Patricia Arquette for Boyhood, I didn't feel I had enough information to be rooting for anyone. On the Actor side of things, however, it was easy. Best Actor: Michael Keaton for Birdman and Best Supporting Actor: J. K. Simmons for Whiplash (although I could've been happy with Ed Norton for Birdman).

THE EVENT

In the wee closing minutes of red carpet coverage, one of the white-toothed, sequined mic-holders interviewed J. K. Simmons for a brief minute. She asked, "Whiplash is up for 5 Oscars tonight, which one are you most excited for?"

His confident answer before walking off: "We're looking for a clean sweep." Suddenly, there was no doubt. I wanted Whiplash to have a clean sweep too.

The Oscars began with a musical number that was described as, "better than any song in the entire musical, 'Into The Woods'." Rightly so, as even Jack Black arose from his seat in the front row to add a few raucous notes about capitalism before it swelled to a lovely lively crescendo of literal, dancing Stormtroopers. Neil Patrick Harris charismatically ran the mic and randomly spouted jokes that weren't all that funny, but elicited a chuckle every once in a while.

J. K. Simmons immediately won the first award for Whiplash and we were pumping fists and squealing on the couch. I also admit to maybe getting a little dirt in my eye during his acceptance speech about family where he urged everyone to "call your mother. Don't text; call." When Whiplash won the next two award categories in which it was nominated, the fist-pumping had gotten out of control and was now vertical boxing pose as we chomped down elegant slices of pepperoni pizza.

One of the foreign film makers cutely ignored the "outro music" and the audience cheered as he continued to tell his story and thank people in stilted English. Later, another group of foreign film-makers did the same, and it was met with mass derision. Just a little reminder that comic timing and fighting the system is inspirational when done right and falls flat when you act awkward and have zero enthusiasm.

"I just wanted to thank Wes Anderson..." was pretty much the quote of the night for any award that was given to The Grand Budapest Hotel. Admittedly, I'd probably gush over the guy if I ever met him as well.

The lead singer from Maroon 5 showed that he could rock the falsetto like a champ in a rendition of some oscar song from some movie. Lady Gaga reverse-shocked the world by dressing in a flowing white gown and singing selections from The Sound of Music completely straight. Not just singing, but absolutely Tony-Award-winning belting out that shit with confidence that would make a Disney Princess blush. And, of course, John Legend. John Legend, as per normal, gave me chills from start to finish. His scintillating voice is butter and silk and sex. John Legend. Starlord was crying. Martin Luther King Jr. was pretty much balling. The song "Glory" from Selma received a standing ovation and I had to change my underwear as he accepted the award for Best Original Song.

Politics: equal wages for women, rate of incarcerated black males higher than slavery, love for Snowden and whistle-blowers. Surprisingly low amount of homosexuality politics, but possibly more awesome, all mentions of gay couples were taken as commonplace. Sadly, still a ton of white people and not much else with the exception of presenters. No asians though.

The running gag of the show was the absence of The Lego Movie from the category of Best Animated Feature. NPH even mentioned that those involved in the making of The Lego Movie might just want to take a pee break right before they announced the category. A song from the movie was nominated for Best Original Song and half the audience were given fake Oscars made from Lego bricks. I think the Lego people may be cool with missing out on an award while swimming in their pools of cash.

Robin Williams was NOT listed last on the list of celebrity deaths. Not that it's a popularity contest, but seriously.

Patricia Arquette won Best Actress for Boyhood. Michael Keaton did not win Best Actor for Birdman. That one guy from The Theory of Everything pulled a stunning upset for his portrayal of Stephen Hawking. Apparently, he did it right and didn't go "full retard."

Sean Penn, for some reason, was chosen to give the award for Best Picture. With stunningly unshocking half-drunkeness, he looked ten years older while walking on stage. He only bumped into the microphone once though before announcing that Birdman was the Oscar winner for 2015. He then proceeded to say, "who gave this son of a bitch his greencard?" to the director, and to the amusement of exactly no one. Wonderfully classy joke. If you want to see the resulting shit-storm, just check out Twitter.

DON'T READ THE COMMENTS

This award show was top-notch and the fact that I was more highly invested in the subject this year helped immensely. The Academy Awards is the most prestigious, classy, and pretentious award show and this simply solidified it's position once again. At this point in my life, I respect and care about exactly two awards: The Oscar and the Spiel des Jahres. These are awards where money and hype might actually be a detriment to the possibility of a win.

Hence, The Lego Movie. Hence, Guardians of the Galaxy. Hence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier. The Academy Awards may honor cinematic achievement but they most definitely shy away from box office achievement. And, right or wrong, the smaller, more personal films get their audience. If you don't like pretentious Indie films, well, there's always the Golden Globes.

There are angry bloggers, tweeters, commenters, critics, cynics, and hypocrites out there that blame "The Academy" for some sort of deterioration in the selection process. They cry that the Oscars has lost it's relevance for this or that reason! And they've done the same last year and the year before and before that. And they flippantly give everything the "Oscar-bait" label.

But that old man who lost his son in Selma. Shivers. The chemical castration and mental deterioration of a genius in The Imitation Game. Fuck. "Not my tempo." I'm literally sweating, nearly crying just thinking of some of these iconic moments from this year's picks alone. And if this is what we have to show for cinematic excellence in 2015, then 2015 was a damn fine year.

(Whiplash only won 3 out of 5 Oscars, btw. Chris made me write this.)

[cardboardedison]

Board Game Licensing Contracts - Part 2: Post-Publication (high-resolution image)

[tcpettyiii]

Excellent Survey breakdown infographic on board game designer terms.

[tcpettyiii]

A Question About Insanity

The Problem with Mad Scientists

I'm working on a Gothic Mad Scientist game and I want players to go insane while playing. Not the actual players, but the character that represents YOU in the game. The difficult part of representing dementia in a game, is that it is very difficult to portray being "out of control" without removing control from the player. And in a strategic, middle-weight, worker-placement-driven, Euro game, this kind of press-your-luck randomness is often unacceptable. It's "fun" but it replaces a measure of the strategic aspect with luck mitigation. And that just steams up some players (myself included in many instances).

The basic concept is that a player can move their pawn to a new location on a turn and take another action at the cost of one Sanity. Sanity is represented by a meter that builds up during the round. When they hit certain milestones on the Sanity meter, they begin to go insane and this causes bad things to happen.

So, I'll explain my possible solutions, and hopefully within the comments below or by messaging me on twitter (@puppyshogun), we can work through some possible solutions for going "insane" during a game.

My first idea is to create a deck of cards that represent thematically "insane" actions that a player might take which would be detrimental to their progress and also allow me to provide a small paragraph of text to describe the weird, disturbing, or slightly amusing thing that the player's character did. Usually the results would be a light negative or slap on the wrist, though rarely the insane action would have no real effect. This could also mean that I could create 2 decks of cards, one that contains very light penalties for players, and another (for severe cases) would cause the player risk very bad consequences.

