Showing posts with label advice for game writers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label advice for game writers. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Example 2 of writing for clients, rewrite of initial order: Perking Up Boring Romance (Action) Writing

Example 2 of writing for clients, rewrite of initial order:
Perking Up Boring Romance (Action) Writing
 

By Neale Sourna

Hey, are your stories of sizzling love fizzling out like tired champagne, that’s more flavored water than sparkling? Well, romance (falling in love) is an action; so, we’re going ruthlessly search our bland scenes and discover little tender moments to spark our readers’ senses, imagination, and fears, then add the little stuff that exploits our own and your readers’ emotions and expectations.

WRITE TO OUR SENSES

The easiest way to get deeper into your readers’ minds and hearts, and into your characters, is to take individual editing passes through your stories, concentrating one at a time, adding when your couple can SEE, HEAR, TOUCH, SMELL (let’s say “scent,” sounds less odious), and TASTE. It adds flavor and sparks interest right away.

Why?

Because all of us, or nearly all, have all or most of these senses and know what a fresh, crisp SWEET APPLE or a fresh, crisp TART APPLE TASTES like. The SCENT of HOT BREAD, FLORAL COLOGNE, MUSK on a warm body you love. Or WARM MUSK from a body that repels you.

Sensing adds instant tactility and reality; drawing us deeper into your world, so we’ll FEEL the HUG that relaxes us and the SHARP BITE of a whip from a sadist drawing BLOOD from our backs and making us BITE our TONGUES to TASTE.....

This technique is especially useful for those of us who think A LOT and our characters do too. They think, they thought, they realize…. Stop.

Get out of your head, and INTO THEIR BODIES AND EMOTIONS. Use ALL of your senses for your character people; it makes them more real to us. The first time I did this in a script it made everything pop and more rich. Of course, don’t use it in EVERY sentence, till we puke; but, it helps you add LIFE, so do it.

BUT, DON’T FORGET SENSE #6

Depending on your story genre and the type of characters, your couple or one of them may have a sense of “knowing” when the other is simply arriving or FEEL UNREASONABLY agitated enough that they must rush to find them because....

Or it may just be a FEELING of faith in which one or both KNOWS the other will rescue them, love them, or hasn’t truly left them.

Or that “jinx” thing, when two people say or do the same thing at the same time. I do this all the time with family members and close friends. We’re just on the same track, FEELING the same vibe, or recalling the same shared experience. It is weirdly fun and adds a layer of intimate bonding.

AND DON’T FORGET THE LACK OF OUR SENSES

“When I entered I couldn’t sense him, not even that gentle scent of his cologne, and not that gentle vibration that always signaled that he’s nearby.”

“Disconcertingly, although we were in the dance’s embrace, I felt, sensed, whatever, her body harden and edge away from me; the worse was holding her yet in my arms, but feeling I was abruptly alone.”

DISCOVERY & RESPONSE

Here’s a little more help. Your characters, your people experience their lives and love, suffer, die, and get reborn as vampires and zombies. Okay, vamps and z’s are only in some cases. But, you, dear storyteller, are our only Guide into this unique world and characters you have shaped, and how your people discover and rediscover themselves and react and respond to it will keep us reading, and sharing your books.

Think about an historical era character who is rescued by a gentleman and, perhaps, now owes the safety of her “virtue” and her life to him. And when he asks can he contact her family, she has no answer.

Hm. Why? I don’t fully know yet, it’s a new work in progress for me; but, for my new heroine, her hero’s question:

Makes her DISCOVER she’s UNCOMFORTABLE (feeling) giving him that information.
 

She also DISCOVERS she FEELS bad about withholding this from him since he’s been nice, respectful, and he’s attractive. Yum.
 

But, she’s not going to cave and give her private information, now (logic action, thoughts controlling her emotions); her reasons are a can of crawly worms she doesn’t want to get into yet, or maybe ever.
This woman will disclose much later, when the EMOTIONAL STAKES ARE HIGHER BETWEEN HEROINE AND HERO; but not now, which also helps my storytelling and yours—postponing, delaying the consummation and climax on this one subject.

