User Experience round the bend

Bastards.

You know what bugs me? Toilets.

Toilet flushes, specifically – and even more specifically, toilets where you have a choice of a big flush and a little flush. This choice is usually presented to you in the form of a big button and a little button; sometimes it’s an actual big/small button combo, sometimes it’s two semi-circular-ish buttons combined into one – anyway.

The thing is: I never know which one to press. One button does a small flush, for wee and spiders, and the other one does a big flush, for poo and larger animals (goldfish, say). BUT WHICH IS IT?

As a super-pro UX designer, I’ve designed many an interface where the user has a choice about what to do next. Often there’s a common action, or one we want people to take, and this button is made larger and more friendly than its less popular comrades.

Let’s be blunt: people wee a lot more than they poo. Therefore, in the interests of saving water, you’d expect that the common action in terms of flushing toilets would be the small flush, ergo that the small flush button should be the big (and therefore most pushable) one.

But the problem is is that toilet buttons are generally unlabelled – and without anything overtly declaring the function of each button it’s natural to assume that button size = flush size, in which case the button you probably want is the smaller one.

As a toilet-user I want to use the correct flush to save water, but without knowing what the buttons actually do I’ve only got a 50% chance of getting it right. What’s the system? Is it button size = priority or button size = flush size?

I think the lesson here is that just because you have a system for your UI – colour-coding, icons, anything else that your UX and Design team know like the back of their hands because it’s, you know, OBVIOUS – that doesn’t mean that other people understand it.

Unhelpful.

A nice friendly “big flush” and “little flush” on your toilet digital thing will go a long way towards helping people understand what’s what. It’s very easy to be too subtle when it comes to designing UI, especially with all this minimalism malarkey what is in fashion these days. Your audience are not going to spend any time thinking about what a mysterious button means; they’ll either press it without understanding it or just close the toilet site and go somewhere else.

Something something unblocking your sales pipeline, something something round the bend! Does anyone else think about toilets this much, or is it just me?

CUBD: can you think in 3D?

I made a game! I’ve been working on it on and off for about six months, between work and freelance projects, and it’s finally ready enough to be released.

It’s called Cubed, and it’s probably best described as a 3D action-puzzle game – think Bejewelled meets Rubik’s Cube. You have to turn sections of the cube to make groups of three or more cubes of the same colour, then click them to remove them from play.

More cubes appear to fill the gaps over time, and the higher your score goes the faster the cubes appear – then when the main puzzle is full you’ve got five seconds to clear some space before it’s game over.

It’s always hard being objective about your own projects, but I’m pretty pleased with it overall. I find that when I’m testing it I often start actually playing it for real, which I think must be a good sign…

It’s built in Flash using the Away3D library, which is powerful but seriously lacking in documentation; I spent a good few nights trying to work out the difference between project() and unproject() and figuring out how transformation matrices worked, with very little support from the library. Once you do find the right function to call, though, it’s pretty easy to set up cameras, light and textures.

I’m in the process of porting it to iOS, which has mostly been fine – the actual process of exporting it for iOS (after struggling through Apple’s ridiculous Developer Program nonsense) is pretty straightforward. What caused me several late nights, though, was the change from mouse events to touch events.

I don’t know if it’s an artefact of Air for iOS, or Away3D, or the specific interactions I was trying to create – or a combination of all of the above – but I encountered a really frustrating bug. I could touch and drag and lift, and that all worked fine, but when I next touched the screen the MOUSE_DOWN event registered at the place the previous MOUSE_UP event triggered.

This was such a weird bug that it took me a while to realise what was actually happening, and then even longer to try and work a way round it. I ended up dumping MOUSE_DOWN events altogether, and substituting MOUSE_OVER instead – when the user touches the screen the “cursor” jumps to that spot, triggering the event.

This worked fine until I installed the Air 3.5 Beta SDK, which broke MOUSE_LEAVE and MOUSE_UP events, and gave me another sleepless night until I realised the SDK was the problem and went back to 3.2. I’m probably missing out on exciting new functionality, but it just wasn’t worth the hassle of having core functionality broken!

UI-wise, I’ve tried to keep everything really stripped back and simple, focusing on interesting interactions rather than complex gameplay mechanics. One big challenge was working out the user’s intention when turning segments of the cube: there are three possible interactions for any cube, turning in X, Y, or Z, and since input devices only function in 2D I have to set rules about what happens when you move the mouse a certain way.