The second idea is to create a table and roll a die. Depending on the result, players would take a certain type of penalty at varying degrees of badness.

Both ideas leave room for mitigation. There could be abilities that allow you to draw 2 cards and choose. Or the penalties could be drawn for ALL players so that everyone takes the same hit if they go insane. Feels less thematic "knowing" what you'll do if you become crazed, but its more "fair" for gameplay. For dice, there could be abilities that allow you to subtract or add one pip to the value of the die, or to re-roll. I'm more inclined to use dice, because I could add a die roll aspect to other areas of the game and this same luck mitigation could be used to affect the roll as well.

The problem is that both methods do not address the random screwage that could occur. For example, if a player spends an entire turn working to obtain knowledge and gets a perfect set of components to complete an experiment action, suddenly they randomly draw a minor Dementia card that causes them to lose one of the components and their entire turn and plan is ruined by a random event. It's generally not going to be THAT tight, but it could be.

I want to give players meaningful decisions, and I want one of those decisions to be "do I take that one extra action I need, even though I know it will make me go insane and cause something bad to happen. Is this action worth that risk?" Yet, I want it to appear fair and not just randomly screw over someone. But, if I completely remove the element of surprise, then players might just choose to go insane because it doesn't affect their current strategy.

So, any ideas on insanity mechanics? Do you prefer either of the methods described above? Any ideas for alternate mechanics I could try (or games that have done something similar in the past)? Or is creating a "fair" system for a player losing control, just a fruitless pursuit?  Let me know!

[tcpettyiii]

Announcing the Alpha PnP of The Lady With the Dog

Chekhov is Alive

The literary and tabletop world has been quaking with anticipation as I prepared my micro game based on an Anton Chekhov short story. Finally, the wait is over. Welcome to Moscow, 1892, and a whole lot of black and white cards with words on them.

The game is for 2 to 4 players, plays in about 30-45 Minutes, and requires nothing but a few pages of cardstock to print. It is also very ink-friendly, mostly black and white with a good amount of white space.

To download the Print & Play files with everything you need to play the game, follow this link: https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B7S_WZ89ZUcCVFZzNzhrTWpKRzQ/view?usp=sharing

To take a quick look at the rules for the game, click the rules link at the Unpub Game Page: http://unpub.net/games/detail/?proto=490&o=39

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The game is based on the Anton Chekhov short story entitled, "The Lady with the Dog." I've always been intrigued by the literary war that exists between subtlety and lexiphilia. And The Lady with the Dog is a particularly unassuming, terse, and boring title that comes off the tongue like a brick wrapped in sandpaper. Yes, the story contains a lady and she does own a pomeranian. 

For me, I took this bland title as a flippant artistic statement of purpose from Chekhov. Flippant purpose is an interesting contradiction. The story may be relatable to Chekhov's personal existence and his reportedly "open," long-distance marriage, and it certainly took a weathered personality to write, but my interpretation is that Chekhov wanted readers to check their own convictions when reading. His amoral stance on the subject of infidelity and the main character's eventual epiphany, to me, accepts the fact that all people will at some point engage or contemplate in engaging in an affair outside of their current, socially-acceptable, monogamous arrangement. The title is flippant, in that it describes some person with a generic characteristic. This affair, this steamy, inconvenient love affair that develops between two married individuals, could have occurred between anyone, and occurs all the time. And though we smile, attend social events, and make moral declarations in public, each of us has some interesting secret just below the surface.

I also wanted it to be subtle, specific, and quick like a good short story.

What to Expect

In the game, you are given three cards from the Yalta deck (a popular vacation spot along the Mediterranean). From those three, one card is chosen to be your wife/husband, and one card is placed face-down as your Mistress. The main way to score points is to meet with your Mistress Alone at a secret location in Moscow, and to also ensure that your love is strongest, by having that location furthest down the Petrovka (a line of locations in Moscow). The player with the most points at the end of the game is the winner.

Each of the twelve cards in the Yalta deck has an equivalent location in the Moscow deck. The name of the Mistress or the Mistress' location is labeled on each. And players are given a stack of tokens, which represent signals sent to his/her lover that they will be at a certain location. In a very counterproductive way, players are also given an extra point during Final Scoring when they have a token at the same location as another player. While the game is not necessarily a deduction game, players are trying to meet Alone with their Mistress by having their token on the correct location by itself at the end of the game, so being blatantly obvious about which location you are favoring is dangerous.

Each token has a unique special ability. Each Location has a unique special ability. And a turn consists of drawing a token, taking the special ability, and then placing the token on a location and taking the Location's special ability. That's it.

The game is a departure for me from my usual fare. There is very little engine-building, and much of the interaction is in logic-puzzle form. There is always a possible reversal to every move in the game, and most of the good moves are counter-productive in some form. Because of this, it is more tactical, and requires a play or two to find the subtleties, and maybe for players just not to be confused.

I think the mark of a good micro-game is a game that appears to be simple, but evolves into something much more complex than originally expected. A Russian nesting doll of game design, perhaps?

Why to Print

If you enjoy small, short games that are deeper than they appear, requiring more than one play to develop a strategy, The Lady with the Dog is for you. It's pretty easy to teach. It is also thematic and in spite of or maybe because of that, it also relatively abstract in mechanics. Plus, if you have a 1" circle cutter, you can put it to excellent use with this game!

But, most importantly if you do print and play, let me know by shooting me an email or sending me some feedback on twitter. I've included both inside, and in the rules I've even detailed on the final page what kind of feedback I'm specifically looking for aside from general reviews.

Thanks for looking and happy Black Friday!

[tcpettyiii]

Liquor in the Front, Poker in the Interest of Journalist Integrity

I'm a dealer at Hollywood Casino. A few nights ago, I was dealing to a random poker table on my string and a random player starts talking about how he "used to work at this casino." Barely interested, I commented with a hasty grunt of indifference and a requisite smile. He continued his story anyway, detailing briefly which games he dealt.

Then, he asks me if I know "so and so" (so and so, is code for a person that I work with). I nodded and expressed that I knew her. 

Without any prompting, he launches into a "warning tale" about how I should watch out for "so and so" because she is not what she appears to be. In my mind, I was hoping that she was really a unicorn and maybe he would prove it with a blurry cell phone pic, but he was sadly, sane. He stated that she was his Ex and that she slept with at least five different guys on the shift while he was there. "Yeah," he asked, "is she still with so and so?" (another dude). I nodded. "Well good, he can have her. She looks cute, but yeah, she gets around a lot, watch out."