That’s only half of telling an intimate story of two (or more) people interacting.

He’s in your written scene, too, and he’s been gracious, kind, etcetera, plus, he’s a man for whom the world usually bends to his will, and although he understands that she is afraid; still:

He’s wondering what the heck is up with a woman apparently alone and who has just survived multiple traumas. Why doesn’t she want her family...? 

Maybe she’s not so innocent?


As you, storyteller, think and FEEL what he feels and thinks, you and he are wondering if she’s decided he’s a bigger, juicier catch than the man from whom he rescued her...? 

FEEL it? Now doesn’t that spark and perk up all our SENSE involvement in the intimate, individual DISCOVERIES of your hero and heroine? When we can VISUALIZE and FEEL their distinct confusions and sensualities, in conflict with what they fear and want, it generates a RESPONSE in us, your readers.

_900 wds meets the length requested and made changes requested; but...
requested 2nd rewrite next post...

Thursday, April 07, 2016

My answer to a possible client. Actually, I seemed to have worked for this person....

My answer to a possible client. Actually, I seemed to have worked for this person / group before; and they were unpleasant in the work last Aug and I had to arbitrate at Guru.com in early Sept last.

The same client I.D. invited me last Sept. I reminded them we were apparently in dispute.

The same client I.D. invited me again this month, we've been talking amiably. I've finally had to ask, if they have more than one person using the ID. Or the person is.... What?

My answer to this possible client, re-client? about not playing CYOA games:

CLIENT: ...but you don't seem to play at all.


NealeSourna's Writing-Naked.com:

Gaming is not calming to me. I find limited personal fun and interest in them. That goes for card and table games, even chess, as well. It's just the way my brain functions.

I bore easily with playing the system; but making the puzzle of a well-told story about great characters that a client can come back to again and again is of high interest, though.

Other game companies have not even asked about play activity before ordering, they answer my questions from my game research and guide me with their corrections to suit what they specifically need and want, especially for new genres and then publish the stories I crafted for them.

There are a LOT of different styles and platforms, after all. Story and how to entertain are the cross over between RPG, CYO, and other successfully published online or card games I've worked on.

Thank You,
Neale

Friday, September 04, 2015

A Practical Guide to Game Writing By Darby McDevitt

A Practical Guide to Game Writing

By Darby McDevitt

[In this detailed Gamasutra feature, veteran game writer McDevitt (Assassin's Creed: Bloodlines, Where the Wild Things Are) outlines useful processes for collaboration between design, production and writing staff, from pre-production through production of a game.]

Video game writers are a frequently misunderstood sort. Even in the most ideal situations, we are often relegated to the status of mortar to the designers' bricks, slipping between the cracks to paste fun moments of gameplay together with a few lines of snappy, expository dialog.

Writers can be further marginalized by a lingering sense among our team members that we want nothing more than to stuff our games full of melodramatic, Metal Gear-sized cutscenes, burdened by a cast of dozens sputtering flowery lines from our 450 page script.

I'd like to steer us clear of this idea, one likely sustained by the apparent misconception that writing is fundamentally about arranging words into meaningful strings.

Clearly this isn't the case, but somehow a large contingent of the game industry has institutionalized this attitude anyway, and its effects can be found in an upsetting number of games released in the past few decades.

Just count the uneasy puns and strained moralizing spilling from your favorite avatar's mouth -- when a writer is hired to write a game, and is subsequently barred from having input into its pacing, its setting, the motivations of its characters, and its mood and tone, writers resort to the only weapons they have left: wry witticisms and declarative pop-philosophy.

The spirit of collaboration games are supposed to embody often seems well outside the writer's reach.

But the truth is, we don't want to hijack your game with pointless soliloquies, and we don't want to write a posturing Hollywood-style epic. Game writers simply want to help designers craft an immersive, interactive narrative experience. With or without dialog, with or without characters, we simply want the game to start somewhere interesting, climb its way over a few emotional peaks, and end somewhere even more interesting. We're good at that sort of thing too.

