How many skilled designers have their applications overlooked because they’re not communicating their abilities?
Recently I had the opportunity to run the interview process as Uken Games expanded its “Design Department” from just myself to a 3-person team. After plenty of experience as an applicant, being on the opposite side of the process was quite the perspective change. After talking to many prospective designers, I noticed a few common mistakes popping up time and time again.
Nothing here is absolute or a deal breaker. There are always many factors involved, like who is receiving your application and the degree to which they adhere to a formal rubric. I tend to look at applicants more holistically. It’s a gestalt impression of their skills, ambition, willingness to learn, ability to clearly communicate, and more. Within that impession there are certainly ways to make yourself stand out, both positively and negatively.
1) Make sure you’re applying for the right job.
This applies to everything from your cover letter, to your resume, to how you present yourself in interviews. In most cases there is a job description. Read it carefully and address the points mentioned. If a studio has thus far focused on text-based mobile games, don’t only talk about your experience making FPS maps in Unreal. If that is your primary experience, then try to frame it in the right way. How can you apply those experiences to the work you’d be doing? Maybe your designing levels taught you how to analyze player behavior and create great experiences.
2) Write a solid cover letter.
There will be hiring managers and interviewers that could not care less, but for me it’s a significant factor. An engaging letter may convince me to move forward on a lacking resume. I want to know that you can communicate, that you have a personality, that you can express why you want to be a game designer. That last piece is key and I’ll come back to it below. Give context to your resume, don’t repeat it. You don’t need to be effusive and hyperbolic about your abilities, and don’t tell your whole life story (yes, we’ve all been playing games since we were kids, got it). Focus on why you want this job, and why you’re a good fit.
3a) I DON’T care how many GDD’s you’ve written or how many pages they were.
In fact, numerical answers for those are a turn-off. What do you consider a GDD? Is it a 2-page proposal or an 80-page bible? If you’ve written 30 game design documents but made one game, I have to wonder if those other documents were not very good. And giving a page count seems to imply that more pages is better, which is absolutely not true and could be the subject of a whole other post. For now, go look up Stone Librande’s presentation about One-Page Design Docs.
3b) DO mention that you have experience writing documentation, but tie it into the development process.
Was it a proposal or specifically defining implementation? Was it prescriptive (prepared ahead of time as instructions) or descriptive (clarifying and tracking how things function as development progresses)? Were you constantly updating it during development? Who used the document?
4a) Show passion.
This is incredibly important, especially during an interview. I want to hear that you’re passionate about the job. And I don’t mean suck up to the company you’re applying for. Acting like who you’re applying to is the Greatest Company In The World only gets you so far. What’s more important is being passionate about the JOB. You’re not applying to be the #1 fan, you’re applying to do great work.
4b) Express why you’re passionate about being a Game Designer.
Now the important thing is not just why you’re passionate about GAMES (you should be, but that’s not exactly uncommon.) Why are you passionate about the role of DESIGNER? Tell me why you loooove to design, and don’t just focus on the end result of releasing a game. What about design really gets you going? Do you like balancing economies? Devising mechanics? Polishing levels? Studying player behavior? Convince me that you want to do the work. Being a game designer is the best job in the world, but it’s not all fun and games (well, it is games, but you know what I mean).
5) Be able to describe what it is you do as a game designer.
Impress me with insight into your thought process while designing. Talk about challenges and solutions you’ve come across while designing. Make sure to focus on what YOU did as a designer. This should involve talking about failures. If all your designs are perfect on the first pass, you’re doing it wrong. Tell my why your designs had to change and how you figured out the best solution.
6) Be familiar not just with the studio, but the space they operate in.
In our case, many of Uken’s games have been social role-playing games for Facebook and mobile phones. I don’t expect everyone to be an expert in the area (hell, I sure wasn’t when I started), but don’t be a fish out of water. Know a few competitors. For mobile development, the easiest way is to look at some of the games on the top grossing charts (not just top downloaded). That will show you what has been proven to work in the space.