The game projects your movements into 3D space and tries to guess which way you’re trying to spin the cube. This is guesswork, ultimately, but I think the results are generally pretty consistent, and when I’ve watched people play Cubed they pick it up quickly. In general, the iOS version is even better at this, because it removes the mediation of having to interact with the mouse. There’s something really nice and tactile that makes playing on a touchscreen more immediate and more satisfying.

You can get CUBD for iOS here and the game has its own site here. Enjoy!

Why serious games and non-gamers don’t mix.

Now, I’ve got nothing against people who don’t play games. I mean, some of my best friends don’t play games. But people who don’t play games shouldn’t be put in charge of making games.

I’m talking specifically about “serious” games here, although I’d imagine the same goes for other kinds too; this post is inspired by a recent long, bad and annoying experience making games for a large learning website, and I wanted to try and sum up my feelings about the project and what I’d learned along the way.

Serious games have “a point”, which is to say they have some information they would like you to take away into the real world. They’re often produced for schools or educational sites, or to support things like charity or awareness-raising campaigns. And they’re generally shite.

Now, I don’t have a problem with serious games per se, but the vast majority have too much serious and not enough game. I firmly believe that games should be fun, first and foremost. When you’re making a game, fun should be prioritised over learning, educational content, quizzes, badges, social play gubbins or everything and anything else the client would like to bolt on.

Obviously the aim is to make something that’s genuinely useful and educational as well as being ridiculously good fun, but the sweet spot where fun and suitable subject matter meet is really pretty small – and unless your client “gets” games then you’re going to be pulling in different directions, which makes hitting that target virtually impossible. The upshot of this is that you often end up having to choose between fun and serious, either focusing on gameplay or pushing the serious content to the front.

If a game is fun but only gets across half your message, then that’s pretty good going. People will play the game and enjoy it, leaving positive impressions and happy memories – and at least some of your serious information.

But if a game isn’t fun then people won’t play it, regardless of how well it conveys your message or teaches your content. And players-not-playing is a best-case scenario; at worst, you’ll actually turn people off a subject they might have been interested in before they even really had a chance to get to grips with it.

Unfortunately, if your clients don’t get games, then they probably won’t see it that way. To a non-gaming client, a game is nothing more than a vehicle for delivering information – essentially a web page that moves around and makes noises – and that lack of understanding means serious content gets prioritised over fun or playability.

Modern gamers enjoy a multi-billion-pound industry dedicated to making stuff that is fun – they can afford to be picky. If you think they’ll play your game that’s kind-of-a-bit-fun when they could be playing the new super-fun Gears of Duty 17 you’re sadly mistaken.

The problem for me is that people who don’t play games often don’t get games. They don’t understand the flow of games; the joy of discovery and what makes them fun; the playfulness of a well-crafted game mechanic and the learning that can come from play rather than reading stuff in a book. They don’t get the ebb and flow of risk and reward or the satisfaction of a perfectly-timed recovery or counterstrike.

Not all non-gamers are like this, obviously. There are plenty who still have an appreciation of the art of game design, or are open-minded enough to accept that there might be things they don’t understand about games. These people are great to work with.

But these lovely people seem few and far between. The digital industry is dominated by the worst kind of non-gamers – people who simply don’t seem to care about gameplay, or understand when a mechanic doesn’t work, and who just want to shoehorn facts in wherever possible because otherwise the player can’t possibly be learning anything. And they’re often the ones in charge.

You can see the effect of this firsthand – just play virtually any e-learning game, because the vast majority are shite. They’re boring, and there’s often little to no actual gameplay; most should be classed as “activities” or “quizzes” rather than games. They take some educational content and digitise it, wrapping facts up in something that looks like a game but really, really isn’t.

When there is gameplay, it’s either perfunctory or completely split from the learning – often in a play a bit, learn a bit, play a bit kind of structure where you finish a level of play and then have to complete a quiz before you can progress.

These things are the bastard offspring of badly made Flash games and those deadly-dull teachers whose lessons seemed to stretch on forever. These “games” aren’t fun or educational for a lot of reasons (usually because no-one can be bothered to play past the first level) and the only realistic response to the stupid inter-level quizzes is listlessly clicking at random until you get the right answer.

Throwing more serious content into a broken game will not make players learn more – if anything, you’ll just turn them off even quicker.

These kind of non-fun time-wasters get made over and over again – but we wanted to do something different. We wanted to make games that are fun, where the player can learn by playing, rather than by alternating play and learning.

Gamers know that when you’re playing a game you are learning, while not necessarily “being educated” in the classical sense  – and that kind of learning can be powerful stuff. Why show someone a picture of a process in a book when you could use a game to bring that process to life, let people experiment, muck around, mess up and actually, literally, play with it?