Not all games require a narrative arc, of course, but it's a rather common feature of quite a few mainstream console titles, and these days if an actual writer is going to pen the script of one of these games -- as opposed to the lead designer or the producer -- some Very Important People probably have a Very High Opinion of the property.

But this doesn't happen as frequently as you might think. Consider yourself blessed if you have actually seen a game writer in the wild, for they remain one of those elusive, added-expense luxuries that many game producers -- their eyes always on their margins -- believe they can do without. And in many cases, it humbles me to say, they're right.

The average game-playing public will suffer a deluge of poor storytelling if a game is knock-down, drag-out fun. But a great story with terrible gameplay will die a fast and lonely death on the shelf. I respect and support this pecking order. Gameplay must come first -- this is the golden rule.

However, if some form of narrative happens to play a design-critical role in your proposed game, it is vitally important to treat it exactly as you would any other design element, not as a separate discipline. So if your team has taken that bold extra step to build a narrative-driven game, there are a number of precautions you can take to accommodate the writer and prevent the story (and your writer) from getting buried beneath endless revisions of your GDD.

First and foremost among these is to make one simple conceptual change: treat your writer as an associate designer. Involve her in the design process from the outset. Even if she is not an experienced technical designer, a good writer can be instrumental in helping inspire unique moment-to-moment experiences that provide gameplay variety while integrating seamlessly into the narrative.

Again, writing is not just about clever sentences -- it can also be about narrative shape, motivation, and pacing, i.e. what you do, why you do, and when you do.
Most of my favorite narrative-driven games contain very little dialog in them at all -- Ico, Shadow of the Colossus, Flashback, Out of this World -- but even these titles are "written" in the sense that they have a clear set of emotional shifts, tonal changes, and meaningful moment-to-moment events that compound into emotional pay-offs.

When writers and designers band together and discuss a game's story, characters, dramatic set-pieces, and settings in parallel with ideas about the game mechanics and levels, the team will begin to find exciting and creative ways of conjoining the two disciplines into a more unified experience.

Unfortunately, this synergy can be difficult to find, especially in the trenches of third-party development where the average dev cycle is less than a year. When schedules are tight, producers and designers often maintain a slight distance from writers, imagining we are off "doing our thing" while they do theirs.

But our thing is their thing too. Writing is design. We are both building a world from scratch, after all. So if you empower a writer to absorb and occasionally contribute design ideas, she will carry on with a solid understanding of how the narrative elements contribute to (or detract from) the overall game experience.

Before Writing Begins

For a clearer picture of this process, let's pinpoint a game writer's most critical early-milestone tasks, beginning with a few pre-production goals. In these early weeks, it's easy to get drunk on a thousand and one ephemeral ideas -- by all means do -- but you'll need to conclude this reverie with a few tangible results:

High Level Narrative Summary. During preproduction, the design team should work directly with the writer to concoct a brief (one to four pages) high-level summary of the primary story. Think of it as your elevator pitch: make it succinct and snappy. This short piece is probably the only story document most of the team will ever read, so it should be clear and compelling.

Do this early, and get the client to sign off on it as soon as humanly possible. Read that previous sentence again. Get quick client sign-off every step of the way. Failure to guide your client to a swift agreement on the story may result in endless misery for the remainder of the project.

Major Locations / Levels. This is one area where writers can really get sore if they are left out of the conception process. Designers frequently forge ahead with level concepts and designs without consulting the writer, not taking into account the huge role that setting plays in crafting an interesting narrative.

In video games, place is often more important than character, so this is doubly important. If the writer, designers, and artists band together to nail down the scope of the game's environments, and get a rough idea of how much is needed and how much is feasible, everyone will walk away happy.

This cuts all ways: writers need to know that they'll have the locations they need to tell a good story, while the artists and designers will want to make sure the writer is asking for content that is relevant to gameplay.

Obviously this "relevance threshold" varies with the size of the project, but on small projects with short schedules getting this right can mean the difference between environment artists going home at 6 pm or 6 am the next morning.