[Heavy Spoiler Warning for ME3. Minor Spoilers for Angel & Firefly]
“If nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do. Cause that’s all there is. What we do. Now. Today.”
This realization in Angel’s second season can be seen as a mission statement of sorts for the entire series. When confronted by the prospect of never being able to truly defeat evil in all its forms, Angel has an epiphany (Hey, what a coincidence the episode is titled Epiphany). Fighting evil, being “good”, is not about truly winning. It’s not about the rewards at the end, it’s about the actions taken everyday. One does good, not because they expect a reward, but because they can. Because being good is an end in itself.
In contrast to an “Ends justify the means” philosophy, Buffy, Angel, and Firefly continuously reinforce the idea that the ends are irrelevant. Rewards may not exist, but the heroes still do what is right. In Serenity prior to a likely suicide mission, the usually amoral Jayne recalls the advice: “If you can’t do something smart, do something right.” For the first time, he’s clearly unconcerned with how much money he will earn at the end of the day.
Okay, now “What the hell does this have to do with Mass Effect 3?” I hear you ask, like a Kotaku commenter cleverly pointing out an article that doesn’t discuss video games. Two frequent criticisms of ME3′s ending have been its lack of resolution and lack of “choice.” I’m not going to tackle the Catalyst’s Deus Ex Machina or accusations of weak writing (some valid criticisms, but besides the point). What intrigued me is how foreign elements of the aforementioned criticisms seemed. I don’t want to imply other interpretations are “wrong” or complaints are unjustified. But I’d like to explain what the ending was like FOR ME and why certain criticisms have me stumped.
One complaint was that earlier actions and choices were rendered meaningless due to the ending. “It doesn’t matter if you cured the genophage because the ending destroyed the Relays sending society into chaos, or even just because you never saw the end results in an ending montage. The ending does not change based on the genophage, or the Rachni, or the many other morally challenging crossroads faced throughout 3 games. The only explicit effect is a small boost to your readiness reading, and even that is left vague.
Let’s give a real-world-ish example. A stranger is choking and you give them the heimlich, saving their life then next week that stranger has a fatal heart attack. Does that render what you did for them meaningless? Tragic, sure, but had you been able to see the future, would you have decided not to save them because the “ending” would be the same? Kate Cox wrote “to argue that Shepard’s choices cease to matter, to argue that the player’s input ceases to matter, seems to miss the point not just of the game but of existence itself” (via Kotaku).
Others have lamented a lack of closure in ME3. My own closure came during the pre-final-battle sequence. I walked around the staging area on Earth, saying goodbye to every one of my allies. I saw Wrex give a proud speech to his troops. I had a tender moment with Liara (<3 u foreva!). I had a last laugh with Garrus. I was going on a suicide mission, these are my friends, this is what happened, my actions and choices have created these moments.
But does the lack of explicit resolution render your actions meaningless? At least for me, Mordin’s sacrifice was an “ending” in itself. And damn if I didn’t tear up as he sang to himself in the final moments. That story concluded for me. I did the right thing (given how I roleplayed Shepard as a Paragon with a hot temper). I didn’t cure the genophage because I expected a reward, I did it because it was right. And it HAPPENED.
I suppose much of this came from my expectations. Never did I anticipate a glorious Star Wars Special Edition interplanetary dance party or even a Classic Edition Ewok bonfire (Yub Nub). As Shepard, I was trying to prevent a 100,000+ year cycle of destruction. There will be consequences. Going back to Whedon, it’s true that little of what Shepard did “mattered”, in the sense of changing the final result (more or less so depending on which ending choice was made). But everything mattered TO ME. I experienced Mordin’s death. i experienced praying with Thane. No end compensation was needed to validate these moments.
Alright, I’m going to wade even deeper into some religious and philosophical issues of which I am VASTLY under-qualified to definitively discuss. And I’ll put the extra disclaimer up front that I’m oversimplifying these religious issues, but the broad strokes are interesting.