Games can’t replace lessons and teachers – but they can complement each other. Games can spark interest in subjects and help bring subjects to life. For example, an intelligent game where the player uses gravity and momentum to battle foes could well inspire a child to ask “But why do things fall down? Why do things move in a particular way?”

A well-crafted complementary lesson could take that spark of interest and help it grow, perhaps even teaching the theory in such a way that players can take their new knowledge back into the game to improve their scores.

Sadly, making games like this is a difficult process, and prone to being derailed by non-gaming people who don’t see how anyone could learn from a game that doesn’t have a quiz in it. Games get treated as lesson-replacement activities, crammed full of “educational” material and thrown out into the cruel world to fend for themselves.

The lesson I’ve learned is that it’s best not to try to make a game that teaches through gameplay unless you’re sure everyone’s on the same page. Without buy-in and understanding from the client you’ll end up with an awkward halfway house of a game that pleases no-one; not fun enough for kids and not enough educational content to stand up in class alongside videos and textbooks.

There’s a reason most e-learning games are crap. The games industry is mature enough to move forward and start making games like this – but I don’t think the public has got the message yet, and until everyone client (and agency) side is on board then making decent serious games will be very, very difficult.

Abstraction and Wireframing

Before my current incarnation as a UX Architect I was a Flash developer. I spent five years coding all kind of games, sites, and apps, and gradually progressed from simple bits of script to full-on applications and fully abstracted object-oriented code.

My day job now is focused on less technical work like research and wireframes, but I think during those years of coding I learnt some interesting concepts that I’ve carried through to this new role.

I recently wireframed a few simple online art activities for children which involve adding shapes to a canvas, animating a simple figure, making a postcard and so on. None of the activities are very complicated, but as we discussed time estimates and functionality my old developer habits started kicking in.

I found I’ve been thinking about how I’d go about building these apps, which led on to thinking about how that affects the how I wireframe things. As I did so, I found some interesting parallels and insights – so I thought I’d share them here.

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Simulation sickness in the crosshairs

Here’s an interesting factlet: the humble crosshair, mostly used to aid you in pointing guns at stuff, is also useful for preventing motion sickness. This may be old news for anyone who actually suffers from simulation sickness when playing games, but I stumbled across it while reading about Mirror’s Edge on Wikipedia, and thought it was an elegant solution to a problem.

Simulation sickness is caused by the dissonance between the input from your eyes and your inner ear. The increasingly realistic virtual environments of games, especially first-person shooters, fool your eyes into thinking that you’re actually moving, but your inner ear stubbornly insists – correctly – that you’re actually sitting still. The mismatch between the two signals plays all kinds of havoc in your brain, although some people are more susceptible than others.

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Games and gamification: tiresome fun, gaming the system and playing to learn.

Gamification gets a lot of bad press. And it’s true: there’s a lot of bad, mad and just plain stupid gamification out there. Whether it takes the form of pointless points, badges, stupid progress bars, high-score tables or missions and achievements that no-one even nearly cares about, gamification has become the kind of creative bogeyman that people swap stories about in the pub and roll their eyes when a client mentions it.

Gamification can spoil things – and usually not in an obviously broken way, but with a more subtle kind of damage, where a system of points, badges and awards has slipped in like a cuckoo and replaced functionality, content or actual gameplay. It’s often thrown over other ideas like a suffocating blanket in an attempt to make things more “sticky” or addictive, usually accompanied by talk of engagement and eyeballs.

It’s easy to confuse something that’s commonly misused with something that isn’t actually any good in the first place. Where does gamification commonly go wrong, and what does that say about how to do it right?

Long post after the break…

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Infographics: info, graphics and that elusive third half

2010, apparently, was the year of the infographic. Huzzah. We’re most of the way through 2011, and it seems like that too has been a year in which it’s hard to move online for visualised data of one kind of another. Whether it’s homespun junk clogging up the internet on one of the ever-spawning 10 Infographics You Must See! type pages or the professionally produced quality work at Information is Beautiful, there are a lot of infographics going round. So what separates the good from the bad? What makes a good infographic?

At the risk of stating the flipping obvious, there are two parts to an infographic: information and graphics. Information is the data or concepts that are the meat of the visualisation. A good infographic represents information that is hard to understand in other formats – say, a whole bunch of really big numbers, or a tangled web of interactions and events.

The other half is the visual design. The design has to be informative, and clear. Successful infographics often make strong use of colour, white-space, easily understood icons – classic design elements all, and I like a lot of infographics purely for the visuals as much as the actual data they represent.

The third element is a synthesis of the two. Good infographics often make clear the relationship between difficult concepts or large data sets by representing them in terms of colour, or size, or space, or layout. They look attractive, but also tell you something.