So, tonight, I was watching my Twitter feed and saw a hashtag #GamerGate. I assumed that this was another #notallmen "trying to be intellectual" plea for men to be able to criticize Feminist Frequency and the release of a new video. I had only recently been made aware that when Feminist Frequency posts a new video to their YouTube channel, the internets go nuts (don't ever read the comments), while the trolling minority's eyes light up for a new internet argument to exacerbate. These feminist-focused videos are a mix of psycho-analysis, criticism, and cringe-worthy moments of misogyny and sexual objectification of women found in games that may otherwise have little to none of this content.

I find that most people are indifferent or see the legitimacy of the argument that women are either under-represented in video games or are used as objects for a male-centric AAA gaming audience. Other reasonable parties take offense that developers of these games are implicitly being blamed for the perceived misogynist content. I would argue, however, that no parties are specifically blamed and that it is simply criticism without implication and that the viewer infers this blame if they choose.

BUT, anyway, NO! #GamerGate is a hashtag that spawned as a more reasonable alternative to the hashtag #quinnspiracy which involves a video-game-creating female named Zoe and an open letter to the internet from an ex-boyfriend claiming that she slept with several gaming journalists in order to secure positive reviews and more detailed coverage for her game, "Depression Quest." It's a scandal! An accusation of supposed tampering with game journalism by means of sex! And most importantly, it comes from the most trustworthy source, an ex-boyfriend. Oh my god! Did I mention that it involves SEX?

Now that your salivary glands are ejaculating the requisite amounts of fluids into your gaping maws, let's get more excited. A SEX SCANDAL in VIDEO GAMING! I actually think there should be a flashing golden award made for this event, because it means that gaming has grown up enough that there could actually BE a sex scandal. Can you imagine if a developer from Bonk's Adventure from the TurboGrafx 16 era would have been caught doing the dirty with those cheesy editors from GamePro or Electronic Gaming Monthly? Actually, just imagine that they did. Imagine that some hirsute fellow with a backwards baseball cap was getting a hummer for a 5-star rating from the lead programmer of Double Dribble while chugging a Mountain Dew. Seriously, at the time, no person would have cared to expose the story. The world wouldn't have been ready for overweight man-on-man review tampering on their Tandy computers and the 10-16 year old male readership would have just been confused.

But, sadly, #GamerGate is a hashtag trying to be legit and call for an improvement in gaming journalism because of a sex scandal. It's akin to those involved in the unfortunate and terrible recent events in Ferguson, where a young black male was executed in broad daylight by a police officer far over-reaching anyone's concept of authority. This event sparked immediate anger in the community and a surge of protestors took to the streets to vent their frustrations. The protestors involved in the movement claim that the entire protest is peaceful, while buildings burn in the background and shots are fired. Rioting ruins the cause, undermines the concept that authority is not needed, and the protestors know this. So, calling for more competent and consistent gaming journalism without censorship while people stand behind in the background spouting hateful messages toward women and sending Feminist Frequency and Zoe death threats, seriously undermines the message. 

Like my random poker player's warning, which he shared, unprovoked, as an ex-boyfriend, in front of someone who he never met, it carries little weight to just say shit. The most untrustworthy of untrustworthy narrators makes a claim and suddenly it "could be true." To be honest, this really doesn't "beg the question." Could I investigate further? Sure, but I don't care if some girl gets some action or if there is some ulterior motive behind her shocking debauchery. What am I, in high school? And I'm not going to claim later that the real issue here is that Human Resources is not properly doing their job.

We've already talked about the sad state of internet gaming journalism years ago. The atmosphere is slowing improving. Why the fuck does it matter now? The hashtag only signifies misdirection, trying to squelch, brush aside, and rebut the current hate that the internet has for those who identify themselves as "gamers." With good reason as well. Gamers are proving themselves to be more and more elitist, which is weird because I'm so god damn elitist myself and these douches that play FPS, RTS, and fighting games are calling themselves Gamers? It offends ME. And that's pretty interesting. You aren't gamers. Call me when you're thinking of buying a PS4 just to play The Witness or trying to hunt down an AC adapter for your 7800 or playing QRTH-PHYL for hours and hours on Xbox Indie or search the internet for info on The Last Guardian every month religiously. Call me when you shun video games to play board games. I'm the most elitist elitist out there and I look down upon all of you with disdain. And even I hate the word "gamer" now with a passion. But, I digress.

Gaming journalism, in most cases, is admittedly ramshackle floozies hocking hyped AAA titles with click-bait headlines from major companies that have an advertising budget that includes money for clicky drop-down links and entire site re-skins with breasts and blood geyser dragons. Currently, BoardGameGeek News is more comprehensive than any of the supposed video game news sites. That's bad.

My point is, the topic is reasonable for debate but stop with the passive-aggressive hashtags and if you really care, spur on a hard change. And make a difference during a time when it is not a hot-button issue. What is video game journalism anyway? Is it People magazine? Is it Buzzfeed? Is it a TV Guide listing? Or is it supposed to be something deeper, with more analysis and substance? I don't even know. The people on this hashtag certainly don't spell it out either. They just don't like it when a perceived "non-gamer" criticizes their hobby. This is also bad.

So, I think we can all agree that most importantly, dudes and chicks, we need to see a little more even distribution on this whole sex scandal thing. Take Poker Dude for instance; he's complaining that a chick is doing other dudes, wahh, wahh, double-standard, wahh, wahh. What we need right now is more women in top journalistic positions who can then be propositioned by men for good reviews on their artsy indie titles. Because from what I'm seeing, although the data is only correlative, these chicks are really awesome at the sex and these dudes are pretty subpar. Kegels, guys; foreplay; seduction. And remember, it's all about the angles and the friction. Chicks dig toys as well; mix it up.

Because once we have sex scandal equality we'll have good gaming journalism. Whatever that is. I think. #GamerGate

[tcpettyiii]

7 Reviewer Tactics That Could Kill You

Reviewing Board Game Reviewers

I'm not specifically blaming board game reviewers.  Everyone is guilty of, every now and then, playing a genuinely Bad or mediocre game and kindly trying to avoid the following question:

"Did you like it?"  

Did I like it? Cough. Well. Contort face in exaggerated "thinking" expression. Well, it's not really my type of game. Quick, nervous clarification in higher pitched voice. But I'm sure people who like this type of game will enjoy it. I mean, it's just my opinion, of course, but there's some interesting things here, right?

This is the noncommittal, friendly, "don't kill me," and please don't stop sending me free games style of game critique. Refreshing. It's good to read an article about a game that I am specifically intrigued by, and receive a few paragraphs that hesitantly circle around the issue of whether it may be, in some ways, just possibly lacking. Please, feel free to mince words and not offend anyone. This is a review and not your opinion, of course. /sarcasm

Honestly, and I hope most agree, it can be very frustrating. This type of sheepish response is fine when the game's designer is standing directly in front of you, but not so much in any other circumstance. And this idea of a completely objective and positive spin on each and every game is a serious detriment to the reader/viewer/consumer.