At various points in history (like the Protestant Reformation), there has been disagreement over what it took to gain entrance to heaven and how much of of it was a nearly numerical “score”. If you donated enough money to the church, could that be sufficient “positive points” to make up for other negatives? I’m intrigued by socio-religious embedded philosophies that still portray Heaven as not just a goal, but the only goal that “matters”. Where all actions in life are done in order to entrance. In a sense, there’s a Final Score.
Many times I’ve heard the argument that without this “heaven score”, why would we have any motivation to be good? I’ve heard some Humanist thinkers present an alternative. In Boston, I saw many subway posters promoting the book “Good Without God”. Joss Whedon gave a talk to the Harvard Humanist Society where he discussed how morality exists regardless of a deity (okay, his words were “sky bully”). Certain schools of Jewish thought are similar in their outlook though not the theological underpinning. The afterlife is vastly downplayed; The Old Testament barely mentions an afterlife aside from the void of “Sheol” where everyone ends up. One should be good because God says we should be, and that’s it. There’s no explicit reward or punishment with heaven or hell. It makes me wonder if there are any cultural trends in the reaction to ME3. If one’s personal religious philosophy emphasizes a final judgment and reward, are they more likely to feel ME3′s ending was incomplete? Of course I’m not suggesting that this is a simple 1-to-1 relationship, and I’m not suggesting one outlook is better than the other. I clearly have my own philosophical take, but I’m absolutely not suggesting it is “right” for everyone.
Moving away from religion (as well as potential for my foot to keep getting further into my mouth), it is interesting that some critics of ME3′s “lack of choice” in fact seem to be asking for less choice at the end. At the end end, players can select 3 very different options. Yes, the CINEMATICS are nearly identical (partially solved by the just-released extended endings). But the offscreen implications for the fictional universe are drastically different. Controlling the Reapers or destroying all artificial intelligences have serious ramifications. Do we really need an Animal House style “Here is what happens 10 years down the road?” Isn’t asking for past decisions to have more impact implying that there should be less choice at the end? But isn’t it an interesting moral issue that all the way at the end you still have to make that choice? You can change your mind. After the 3 games, you’re presented with the possibility that maybe you were wrong. Maybe the Illusive Man was right, or maybe AI truly isn’t worth saving. Nothing you did matters, so all that matters is what you do. Now. Today.
Last weekend I was back at my parents’ house in Chicago and discovered something crazy on my bookshelf. For an assignment in 8th grade English class, I wrote a gaming magazine. First of all, I’m impressed at 14-year-old-me’s writing. But I’m also disturbed at how much I apparently liked playing with WordArt. Gradiants! Woo!
- Review of Unreal Tournament
- The History of First Person Shooters
- Preview of Diablo 2
- A quick look at the state of MMORPGs
View PDF: PC Games ‘R Us
[Originally posted at http://gambit.mit.edu ]
I have a confession. I never beat The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past without infinite magic. I used infinite lives to finish Hyperzone, Thunder Spirits, or any of the other SNES scrolling shooters that I loved. My first full play-through of Final Fantasy 6 was made a little easier by starting the game with four of the most powerful weapons and accessories. Game Genie made it all possible. Did I miss out on some of the fun by cheating my way through challenges?
“Some of the puzzles will be hard. But when you manage to solve those hard puzzles, you will feel very good about it. The game will feel very rewarding. Don’t rob yourself of that feeling by reading a walkthrough! Please do not use a walkthrough.” That bit of advice is from Jonathan Blow’s official Braid “walkthrough.” He even encourages the player by confirming that “All the puzzles can be solved. Some of them might take an hour or two, but you will get it. If you try. And you will feel cool and smart.” Of course, this is assuming that the cool and smart feeling you get as a reward outweighs the two frustrating hours you spent staring at a single-screen puzzle. For some players I’m sure it is a sufficient reward. I’d compare the feeling to that of players spending hours memorizing enemy patterns in Ikaruga to get a high score or making a record speed run of Super Metroid. This hard fun results in an emotion called fiero.