This elusive third half is what a lot of infographics lack. It’s relatively easy to think of an idea then make it look nice, or to arrange a whole pile of data on a page so it looks nice. But the strength (some would say: the point) of infographics is to bring something else to the party, not just good looks or a mountain-o-stats. The best infographics help you contextualise something you could never conceive of in the abstract.

(A snippet of the Billion Pound O Gram from Information is Beautiful)

The Billion Pound O Gram from Information is Beautiful is a great example. Trying to listen to someone talk about so many billions of pounds is futile – there are only so many zeroes your brain can take in before you want to die, or at least before such huge numbers stop making sense (if they ever did).

But this infographic takes those numbers and contextualises them, lets you see them relative to each other, all in an attractive, easy-to-understand format. You can explore the data, poring over the image to discover little titbits you’d never have thought about before, or would even have considered doing if someone had presented you with the same data in a list, or spreadsheet.

A lot of other “infographics” are either all info or all graphic. There’s a whole series I’ve seen that purports to represent various different schools of thought. They’re all about “explaining philosophy through basic shapes”.

(Image from Society 6, where you can buy a copy if you feel the need)

They don’t. This graphic is in no way informative – at most it’s a pretty weak visual pun: Positivism. Plus sign. Right?

I feel that this kind of infographic is pretty pointless – it’s the kind that are swamping the web, the same way that you can’t turn round without someone trying to flog you a Keep Calm rip-off with some poorly written crap on it.

A few years ago GraphJam (or something like it, I forget the name) used to be funny. It took the trend of pointless visualisations and twisted it back on itself, using pie charts and graphs churned out by Powerpoint to represent completely inappropriate things like lyrics from rap songs. Now the trend of “funny” chartjunk has come full circle and those sites are full of pointless shit graphs representing nothing except a lack of wit. It’s a shame, but these memes do tend to end up eating themselves.

Of course, that’s not to say that infographics aren’t useful – well thought-out, well designed and useful infographics are great. But when it comes to helping people understand information and data, they’re only one tool in a much bigger box of tricks.

My big mouth at Leeds Digital Festival

Leeds Digital Festival, the annual celebration of all stuff digitalish and computery, is nearly upon us. It technically runs over November, but there’s all kinds of bits and bobs going on already.

Anyway, I’m going to be taking part in two panel debates as part of the festival – Doing it for the kids and the UX Lunch, which will hopefully be as tasty as it sounds.

Doing it for the kids is going to be all about digital development for children. We’ll be discussing the opportunities, challenges and pitfalls of creating content for the kids of today, and talking about how to get (and keep) their attention in a media-saturated world. The event is being held at Dock Street Market and is on Thuesday 3rd of November.

The UX Lunch, obviously, is all about User Experience and associated topics. I plan on holding forth about the difference between UCD and UX (which WILL be fascinating) and generally trying to make interesting words come out of my mouth. Unfortunately, to keep ticket prices down there isn’t actually any lunch, but there will be plenty of very clever people and me talking about the whats and wherefores of UX. That one’s at the Adelphi on Wednesday the 9th.

Hope to see you there!

What is this thing called Love?

Well, as well as being the mystical emotion that’s the only thing that can break magic spells, wake sleeping princesses and persuade brainwashed robots that they’re about to kill their one true friend and that they need to snap out of it, it’s an obscure little indie game that’s both beautiful and frustrating.

It’s a puzzling thing. While being nominally an MMO, from what I can gather it’s in the process of being closed down, or dismantled, or whatever happens to virtual worlds when they’re abandoned but not completely turned off. I wandered, lonely as a cloud, for an hour or so, and never once glimpsed anything that might have been another player.

Love is essentially a cross between Minecraft and a tower defence game. The name of the game is building and defending villages from marauding AI tribes, each of which have villages of their own that can be attacked and plundered for ye loot. Given the right tools, players can shoot things, build towers and tool depositories and alter the landscape.

Dotted throughout the sprawling and complicated landscape are various power sources, conduits and tram lines that I’m sure are very useful at some point.

The first thing to say about Love is that it’s beautiful. The whole 3D world is rendered as a soft-edged, constantly shifting, watercolour painting vision. Everything from trees to grass to clouds drifts back and forth like a particularly surreal dream. Fog, clouds and mist roll in and clear again, hiding long drops into murky valleys and making towering staircases and pagodas cast dramatic silhouettes against the sky as the sun rises and sets.

The inhabitants of your village float around clifftops like guardian angels from a half-remembered sci-fi film. Their hair and robes drift in the breeze as they roam, bearing things that might be guns or sticks or tools.