But, as an avid game consumer I read a review because I want to know if a game is bad, okay, worth trying, or worth buying instantly in a fit of crazed Amazon Prime binging. And nearly every review paints every game as worth trying or worth buying instantly. With the exception of the few notable "this game is definitely horrible, let's pick on it" reviews, there are extremely few gamers that are reasonable and critical and entertaining enough to give an okay game a "not worth trying" rating. If every game that exists is "fun for someone," that's fine, but I want to know if it's fun for you and why and if I would agree with you or if another game came out this year that's significantly better in the same genre. My favorite reviews are ones that feel as though the author is a friend, nudging me with their elbow, giving me the inside scoop on a new game with that confidence level and full-disclosure that comes with private conversation.

And it's not always about "beating around the bush" or fear of reprisal. Sometimes it's a case of group-think, where reviewers see a previously used format for reviews and lapse into a similar mindset. Or absorb catchphrases and common tropes.

So, I compiled a short list of my personal frustrations collected over the years while reading and writing reviews for board games. I don't write many reviews, because (surprisingly) writing reviews is time-consuming! And I appreciate all the time and effort that reviewers put into their craft.

This, my dear readers, is a list of traps and logical fallacies for reviewers to avoid; some helpful criticism that may jog your creative muscles or make you swoon with indignation. Also, it includes some plain old pet peeves and vitriol for all you friendly curmudgeons like me out there!

Games Are Inherently Fun

"Playing a game is joy enough. I would rather be playing a bad game, then none at all."  ~ quote from multiple sources, mostly soft critics.

Will a legitimate reviewer enjoy a game that is not "good" from time to time?  Of course they will.  Stupid games like Ninja Burger and WurfelWurst and Zombie Dice and Twilight Imperium, can sometimes elicit some maniacally positive reviews despite their flaws.  But, if someone were to state that any of these games were "perfect" their credibility would be lost. On the other hand, it is perfect to describe all the terrible aspects and still have an unwarranted positive opinion.

Games are not inherently fun. And you are crazy if you would rather play Monopoly or Tic-Tac-Toe for the rest of your life as opposed to nothing at all. All games attempt to be fun, but there are far more bad games then there are good games and this is why a game critic is needed. With a reviewer's help, I may be able to avoid ever playing a game I won't enjoy! And that is pure blissful contentment!

A game can be good, but just not good enough (except for my games, of course). 

Intro/Rules/Final thoughts

Lazy/Lazy/Lazy. There's something to be said about the classic board game review format. It allows for a quirky introduction to the theme of the game. It then explains how the game plays. And it allows for clever rumination over the game's strong points and weak points, with a final recommendation. Such a perfect review format, right?

In contrast, read a review of a movie. Or a review of a video game. Or a review of any other form of art or media. Very rarely do they ever use this format. Previews, however, use this format all the friggin' time. With the exception of the "final thoughts," the entire concept of a board game review is actually a longer Preview. An advertisement format for all other art forms. Except in this case, even less stimulating as it is simply words describing the function of components that are being described. 

Final Thoughts. That's a Review. That's the key portion. And if you've ever noticed, most board game reviews are composed of 95% preview/objective rules explanation and 5% tacked-on review at the end. Good or bad, what purpose does that serve? It's almost as if the "opinion" portion of a review is deemed as a little too edgy or tacky and must be toned down for logic's sake. Its kind of interesting, that when someone talks about their opinion of a game, either positively or negatively, someone in our hobby will cry out, "that's not a review!" As if board games are somehow so special that all reviews require a strict delineation of each rule of play.

Let's look at the content and from for Reviews in nearly all other forms of media:

Reviews generally have an introduction that relates the author to the subject. Then they move on to the back-story behind either the author's connection to the art's creator or bits about the art's development or scope within the creator's catalogue. (In other words, a little journalistic work with a few clicks around the internet.) The main theme of the work is then discussed along with comparisons to contemporaries and brief explanations of the main points the creator is trying to make with the work. Interspersed within this are compliments and complaints about the decisions made by the creator. The author of the review is continuously offering facts tainted with their personal opinion and nods to similar works throughout. The conclusion is where most reviews can differ. Some choose a narrative approach and give final conclusive thoughts while others choose to let the reader decide for themselves if the opinions already expressed indicate a possible purchase/viewing/perusal and final thoughts are not present. 

The key is injecting opinion and expertise and facts INTO the review. The format here is similar, but less static. Avoid being completely objective and impartial until the final few sentences or seconds (of a video). Sure, it seems easier to say SURPRISE it's the opinion part you were all waiting for! But, trust me, if everyone were reviewing actively as they explained key portions of the rules, that would seem like the easiest way to do it. It's definitely the most exciting.

Don't fear breaking away from this format as well if the impulse hits or a thematic opportunity strikes. Start with the conclusion. Strike-out an entire paragraph of text. Include a hand-drawn graph. Describe an amazing or terrible gameplay scenario that arose in startling detail. Just make sure that opinion is injected alongside expertise alongside gameplay elements and the review will be successful.

This is why we skip 90% of video reviews. This is why we scroll down to the bottom sentences of written reviews or look for the final score. All that expository, clinical, technical writing makes even the most chilled and intelligent beings scroll downward. This is why Ender's comprehensive reviews are great, but not really comprehensive.

Don't make people type "TL;DR" and move on. Engage the audience with expertise, style, and possibly some humor throughout. Don't worry about phoning in whether or not you liked the game. It's a much better read and I, personally, will thank you for it.

The Casual Disease and Spin

I have a copy of Pictionary on my shelf.  Eventually, I will destroy it.  

I bought Pictionary about four years ago during the post-christmas sales, picking it up for a few dollars.  My purchase was fueled by nostalgia, my own affinity for silly drawing games like "Eat Poop You Cat," and the painfully cheap price tag. I still consider Pictionary to be "fun," but Draw Something and Telestrations are both exceedingly better games mechanically and in the past four years, I have played the Pictionary zero times. Pictionary has become obsolete.

A possible review of Pictionary:

"Pictionary is a classic game of timed drawing challenges.  We may have not been able to complete an entire game before everyone lost focus, but the simple rules made it a breeze to learn and teach. While, in my opinion, it is not the best party game with drawing as the focus, I recommend it to those looking for a casual trip down memory lane."

Look how nicely I spun my opinion.  It sounds like a kitschy, retro experience.

A real review of Pictionary:

"Pictionary is a classic game, and therefore has all the outdated, nostalgic problems of all mass market games.  There's a pointless board to travel along, a colored die to roll, turn-by-turn downtime, and teams are required.  The game is still "fun," but If you've downloaded "Draw Something" (for free) on your phone, or if you have a piece of paper, there is absolutely no reason to spend actual money on this."

Casual games shouldn't get an automatic pass.  Most of them suck.  Considering the fact that it takes so much less time to "balance" a casual game, the idea that most publishers can't even take the time to do minimal play-testing with experienced gamers is atrocious.  