Once production begins, the writers work ramps up. This is the point where the entire design team needs to function as a single unstoppable force (for good):

A Detailed Story Outline. With the narrative arc complete, it's time to produce an exquisitely detailed story document, complete with scene descriptions and gameplay objectives. The amount of detail in this doc will vary according to how much the story influences the design, but it should be as thorough as possible. In any case, generating a detailed outline will give you an early understanding of just what sort of game you're making, and how reliant on the writer you will be for design iteration down the road.

In the case of heavily plot-driven games, the design challenges will stem directly from the story -- e.g. rescue a prisoner, assassinate a guard, courier a package. For non-linear games like RPGs this document should be incredibly dense and detailed. For less structured games, the writer's direct impact on the design may be minimal. Understanding this balance ahead of time is critical.

Story Presentation Plan. How, exactly, is the game's story being told, and who is responsible for telling it? Do you have pre-rendered cutscenes or in-engine cutscenes? Who will be putting these scenes together? Perhaps you have no cutscenes whatsoever, and would like to tell your story on-the-fly. Is this feasible? Possible?

Figure it out early.

Nothing is more frustrating for a writer than seeing a project scoot forward without anyone having a firm understanding about how the story will be told, since this will affect what she intends to write.

Estimated Cut-Scene Breakdown. If your game does contain cutscenes or animated in-game sequences of any kind, it is crucial to estimate their number very early on to get a good sense of the work to come. If you have a detailed story outline, this should be easy. On tight projects it also helps to determine ahead of time what the expected intricacy and quality of each scene is so your teams can allocate their resources appropriately.

Characters. As you generate your detailed story arc, you'll need to make a clear list of the number of characters needed. Who are these people, and what roles do they play in both the narrative and the gameplay? Which are simple NPCs? Which are robust, interactive characters? Which are bosses? Mission givers? Shop keepers? Tutorial mentors? Et cetera.

The artists will be generating all character models and animations, and they'll want to know the scope as soon as possible. If you spring 15 new NPCs on your artists halfway through the project, they will shank you in the break room -- believe it. Getting the character scope nailed down early will also help you determine how much "incidental dialog" the game will require, for these throwaway lines frequently take up as much space in the script as the main story dialog. This is no trivial amount, so keep close track of it.

Sort Out Your Text Database. This can be a tedious task, but it is crucial to sort out your text pipeline very early, and get your tools up and running. The longer you wait, the more you will hate yourself. Some games have complex or esoteric text requirements -- non-linear conversation systems, for instance -- so it is critical that you organize your data cleanly and clearly.

Also, take a moment to decide how the script will be delivered. Not all writers are familiar with the esoteric architecture of your text database, so if your writer is delivering the script in Word or Final Draft, you're going to need a pipeline to handle its transfer.

When Writing Begins

Once your game's foundation has been laid and the team is ready to start production, the actual writing can begin. This is the fun part. Writers love to write, but without constant contact with the design team, they run the risk of giving you more script than you need, or a script you don't need at all. This wastes everyone's time and makes the writer sad when you have to tell him, "as beautiful as they are, your 100 part limerick-cycle has no place in Chaz Dastard's Intergalactic Star Safari 2: Misremembered Legacy".

Nip your writer's graphomania in the bud by establishing clear boundaries. This should be simple if the writer has been involved in the design from the beginning, since all parties involved will understand the extent of the game's writing needs. Keep track of everything before it needs to be written, as it is being written, and after it has been written. A game writer without defined boundaries or direction -- especially an off-site, contracted writer -- runs the risk of writing something as sensible and useful to your game as Andre Breton's Soluble Fish.

Script, First Draft. Between the greenlight and first milestone, the writer should be busy as hell. On short projects, ideally she should have a finished first draft of the script by the first production milestone, as this will help the level design process move smoothly.

On longer projects, the writer and level designers will be working back and forth quite a bit to make sure neither one lets a detail slip, edging ever closer to a first draft.

Demand Story and Script Sign-Off, Again. Be crystal clear with your client: the script needs to be read and comments forthcoming as soon as possible. Of all the client-side headaches I have ever encountered, this is the most painful.