The key distinction between a high score or speed run and finishing Braid is that mastery is a choice. The player chooses how much time they want to devote to perfecting their play, but will already have experienced all of the game’s content. Braid requires 100% mastery just to progress to the ending. If the player wants to see the mind-blowing twist at the end, they are supposed to just tough it out.
But what if the player isn’t as affected by fiero, if it isn’t their personal “ultimate Game Emotion”? What if their biggest emotional reward is curiosity or relaxation or excitement? That player wonders what happens in Tim’s quest for his princess, wants to see what the next puzzle’s twist on time manipulation is, or finds the art direction fascinating. Wouldn’t their net enjoyment of the game be increased if they used a walkthrough to avoid some of the frustration? Wouldn’t it be nice if they could press a button and have the avatar automatically progress through the next puzzle so the player could still see the solution? That’s what a feature in New Super Mario Bros Wii can do, and it has been faced with very mixed reactions.
A major element of the argument against such an automated walkthrough is that it promotes accessibility over engagement. Leigh Alexander wrote “History has also never disproven… the principle that any medium and any message degrades the wider an audience it must reach. Art was never served by generalization, nor language by addressing all denominators. Entertainment for the masses ultimately becomes empty.” Well now, dissecting that argument can fill a blog post in itself. But in the case of Braid, the casual player won’t be able to experience some of the most artistically challenging content. It’s not that the art is difficult to interpret; the art is in fact hidden behind a barrier. Anyone can look at a painting and see every detail. They can read every word of a novel or watch every second of a movie. Understanding or appreciating the art is a different matter. Imagine if halfway through a novel you had to take an SAT-style verbal skills test to unlock the second half.
What Game Genie allowed me to do was complete the game. I was playing SNES while in elementary school and didn’t have the skills or patience to memorize attack patterns, but I really wanted to see what happened in the next level. In some cases, I was able to play around more freely with the mechanics when aided by cheat codes. For instance in Link to the Past, magic is limited such that some of the more powerful items can only be used sparingly. I remember using infinite magic to turn the Cane of Somaria into my primary weapon since creating a magic block that explodes in four directions was a fun twist on combat.
One of the reasons I feel the quality of my experience playing games with Game Genie was preserved is that the game didn’t do everything for me. In Zelda I still had to solve puzzles (though I did use a strategy guide occasionally). Even in shooters where I had infinite lives, I would try to kill as many enemies as possible and would be disappointed when I died. I determined my own level of challenge by choosing not only what cheat codes to use, but how to approach my play experience. The automated walkthrough still allows a player to be challenged by puzzles; it is a choice whether or not to use the feature. If a player doesn’t want to their experience to be “spoiled,” then they could just not use the walkthrough. Or they should only use the walkthrough on puzzles that have them completely stumped. It’s only different from including an easy mode if you think the challenge of the gameplay trumps the desire of a less skilled (or less patient) player to continue forwards.
[Originally posted at http://gambit.mit.edu ]
Moki and Rooki are back! Moki Combat 2.0 features a brand new design built around a unique physics engine. It’s been a fascinating experience to take the original demo and gradually transform it to the current state. Moki Combat 1.0 was based around arena combat, but as we implemented the new physics we transitioned towards slower almost puzzle-like jousting, switched from arenas to linear levels, and eventually de-emphasized the combat itself. Hopefully I can shed some light on our process and the challenges we encountered along the way.
More Than Just Ragdoll
The core feature of Moki Combat 2.0 is the physics engine developed by Computer Science graduate student Yeuhi Abe. You may be familiar with “Ragdoll Physics” which is frequently used to simulate falling or unconscious bodies. Instead of being stiffly posed, the limbs of the body move freely. Yeuhi’s engine experiments with active control of the character through physical means. This allows a body to support itself and move naturally when force is applied. In other words, rather than having an animation ready for when Moki gets hit by a spear, Moki will procedurally bend and try to right himself in the saddle.