I own very few "casual" games.  I keep around the casual games that I like and I refuse to play the casual, generally party-style games that are lame (unless it would be socially awkward to refuse). Just like children's games, casual games can be fun and entertaining in a reasonable and modern way. If they aren't, say so. Casual gamers be damned.

The "Not for Me, But..." Excuse

I'm fine if a game's existence can be justified as "not for me." In fact, I use this excuse a lot in order to evade talking directly about my opinion. Sometimes, I say this phrase when a game is legitimately unique and I realize that my own feelings on it are purely a personal preference. Most times, the game makes me want to shove sand under my eye-lids, but I'm sheepishly expressing my dislike to spare feelings. Avoid this.

There should be a line drawn where formality ends and opinion takes over. Compare the experience to other similar experiences that you have enjoyed. Throw in a Shakespeare quote or something to soften the blow and make it appear to be regally "not your cup of tea." But explain why it's not for you. Explain the parts that are understandably contrasting to your usual gameplay style and why you were willing to give this one a chance in the first place. 

Notice how Matt Drake sets us all up for why he's never going to like VivaJava, but makes it sound like a review still worth reading.

If it really isn't for you, but you expect that others will go bonkers over it, then use a different set of words and explain the type of gamer you are and why it contrasts with your usual play style. To me, the "not for me, but..." excuse to "soften the blow" is akin to adding, "just saying'" to the end of an insult. 

No offense.

"I really wanted to like this game, but.."

I really wanted to read a meaningful review, but... I guess I'll have to look elsewhere.

Seriously, all reviewers world-wide need to strike this line from their reviews. If you truly want to state that you were excited for this game, but were disappointed by it, please, just spare us this tacky and begrudgingly negative spin line. Use your words to convey actual sentiment; don't just say "when in Rome..." and expect the reader to understand your meaning.

"I opened the box and nearly pooped my pants! However, after playing it, I realized that the turd was actually inside the box all along." See? A perfectly tactful way of twisting a phrase. 

But, really. Words are tools. Use a set of words to describe your elation to receive said game. Then, instead of voicing dismay and painting the electronic page with frowny emoticons, describe in slowly deteriorating positive prose how the game eventually left you wanting and how it may leave others wanting as well.

Also, please stop saying, "I thought I was going to hate this game, but..." I'm not going re-write this entire section, so just take everything I just said and flip it to the reverse side. This phrase is just as common, and just as cringeworthy. 

I LOVE the Art

This is a compliment. It's great to love the art. In fact, in a positive review, this is perfectly acceptable as it really does help some make a buying decision.

If, however, you are writing a rare negative review, DON'T ONLY COMPLIMENT THE ART AND COMPONENTS (you dick). This one is more of a personal pet-peeve as a review reader and game creator. It generally pops up because the reviewer has nothing nice to say about the game and wants to appear somewhat objective or again "soften the blow." Okay, the art is great. Now, you still have to say something constructively nice about the actual game.

Give me something substantial that is appealing about a game. Then, tear into it.  Which leads us to...

The Obviously Biased "Review"

I hate this game. I love this game. Because of either of these qualifications, I cannot see any positives or any faults in a game system. It is perfect. It is terrible.

That's wonderful. This game is perfect. These types of reviews just trigger my angsty, sarcastic reflex so hard. I dismiss them completely as utter trash, and read the negative ones anyway because I can't resist a train wreck. Why not, like the countless other denizens of amazon, youtube, and BGG, just rate a game with zombies a 10 or 5 stars quietly, and move on instead?

Here's my personal review of Fleet where the first line of the review is "So. I really like Fleet.": http://boardgamegeek.com/thread/890982/fleet-best-f-word

Say something good. Say something bad. Don't just say one or the other in a big, wet, lettery orgasm of approval or hatred. Nothing makes you come across as a teenage fanboy/girl more than a one-sided diatribe. 

If you really have nothing good or nothing bad to say, say it quickly.

"Shit sandwich."

A Few Others That Aren't Worth Expounding Upon

"You don't have to play a bad game." Really, you don't.

"You don't need to review games to make friends."  (In other words: getting "free" games from publishers isn't worth it.  There are so many games out there.)

"Lists are stupid." Okay, they aren't "stupid" but they litter the internet and are clickbait articles. But people read them! So if you really can't be creative enough to make a legitimate review/critique of a game, make a quick list of positives and negatives.

The Final Solution

The solution to your worries is actually a simple concept. If you play a bad game, or more importantly a relatively mediocre game in comparison to other recent or existing releases, you are allowed to say that you don't like it. And as a critic, you should objectively and subjectively deconstruct a game's strong and weak points for the education and hopefully entertainment of your readers/listeners in defense of your opinion. It's a marvelous tool, this written language thing.

At this point, I don't know how often I will write reviews. If I write a negative review or offer criticism, I can expect some form of backlash either from the game designer or publisher and this seriously hinders my ability to continue to thrive within this hobby board game designer world. I don't want that. But, I hope most reviewers don't want to become game designers though.

I also realize that some reviewers (video, usually) are just as interested in being a source for "how-to-play" the game as they are in actually providing an opinion. That's fine. But, it's also much more precise to completely separate these aspects into two different videos. 

I offer this stream of advice from my aptly named blog "Designer Ego," because it gives me a voice and I'd like to see our hobby grow. Not as an indictment of all those who work tirelessly to provide these reviews for very little recompense. 

Should I buy? Should I even play? I want to know and I want to know why. And it wouldn't hurt if I was engaged along the way as well.

Also, feel free to offer me some suggestions as far as new or interesting reviewers that present a differing format for their reviews. I'm always interested. Not just as a reader, but because I don't mind sending out review copies as well, even from my personal stash.

[tcpettyiii]

everything is so wrong if we need to revisit a boardgame after a year to see if it is good or not

cindy tang - Youtube commenter

[tcpettyiii]

Drugs and Rock & Roll

(pic lovingly stolen from google search)

Drugs and Rock & Roll

So, I'm writing endless notes on a new game (working title: Underground) which is trying to simulate the experience of being a legendary band. The reason I want to tackle the subject is that I have been interested in music and a hobby musician since high school and have been a member of multiple different rock bands. From my humble beginnings as a drummer for a tinkering lo-fi punk band slowly absorbed into the grunge era, to playing bass in a faux-Death Metal band, to a keyboardist for a Viking Folk Metal band, I've had local gigs and seen gigs and listened to all types of weird musics and learned new time signatures and keys and watched my punk-rock-hardcore friends as they toured the country, spreading their message to the masses of geeks and outcasts gathering together in sweaty bars and basements and run-down shacks. 