Many clients make the mistake of believing the script is the single most important aspect of their game, and therefore spend months and months poring over details that contribute very little to the final game experience. Delays of this sort can hold up level designers and cutscene artists in the most asinine ways imaginable, wasting time that cannot be easily recovered.

One little discussed benefit to hiring an experienced writer is the fact that, relative to coders and artists, good writers work incredibly fast. Text is cheap and takes very little time to edit and revise. But this advantage is of no use to anyone if writers aren't aware that anything needs revising.

I have lost count off the number of times a seemingly innocuous level design change or map layout has rendered a chunk of my dialog obsolete. When I have not been made aware of this chance, the resulting headache cannot be cured by earthly medicine.

Darby: Listen to this gem, guys: "Sally forth to yonder Black Forest, stalwart Wayfarer, for there you shall find a crystal dagger of such rare-"

Producer Person: Ah, Darby, sorry... the Black Forest was scrapped and replaced by a Walmart. We should have told you.

Darby: Ah... okay, hold on. Where's my pen?

Woe betide the team that discovers this incongruity only after the actors have recorded all of their dialog. Again, keep the writers and designers partnered at all times.

Into Production

Now you're well into production, and the heavy lifting has begun. If you have nailed all the earlier tasks, the rest of production should proceed smoothly, barring any client interference. This is supposed to happen only if you've been naughty, but the unfortunate truth is not so black and white.

There are more than a few imposing clients out there who, for understandable if not always sensible reasons, believe the story can be endlessly revised up until Beta. So be wary, keep calm, and carry on.
At some point during production, the script will be finished and the writer will feel like she is nearing the finish line far before the rest of the team. Don't let this illusion persist. There is still a bit of work your writer can help you with:

Casting. If you are recording with actors (and who isn't, these days?) now is the time to figure out who will be making your characters speak. On small projects that don't have an official story director, the writer can be of immense help. It's crucial to get your casting done well in advance of your recording date. Actors have hectic schedules and you'll find all the best ones rather busy if you try to snag a few the week of your recording session.

Final Script. As difficult as it is, the writer will have to stop tweaking her dialog and settle on something. Of course, it's a good idea to encourage the writer to streamline what she can. The script may be laden with timely wit and wisdom, but it is still, above all else, a game script and if it tests a player's patience, that can be a problem.

More to the point: the longer the script, the more time it will take the cinematics team to craft the cutscenes or scripted sequences. So when the writer buckles down and kills her darlings early, it keeps everyone from doing superfluous work.


Voice-Over Recording Sessions. Some writers make great VO directors; some don't. But all good ones should be able to re-write their dialog on-the-fly, so make sure your scrivener is available for the recording sessions. When she hears her dialog spoken aloud for the first time, she's probably going to want to change it. Allow some leeway, but don't let her get carried away. Try to limit changes only to what is egregious or erroneous.

Once you hit Alpha, the writer's job gets a lot easier. But there are still a number of good reasons to keep one around, locked in a cabinet somewhere, just in case.

Proofreading. Writers should never copyedit and proofread their own work, it's true. This is a fact that holds doubly true in the game industry where the volume of text written is often comparable to that of a novel. On the other hand, it's rare to find excellent proofreaders hiding in the QA department, so make sure as many eyes are on the text as possible, including the writer's.

Non-Dialog Text Revisions. It can take a long time to nail down all that tutorial, database, and menu text your game has accrued slowly but consistently over the span of the production. Lucky for you, text is cheap to implement and fix, and is quite safe to alter even up to the last minute (provided you're still proofreading).

And with that, your writer's job is finished and your game is nearly complete. Well done, folks. Take a breath and clean your white board. The whole process starts again in five... four... three... two... one...
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Thursday, February 19, 2015

Writing in Games: It’s Much More Than Narrative_Why some of the best writing has nothing to do with character or story. By Tim Biggs

22 Jun 2014  Warning: This feature contains a minor spoiler for The Last of Us: Left Behind.

Writing can make or break a game. It takes many forms - from dialogue to in-game literature, voiceovers or even scripted environmental events - but in almost all cases it aims to move the game along, distil complexity into something meaningful, give justifications for gameplay conceits and keep the player attached to the characters and scenarios through story.