Though it often results in impressively lifelike motions, this model is challenging for several reasons. First, control over the character has to be seriously rethought. Physically simulated characters are restricted to physically plausible motion. As a result, the character will not always respond immediately to user inputs. It’s not just a matter of triggering the “Swing Spear Animation.” You might notice some of the actions in the game feel a bit sluggish as result. We saw this physical lag as part of the challenge for the player, but some players will likely find it to be frustrating that the character doesn’t respond as they might expect.
In order to implement the new physics engine, the physics from the summer had to be pulled completely. Despite parts of the framework remaining, the programmers chose to scrap everything related to physics and basically start from the ground up. For the first few weeks of work on Moki Combat 2.0, there was little more than boxes and balls bouncing around. Yet the framework that resulted was much better than the original. Not being afraid to start over and develop a stronger foundation brought our more complex goals within reach.
The Design Evolution
It was around this time that I joined the team as a designer to better incorporate the new physics into the gameplay. The early prototypes combined the arena combat of Moki 1.0 with object manipulation puzzles. While play-testers enjoyed the look of the game, the actions were too imprecise for most of the object manipulation puzzles. The most consistently praised element was running through a block wall and watching the cubes fall down on top of Moki, pushing him around. I proposed a new jousting mechanic that would show off the natural movement of characters in the engine while adding more precise interactions.
The zooming, slow-motion joust took many iterations to get right and persisted through all the designs that followed. Yet the challenges surrounding the joust changed a great deal. Given our lack of satisfaction with how the arena combat meshed with the physics, the next idea was to make the game a series of one on one jousting matches. The player would maneuver Moki into position and charge at the enemy. My original designs for the jousting developed into an almost puzzle-like challenge with the player having to observe how the enemy reacted to each blow in order to determine their weak spots. But as we began trying to implement this mechanic, certain challenges arose.
Size Matters Not. Usually.
During the Fall semester, our development team consisted of two programmers (Mark Sullivan III and Igor Kopylov), myself on design, Yeuhi as the product owner, and of course QA testers Jose Soto and Ruben Perez. When implementing new features, we quickly ran into the limitations of having such a small team. In particular, not having an artist meant that we had to make do with existing assets, only tweaking the models’ poses slightly. The puzzle-like jousting idea became an impossibility just given the shape and size of Moki and Chawi (the NPC enemy). As we came up with new ideas, we had to find ways to reuse assets in new ways. To create a circular track, a single hut was placed in the center of the arena level and enlarged to fill most of the space.
We lost a coder after Winter Break, but picked up a level designer and 3D artist in Randy O’Connor. Finally we could add new models and levels! His addition to the team came just in time for another major design overhaul. To better emphasize the excitement of jousting and to keep the player always moving, we decided to trade arena combat for gauntlet runs. Dashing through a narrow mountain pass, trying to hit as many targets as possible was an instantly exciting new mode. As soon as we had a minimal demo of this idea, we had our own tournament to see who could score the most points in 2 minutes. We knew we were on to something.
Yet the limitations of our team size still created a hurdle. Not having the resources to develop our own level editor, Randy and Igor hijacked Maya. Rather than hardcoding all the collision geometry and objects, they created some tools to utilize specially named 3D objects in Maya that would export into the relevant information. A smooth pipeline was created for level design allowing complex levels to become feasible. A difficulty that arose was having to use primitive objects such as cubes, cylinders, and spheres to create free form terrain. Panda3D has limits on stacking material effects so we had to make certain decisions about having shadows, normal maps, or other effects. Despite the limitations, Randy made some great looking levels. A general theme of the development process was finding ways to overcome (or at least work around) our limitations.
As a demonstration of Yeuhi’s physics engine, and as a quick, fun, lighthearted experience, we feel that Moki Combat 2.0 certainly succeeded. Throughout the last semester we tossed around various ideas for further small games utilizing these physics controls. Some early prototypes are already underway. Don’t expect Moki Combat 2.0 to be the last you’ve seen of this engine.
Enjoy the game!