No game, not even Rock Band, has really embodied the attitude and community that builds in these underground moshpits of excited humanity. What is it about rock and roll that has motivated fans to follow Grateful Dead around the country, to tattoo Slayer into their forearm, to dye their hair and spike it like a duck, to collect all the Vinyl pressings of a garage band a handful of people know about, or to get high and listen to the entirety of Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon? 

I want to make a game that represents the positive message of building up a community of devout fans, not just to your own band, but to a lifestyle. No one says, "yeah, I really like The Sex Pistols, but nothing else." Okay, maybe there's one person out there, but usually, if you like first-wave 70's punk, you are listing other favorite bands like Dead Kennedys and The Ramones and some obscure band that had a lead singer that died or broke up and only left demos behind. As you spread your message, that message helps others out and builds a community. That community is what brings these waves of music from the Underground to chart-topping prominence. I want players managing "selling out" and losing support from that community, not just hoping that their hit single climbs the charts and forcefully donates them fame. It's not about being the next cool thing, it's about being "legendary," which isn't about how famous you are today, but how famous you are in thirty years.

So, a shared area-majority game with card-driven gameplay that unlocks opportunities for other players. Think multiplayer "1960" with a personal tableau to build up your band and album catalogue. Communities will deteriorate over time or change preferences, so its not just important to make it the top, but to also remember where you came from.

With that pitch in mind, I'm not shying away from evocative, adult-oriented content. This is not a game that is intended for family game night. It takes a little bit of insanity and audacity to be the classic Face of a band. People die in music. There are scandals. And this game focuses more on the punk or artsy side of music. Music is, many times, intentionally incendiary or downright offensive. To cartoonily abstract away from that completely would be detrimental to the reality that I want to portray.

And that's where drugs come in...

Drugs

Drugs are part of the culture of Rock. I'm not talking about the recreational use of marijuana or cocaine or even those that experiment with ecstasy at hip raves. That's not even worth simulating. But, heroin, crystal meth, crack, LSD, and all the variations of hallucinogens that cause lasting, potentially damaging effects to the user, or are impossibly addictive and eventually lethal. And fucking alcohol. The seemingly harmless social drug that poisons more artists than anything else. 

But this is where it gets hazy for me. In the game, there are opportunities presented to players, usually "sell out" actions or "breaks", either of which can push the bands into new directions. I'm hesitant to include drugs as opportunities. Once I go down that road, the game becomes something that certain people cannot play either out of virtue or because it hits too close to home. Providing a short-term benefit with possible long-term downsides seems like a great mechanic, but it begs the question, "am I tacitly endorsing drug use as a creativity booster?"

If drugs are handled as a purely negative mechanic though, I am doing the right thing, but am I alienating potential players too much through simply including drugs at all? For example, I could "evoke" the use of drugs by simply adding negative consequences for certain card actions and insinuating it through seedy art on the cards. "New Music Producer Wants You To Expand Your Sound" or something.

If I were to implement it correctly, I would have drugs be a status. Like, a little "Addiction" card or tile placed nearby the afflicted band or person. Addiction is permanent. It can get better or worse. It can never result in good things and it can cause death. Not elimination, but a player may have to find a new "face" for the band or lose possible action. Actions may be used to rehab a character, but randomness (die roll) alone would simulate relapse or the potential for death. Because, seriously, if it gets as bad as what I'm simulating, you deal with the problem for the rest of your career.

As I type that, it doesn't sound too bad. It addresses the issue, may include positive options at first but results in "addiction" which is bad. The question then would be, can I call it a certain type of addiction? Could I include "Heroin Addiction," "Alcoholism," etc.? I know it crosses the line for a family game, but if it is clearly recognized as a complex, adult game, would people be entertained while still being aware of the realistic consequences? Abstraction is difficult.

But, I feel like death and drugs, however unsettling, should be a part of a retrospective music game. It's part of the culture, for better or worse, and I need to find a middle-ground that allows for it to exist but in such a way that it doesn't become the main focus of criticism (or the main reason to buy, for some people).

So, let me know. @Puppyshogun on twitter or with a mention below. Where can I draw the line for an adult game? Is a tile or card that states "Addiction" abstract enough to not be offensive? Is "Heroin Addiction" too scarily realistic or is it reasonable, given my design goals? And would you play this game?

[tcpettyiii]

Thorsten Gimmler Micro-interview

After watching and responding to Daniel Solis and Kory Heath's discussion on the iterative process of game creation and different modes of thinking on when a game is complete in my previous post, I decided to send a message to Thorsten Gimmler asking two brief questions. Daniel had mentioned that No Thanks! is a "perfect" game in his mind and Kory affirmed that this was a very good game. So, after searching around for a while for an email or web presence for Mr. Gimmler and finding nothing, he showed up on a German Facebook listing. So I messaged him there. Here's what I asked the man who makes games where you politely decline stuff: "Hi Thorsten, Do you have a perfect board game? (one that you admire above all else). And do you think your game "No Thanks" is a perfect game? Thanks, 😊 TC" Moments ago (a few days later), I received this response: "Hi Thomas, Do I have a perfect board game? I have more than 2000 games at home. I think that there are some perfect board games between. But I can´t say, that this is the one and only! 😉 I have a lot of games that I love! I think that “No Thanks” is one of my best games. Is it a perfect game? I think that this is something other people had to decide." So, is the search for creating the perfect game a fruitless quest? Not really, but it looks like even Thorsten agrees that even picking favorites is difficult. The crushing, soul-defeating criticism of games that we make rests in the hands of those who buy or play our games. Thorsten has made Daniel's perfect game and even he doesn't acknowledge it. It could be humble German designer speak, or it could be that we are our own worst critics and that's probably good, because we'd probably stop creating games if we already created the perfect one in our own minds.

[tcpettyiii]

Kory Heath & Daniel Solis talk about different approaches to finding the "perfect" game design. (excuse the abrupt ending due to connection issues, but the conversation is very interesting)

My Thoughts:

I used to subscribe to Kory's mantra. I would find myself agonizing over each word in a 10,000 word thesis for my English Degree or constantly returning to the same paragraph in a short story I had written three years previous. I wanted to convey this exacting, calculated, and ultimately intangible feeling to the reader through the written word. I wanted every sentence to flow like poetry.

What I found was, people didn't get it, in general. A few did though and they understood my mindset and the reason behind the words, but the vast majority didn't appreciate the work. I thought this was, and still do, a good thing. I'd rather have a rabid and small fanbase than appease everyone and dumb it down. But, the work involved is never worth the eventual reward.

And that's key. And it is especially true in game design. The work involved is never worth the reward for completion. Hyperbole, I know, but so infinitesimally true that I don't feel like making exceptions. It's a big parabola of creation to playtesting to iteration to satisfactory completion. The initial spark of creation is easy, the creation of said spark is harder, playtesting is even more difficult, and then iteration is where the time meter spikes and a designer could spend a lifetime trapped in this loop of spending years to make only the tiniest incremental improvements to the game in question. That's why the reward for "completion" is never worth the effort. because paradoxically, the game is never "complete" in the designer's eyes.