It’s gorgeous.

But it’s also incredibly annoying. Like a lot of other indie games that have great potential but give you virtually no help to puzzle out a difficult interface, obscure building system and complicated tech tree (which I only know about because I saw on a forum, not because I actually figured anything out).

There’s a super-short tutorial that tells you some lies about useful tools being added to your inventory before buggering off, leaving you with nothing to your name but a mysterious glowing monolith. Then you’re on your own, roaming the landscape, looking for… well, actually I’m not sure what I was meant to be looking for. I got bored and gave up, because it turns out that one watercoloury blob looks a lot like another, and I couldn’t distinguish what I was picking up from what was shooting me. And something was shooting me, presumably, because I died.

I wanted to like Love, I really did, but games like this are the very essence of frustration. I play games to have fun, and while I enjoyed running around looking at clouds for a while I wouldn’t say I was having fun. It’s an excellent prototype for something that needs a lot of work still (as I think the developer, Eskil, would admit; he’s closing down Love to work on new projects) – I just hope he spends some time looking at his next game with a non-dev head on. Games, even more than websites, need a disproportionate amount of UX attention to feel right, and to work right, so the user/player doesn’t have to spend their time struggling against the interface – or lack of.

 

Two vaguely similar (in that they’re MMOs) games spring to mind here: World of Warcraft and EVE Online. WoW was produced by Blizzard, who do an absolutely phenomenal job of polishing their games until they sparkle. From the second you start a character in WoW you’re treated like a valued customer, wafted along on clouds of tool-tips and hand-holding missions from friendly NPCs.

EVE, on the other hand, is brutal. You’re basically given a spaceship and told to go away before being flung into a world of sociopaths and spreadsheets where you can easily lose thousands of hours of progress in a few seconds. Tiny text and obscure icons make everything difficult; the UI is almost as merciless as the other players.

The difference between the two is huge, and consciously or not, both interfaces reflect the spirit of the games behind them. World of Warcraft, despite how it sounds, is a friendly place where you’re as likely to be picking flowers or buying a pet parrot as you are to be a-slaying. EVE hates you and wants you to die.

Love… is what it is. It annoyed the hell out of me, but it’s also a beautiful game with stacks of potential. I’m keen to see what Eskil does next.

Perfectionism, and the art of knowing when you’re wrong

I was thinking about Steve Jobs’ legacy, and the work he did over his life. Apple certainly did produce some amazing products; Macs, OS X, iDevices of all kinds, all had an amazing purity of form. The idea of such a stripped-back interface on an MP3 player seemed like black magic at the time, and you can see that striving for simplicity in all Apple’s designs.

I think that the kind of single-minded, pure vision was driven, to a large extent, by Jobs’ micro-managing, dictatorial style. It’s the kind of thing you can only really achieve when you’ve got a blank cheque to create your vision – when no-one is willing, or able, to say “no” to you.

We’re all, at times, struck by ideas that seem so simple, so elegant, so pure, that to change them in any way seems unnecessary, if not actually downright vandalism. But the way most people have to work is that your ideas are taken, dissected, discussed, altered and amended. You debate, you defend your bright ideas and sometimes you win, but all too often the things you know are right get shredded and deformed and other people get their way.

I’ve worked on a lot of projects where I’ve had an idealistic vision of the lofty heights we could reach, and then seen a committee or meeting blunder off in the opposite direction, leaving a wonderful idea choking in the dust. Or at least, that’s how it seems at the time.

If I’ve learned one thing over the years, it’s that although I always think I’m right, I’m often wrong. The single-minded vision you have isn’t always the best one. Sometimes what seems like stupid suggestions are actually great ideas, and sometimes the annoying person who’s unwilling to look beyond their prejudices is actually you (that is to say, me).

The purity of vision and guru-ship of Steve Jobs brought us the iPhone, but it also meant that Mac users were stuck with a one-button mouse for years – a mouse with only one button, for crying out loud! Simple things like being able to resize program windows from any edge have only just crept into OS X.

Sometimes the most pure forms, the perfectly embodied visions of one person’s dream – the things that make people sit up and take notice, and become life-long fans – are not the best products. Those annoying extra features that people make you squeeze into your idea, that second button stuck onto your beautiful one-button mouse, might make it less of a spectacle but more of a useable, everyday, better product.

And then, of course, sometimes you are right and some damn fool seems to have dedicated their life to ruining a perfectly good project. Knowing that you’re not always right is one thing, but the real trick must be being able to recognise when you’re wrong – and when you should fight tooth and nail for an idea.