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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Prison Architect seems controversial – but why?

You’d think after the years of games about murder, warfare, genocide, alien invasion and all that jazz that a game about prisons could slip by without comment, but no.

A preview of Prison Architect, a sim-management game where you have to design and maintain a prison, drew all kind of interesting comments like:

“I’m honestly shocked at the pass this game is getting from the press. […] I don’t see much of difference between making this game and making Theme Auschwitz.”

i saw dasein on RPS

Um. Really?

Many modern games are violence-filled, narrow-minded murder simulators in which you gun down hundreds of enemies and innocents alike in the course of a level – so what makes a game about a prison so controversial?

Maybe it depends on your attitude to prisons: are they places where evil people should go to die, or are they places where people who are a danger to themselves and others be kept while they’re rehabilitated? Do people who’ve broken the law deserve a second chance?

Should your virtual prison be a hellhole where the strong prey on the weak, or a place where even the most depraved child molester can feel safe?

Most modern games don’t give you that kind of moral choice. GTA has a big, open world where you can just about choose who to work for, but there’s no moral judgement about what goes on – you can shag a prostitute in a dingy alley then beat her to death with a bat and steal her money and the game passes no judgement.

Mass Effect lets you make decisions about what to say to who, but the far-flung nature of the setting means that those decisions only really matter in the game; there’s nothing to make you think about how what you did might affect other people in the real world.

FPS games are even worse; you’re generally a one-man killing machine scything down hordes of Germans, Japanese, Russians or whatever flavour of generic Arabic-looking “insurgents” are the enemy du-jour with nary a thought for the consequences of your actions.

You’re literally only following orders, a theme that’s personified as much in the endless unimaginative linear corridors and set-pieces as it is when your cipher character receives his next objective via video comlink from four-star General Brasstacks McShouty. You shoot people because that’s what you’re there for; stopping to think will only get you killed.

Maybe modern shooters would be better if you had to think about whether cluster-bombing a small town is a good thing, but it seems like a lot of people have a blind spot for war when it comes to unacceptable behaviour. If the too-close-to-home setting and theme of Prison Architect makes you stop and think about what you’re doing – and what that would mean in the real world – then great.

The story – the why – of games is very easily pushed out by gameplay. When you’re shooting virtual insurgents in the wilds of Afghanistan it’s easy to lose sight of why you’re even there in the first place; much like in real life, I‘d imagine.

I’m all in favour of games that actually make you think about things, or push you out of your comfort zone, as long as they’re still fun. Games have potential to be so much more than the facile, thoughtless sofa-bound entertainment that modern games so often are.

It’s encouraging that Introversion, the small indie dev behind others games like DefCon, have form for making stylistic, thought-provoking games about difficult subjects. If Prison Architect can make people think again about a serious subject like prisons while still being fun then I’m all for it.

Earth is epic too.

Stratocam is a bunch of bookmarks of places in Google Maps – but that totally doesn’t do it justice. There’s an incredible range of stuff here to pore over, from the natural fractals of swamps and rivers to the man-made tapestry of freight-rail yards in Belgium.

I love the combination of nosiness and geeking out over interesting stuff on Google Maps anyway, but this really is something else; I could spend hours browsing the amazing colours and shapes and patterns and lines and everything else – and it’s not even art, it’s stuff that’s out there in the world, just sitting there being naturally ace.

Awesome.

Writing for free: a view from both sides

I’ve been posting articles and blog posts I write on a number of sites recently, and all for free. These sites – Bitmob, for example – allow anyone to post their written work for public consumption, as long as it’s vaguely on the right subject. You get valuable exposure and more eyeballs on your work and the site gets free content – sounds like a good deal, right?

There’s an interesting exchange of value going on when you post something to a “free” site. You’re handing over your work for free, and in exchange you’re getting exposure. As an aspiring writer, exposure feels like the lifeblood of a fledgling career; the more people see your work, the more chance someone will hire you, right?

So I wrote an article about writing for free (very meta) and posted it on Bitmob, where it was promoted to the front page and sparked off a good debate. During the conversation that followed, someone mentioned a site called 99designs – a site based on the principle of getting designers to submit speculative work that a prospective client can pick through, critique and then (potentially) buy, paying whatever they like in the process.

I’m just going to say it: 99designs is a terrible thing. It exploits designers – especially young designers looking for work for their portfolios – by “allowing” them the opportunity to give their work away for free.

It gives the client way too much power, both in terms of picking and meddling with designs and in terms of payment; clients often have little-to-no idea of how much time, effort and emotion goes into design work, and tend to dismiss it as “colouring-in”.

It encourages quick, dirty, one-night-stand relationships between clients and designers. Longer-term relationships that are open and honest produce much better work because of the trust and exchange of knowledge, on both sides.

And it devalues creative work and creative talent. “Paying what you want” or working for free devalues the industry and the work of other freelancers who are trying to work in a more sensible, sustainable way.

Frankly, I was a bit shocked; 99designs seems like such a professional-unfriendly idea that I wondered why anyone would want to be involved with it. But then, I’m looking at it from the point of view of someone with an established job in the creative industry. I’ve already got a portfolio. I’ve got regular work, and regular pay.

What would 99designs look like to someone starting out in the industry? A lot like a pretty good deal, I imagine: work on tap, very little scary dealing with clients and lots of getting down and designing things, regular briefs to help you build up your portfolio, and exposure for your work.

The thing is that exposure, as I’ve come to realise, is a wooden carrot. “Getting exposure” is not enough to start a career in design or journalism, but it’s sold as the magical kickstarter that will make your dreams come true. The odd person, who gets the right article in the right place, can have a career made by an article, but for most people “exposure” is the equivalent of walking round a supermarket hoping to be scouted for a career on modelling.

If I was a designer starting out I wouldn’t use 99designs; I’d be approaching clients and employers directly. There’s a lot of work out there that you can get without much of a portfolio – just don’t expect to be bashing out campaigns for Nike within a week unless you’re both very talented and very lucky.

Likewise, I’ve realised that as an aspiring writer I probably shouldn’t be writing for free or giving my work away. The lure of a having profile page that says a thousand people have read my article is strong, but ultimately it means very little beyond a couple of quid of advertising revenue in someone else’s pocket.

The choice isn’t between labouring in obscurity on a personal blog or getting the magical exposure fairy dust of writing for someone else, unpaid: it’s between sitting back and waiting for something to happen or getting out there and getting paid.

If I want to be a writer, I need to get the fuck out there and do something about it.

If you want to be a designer, you should do the same.

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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Reviewed – Alan Wake PC

Alan Wake is an intriguing game, in more ways than one. It tells the story of a writer fighting for his sanity against a mysterious ancient darkness. The PC version almost never saw the light of day either – after all that time in development limbo has it survived intact, or is it just another cheap console port? Here’s what I think…

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Space is epic.

I’m not even talking about Mass Effect 3 either. This time-lapse video of Earth from the International Space Station (ISS) is absolutely incredible.

Look out for the lightning storms. And the other satellites you can see orbiting. And the thin,   fragile-looking soap bubble of atmosphere around the planet. Basically, just look at everything, it’s all gorgeous.