I can't subscribe to Kory's mantra on the one extreme. I am not a good judge of the merits of my own game. I am my own harshest critic. I could spend forever trying to make my own Puerto Rico, and I would never feel as though I had attained that level of perfection. The best I can do is try my best, improve my knowledge of game design, and present my version of a great product to the community. However, I still choose to spend more time than others may see as "worth it" because that polish will be seen and will improve my chances of creating more projects in the future. 

And in response to a topic that Kory mentions, designers get better with time, so it makes it really hard to be a perfectionist. Unless you never ever release anything ever. Years ago, I taught myself to draw cartoons. Like, I really had to teach myself. I have no natural talent for doodling. My hands also shake a little, so my gestural work and my signature never looks the same twice. And what I initially thought was great work, ended up being terrible in retrospect. Same thing with my game designs. If one of my five earliest designs would have been picked up by a publisher, I'd be looking back right now with complete regret. And at the time, I thought they were great.

But, I also see the issue with Daniel's mantra of making a hard deadline and pushing out titles. I give myself deadlines and artificial limitations in order to expand my problem-solving skills, but I will also completely scrap a project. There are times, especially when working with existing licenses or completing freelance work for companies, that a "good" game will be put onto the market when it either could have been great with more time or should probably have been left on the shelf as a "good" learning experience but not something worth offering to the consumer. Deadlines cause this.

In my experience, seeing other designers such as James Ernest, Reiner Knizia, Corey Konieczka, Eric Lang, Mike Selinker, Paul Peterson, and countless others, who may have one or two Great games, but have a swathe of shit in their catalogue as well, it makes me not want to be them. Now, all things considered, I would like to be as well-known as them, but I would also like to be more consistent in quality. They have a different mindset than me and it's not bad, we would just disagree on what constitutes an acceptable level of finish to a game.

It's a balance. I err more on the side of Kory than I do on Daniel's. I can be a bit of a perfectionist and I like to lampoon myself in order to keep my ego from going off the deep end. But, that's not to say that both wouldn't disagree with my own personal gauge for when a game is ready to be released. When it comes to business though, I'm way more on the side of Daniel. I love the Indie community. I love open source development and yet I still want to make a career out of this stuff. 

There is no such thing as a perfect game, so being well-versed in game design, playing a multitude of games in all genres, and making sure that my games stand out in that crowd is what matters most to me. 

[tcpettyiii]

One of the greatest gifts in life is when you have a legacy to work on. How many people just meander, how few really create.

Reiner Knizia via Twitter

[tcpettyiii]

Moments of Epiphany

Earlier this year, I watched the exceptional documentary, "Jiro Dreams of Sushi." While the name of the film feels slightly more whimsical, the focus of the feature is on one man's passion to create Sushi at the highest possible level. And Jiro is deadly focused. In fact, his precision and skill is only matched by his obsession. He is a man of strict routine and gradual iteration, where each delicate (extremely expensive) meal is prepared with attention to every exacting detail. And each plate, each experience will be ever-so-slightly improved from the previous one.

He is tireless and precise. He wakes at the same time each morning, prepares, cuts, observes, teaches, and inspects every minutiae. When he is not working, he dreams of working. When he is working, he is happy. He improves himself each day through an almost robotic, yet loving repetition, and he sees his own imperfections or failures even when no expert could ever spot them.

When I watched the documentary, I too felt an immediate respect for the man and his passion. The way he devotes his life to his craft is inspirational and it reminded me of a fortune cookie, a pearl of wisdom, from Reiner Knizia:

"To become a successful game designer, you must get up at 4 o'clock in the morning, every morning, to work on your designs."

~Reiner Knizia via Twitter

If anyone has followed Reiner Knizia's Twitter account over the last few years, it is jam-packed with inspiration quotes and sayings. It is filled with ego, most likely unintentional, which, to me, is the best kind. 

I am not Jiro

But, when I made the connection; when I started to compare his drive, his dedication to a game designer, I kept comparing him to Reiner Knizia instead of myself. I mean, it's not necessarily Reiner Knizia, but a multitude of designers that work in a certain mode. Robotic, loving, iterative focus. 

I am not Jiro. I realize that I don't work like that. And I don't really think game design, or at least "good" game design is a process where I create a game, then that same game with a slight difference in scoring, then another that uses tiles instead of cards, and name them all different things, or give them different themes, and push them all into several publishers hands. The argument that "well, people need to eat," has never rung true to the ears of this low-middle income white suburban child. And if I ever had to work with Hasbro, I think I'd start to hate games.

I don't wake up at 4am all the time. In fact, I work till 4am most weekend nights. My bed time is somewhere between 1am and 11am. Sometimes I cut my own hair; other times I go to a stylist. I've been known to be become so focused on a game design that I don't sleep for 48 hours. I'm usually sloppy, but every now and then I'll clean up my home and keep it clean for an entire month before it lapses into piles of games and papers. I generally eat healthy, focus on whole grains, olive oils, good fats, veggies, but ever since my bike was stolen in Myrtle Beach, I've lapsed on the exercise front. 

Luckily, this year I bought myself a nice, large, red game design journal, otherwise my notes would be scattered across the room. But, somehow, I always find them.

Respectability is results. Sometimes results are based on complete luck, but many times that lucky break is predicated by a moment of epiphany or determination that causes a person to be in the right time at the right place. Focus is important. Drive is important. But, having and living and experiencing life is equally as important. 

Sushi is not game design. I could wake up and work all day on designs and study the latest trends and iterate my games constantly. I could do this 12 hours every day, each day, and I could still fail miserably. There are so many factors that enter into a creative process and if I'm truly exploring the space, there is no way to become so strict. In fact, I'd probably go insane. Because Sushi is a food and it can be prepared each day, the exact same way only with minuscule, incremental improvement in quality and finesse as years and years go by. There will be moments of epiphany, but these will be few and far between as honing the craft is far more important than exploring the infinite space of cuisine.

Jiro does sushi. He can't make the best cheeseburgers. He appreciates other foods and the abilities of other chefs, but he focuses on his passion. We take different approaches and achieve similar results.

Analog game design is too wide a space for such a focus. For me, at least. I see the innovation that has happened within the last twenty years and I scream, "I want to be a part of that world!" I like too many different games to be confined to one specific market, and I want to explore all the flavors of the ludilogical culinary buffet. I have my style and my preferences, and that already sets me apart, but I need the freedom to explore and I don't see anyway that someone could make amazingly diverse games if they woke up at 4am and worked at it all day long. It would just be a bunch of pacing around in circles for hours, wishing I could go somewhere and be inspired.

So, in short, Reiner Knizia can blow (with the utmost respect, of course). His advice sounds good. But it is flawed. It assumes that a creative process is, in fact, an analytical process that can be repeated simply by showing up to work each day, ready to design.

Dedication is the will to see a project to completion. I have that. I am constantly thinking about game design and I will complete many games. I hone my craft each day by reading blogs from other designers, listening to podcasts (a new thing for me), playing as many games as I can, playtesting designs, and writing out my thoughts (and sometimes posting them). And I will continue on in my slapdash, sloppy, disorganized, manic way, allowing the creative muse to strike whenever it pleases. Because if I design like a robot, I will churn out 5000 games, and 5 of them will be good. I want variety.

I think my game Club Zen sums up my mindset the most on how game design should evolve. The point of the game is to become the most "zen" person while vacationing at a resort. It is a brain-burning, medium-weight, worker-placement game about managing stress. As it should be. If you go into the game expecting that the game will relax you, then you miss the entire point of what makes a person Zen. Balance. If you don't have to temper the chaos, if there is no challenge or surprise, no forces pushing you out of balance or no one else to interact with, then why design games at all? Why attempt to achieve enlightenment if it's served to you on a small, square porcelain plate?

It's okay to be inconsistent in an approach to design. It's okay to sketch out an art piece or sometimes just jump right in with a paintbrush swabbed with acrylic or stare at blank canvas for five hours. I just make sure that when that inspiration hits, I follow it through to the best of my ability. Sometimes maniacally, sometimes over the course of a year. A game designer is not defined by the work he does that no one ever sees, but the end result.

[tcpettyiii]

If all you get is positive feedback, the hairs on the back of your neck better be standing up. It means you have friends, not play-testers.

Luke Peterschmidt

[tcpettyiii]

Increasing Numbers

Into the Void

The need to create is intrinsic for most human beings. It's the more socially accepted mutation of "play," which we embrace as children, and allows for others to engage and experience the same structured play environment. Sometimes creations are purely made for personal enjoyment, but for the vast majority of Things people make, there is a purpose, even in the rare cases where the creator doesn't even recognize the consequences. 

Stuff people make isn't just cast into the void. 

Consider a lone post, maybe a twenty word Twitter post, that is sent from your fingers out into the electronic space. No one reads it. No one responds. No one Retweets or Favorites it. It's like the contemplative unanswerable questions, "If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?" or "If God is all-powerful, can he create boulder that even he cannot lift?" If a Tweet is posted and no one reads it, was it really worth posting at all?

But, if no one creates simply to cast their creation into the void with no recognition or effect, why are there people who post to Twitter or Facebook 100 times each day, recording thoughts and actions as they happen to an audience of nearly zero readers? Is it the hope of possible engagement? Is it obsessive compulsive disorder? I like to think that all this electronic, slice-of-life-spew, coagulates somewhere in the vast expanse of electronic space to create a wonderful and secret vomit rainbow. That maybe there is a purpose to it all other than releasing the voices that exist inside a schizophrenic mind.

Over 9000!

MySpace friend-collecting was my first introduction to the world of "increasing numbers" with no purpose other than to increase numbers. A personal MySpace page was littered with illegible fonts, color-choices, 35 different and separately loading videos, embedded midi files, multiple journal entries, and most importantly a list of all your friends. Collecting friends was a past-time for people. Since interaction was generally reserved to a small message board and private messages, there were very few reasons not to friend someone and just leave them on your list. I never saw the purpose, and in fact, thought it was stupid, but one of my friends had ten or twenty thousand friends. She was a girl; she had pictures of near-naked boobies on her page.

Most famously, Cow Clicker, a parody of both in-app purchase titles and mindless Facebook games, was a game that existed sheerly to infuriate players and increase a number. Every time a player clicked on the cow, the counter went up by one and the cow could not be clicked again for six hours, unless you paid real money for in-game currency. Absurdly, people paid. For a number. To increase a number that meant nothing, required no skill, no challenge, and maybe induced a chuckle or extra comment from a friend.

The sad fact is that when I create a game, I want people to play it and enjoy it, and I want to make money from the game, so that I can continue making more games as a profession. I have altruistic motivations as well, and dreams of oddball fame from pushing board games to new levels, but I have basic objectives. Maybe it's not "sad" but it's realistic. Right now, I work a job that is okay, but it pays the bills. I want to work with games instead and there is a possibility that I might be able to do just that. The point is, there is a real purpose behind my creation on top of personal fulfillment.

What I don't understand is the need to be recognized for creation, specifically creation that is not intended to fuel income. Or shouldn't be intended as such. It's fun to engage with an audience. It's fun to be praised for something, and sometimes it's even fun to creatively advertise for thing you've done. But, if the sole purpose of advertisement or marketing or extra funds is purely to gather more numbers, more friends, more followers, more viewers, then what really is the point? Do I want a plaque that says "Best Podcast" or "Best Reviewer" or "Best 'Let's Play' Video on YouTube" or "Best Game Design Post"? Unless it comes with cash prize and a salary, fuck that shit.

Even this post has an agenda, but it has absolutely nothing to do with making money. It's specifically to dissuade people from using uninspired and trendy tactics to increase a number for no discernible reason. If you want 5,000 followers on Twitter, take a good long day and follow 10,000 people. Half will follow you back. Then unfollow people. Why do anything else except make good, consistent content and reasonably advertise that it exists for those that may be interested?

Here's the thing. I like to reward excellent creation and design as most anybody does. If you make a game and I want to play it and you set the price, I'll probably buy it. If you make a website that supports said game and ALL other games, I will give you a donation. If you review said game really well and ask me for money to support more reviews, I'll probably be slightly annoyed and say, "umm, no thanks." And even more singular on the food-chain, if you interview said reviewer and ask me for money, I will become violently angry and probably spew electronic rainbows such as the ones I am spewing currently. But, I still might just give you a Retweet or +1 or Share. This is the reality.

I don't cast things into the void. I make them for myself. And the reverberations, little ripples of words for the outside world's viewing pleasure, they kind of flutter about in the electricity for a while. Or for a paltry sum of paper and coin, they sit upon your desk in plastic and hopefully in your grubby, oily fingers as you seethe with delight.

I sometimes watch numbers rise too. I can't deny that I like the feeling, but it's just a number. That's all it is. A subscriber count. A Follower total. I don't ask my Followers on Twitter for money or pander; I make something they can buy and I provide content in-between. That's my value. And I don't like artificially inflating those numbers.

So, buy VivaJava: The Coffee Game and soon-to-be-released VivaJava: The Coffee Game: The Dice Game. Tell your friends. It took a lot of time and energy and love to make those. And you can have Something From Nothing, podcasts, interviews, blogs, advice, reviews, and all that other bullshit for free. Because if I have to start running contests and crowd funding drives and bake sales just to increase my Facebook friends, fund my trips to conventions, or anything just to do something I enjoy doing and doesn't cost me anything extra to do, please call the police because someone has stolen my identity and I am locked in a basement somewhere.