When it comes to pointing out ‘good writing’ in games though, we don’t always look to the examples that do these things best. More often than not we associate ‘good writing’ with well-crafted story content and entertaining text or dialogue, and while this obviously isn’t a negative thing in and of itself, it leaves room for the idea that there are games with great, skilful writing that we don’t think of as such because they aren’t literary or don’t tell a gripping story. So is there a problem with the way we evaluate the quality of writing in games?


With the exception of pure narrative, writing in games must be function first; less to do with crafting a story and more to do with non-literary concerns like player retention and awareness.
 
Often when we talk about writing, we refer to the bits between or on top of the gameplay, where the characters talk to one another or you read some text to gain exposition. Yet while that kind of writing is easier for us to identify and analyse (by looking for the indicators of quality we recognise from literature and other media), the more game-specific, more technical (and depending on the game, more vital) form of writing that takes place during and informs the gameplay can often be overlooked.

With the exception of pure narrative (for example in a cutscene), writing in games must be function first, which is to say it’s less to do with crafting a story and more to do with non-literary concerns like player retention and awareness. Concerns like how does a player know the only way to exit the room is through a ladder in the roof? What does an AI character say to alert the player to incoming danger? How will the game explain to the player that a particular area is off-limits?

Whether these concerns are addressed seamlessly depends almost entirely on the quality of the writing which, like most other art in games, is usually there to build part of the scaffolding as much as part of the pretty façade. For example having a character deliver a “no, this doesn’t go here” or a “just three more to go” or heaven forbid a “hey, listen” serves a gameplay purpose rather than a literary one, and so should be judged on whether that purpose is realised.



Ride as fast as you like, you can't get away from Navi...

Ride as fast as you like, you can't get away from Navi...

Even if an offhand character remark gives you exactly the information you need at the right time to have things click into place and make you feel like a genius or a badass, such writing is unlikely to be called out as ‘good’, and I think it boils down to the fact that this kind of functional writing only really exists in video games.

As a baseline, consider Naughty Dog's Uncharted trilogy and The Last of Us, which are generally very well regarded in terms of writing and storytelling. This can be seen most recently in The Last of Us Left Behind DLC, in which the narrative cleverly negotiates our familiarity with coming-of-age stories. 

Although stories of this type tend to be predictable and hard to pull off owing to the sheer number of times they’ve been told, the characterisation and literary restraint in Left Behind allows an experience that feels exciting and surprising while still managing to convey something deeply universal. Had the characters been written more salaciously or more in line with traditional young love stories, the player would surely have anticipated this and the impact of Left Behind would have been undermined.



Such a believable relationship.

Such a believable relationship.

Stories like these show that video games are just as capable of incredible storytelling as film and literature, but it’s plain to see that the cleverness and skill with which the game’s narrative aspects are handled are satisfying to us in all the ways we recognise from those purely narrative forms. We recognise them as hallmarks of good storytelling. So what about the cleverness and writing skills unique to video games as a form? For an example of that I’m going to jump to a game similar to The Last of Us in many ways, but also very different.

 
The Gears of War games, not always regarded as having ‘good writing’ (“Never thought it would end like this, huh Maria!?”) make an interesting example in my argument that the way we measure writing quality in games might center the discussion mostly on the overtly artistic or narrative kind.

Whether or not the story being told in the latest game - Judgment - was of a high quality in the traditional sense, the writing was exceptional. Take the declassified missions for example, which appeared in each chapter and offered an optional set of parameters to the player, increasing the challenge but also the reward.

The parameters obviously had to be fun from a gameplay point of view, but their in-game justification required scenarios that made sense to that exact part of the narrative, could be left out entirely if the player so chose, and delivered a reasonable explanation for why visibility was suddenly limited or the mission had to be accomplished under a certain time constraint. In addition to this, voiceover had to be written that explained these ludicrous happenings from the perspective of one of the main characters, bringing in their own perspective and personality.

In the end the player has an understanding of the option, the consequences and the story, and they’ve stayed immersed in the artifice of the game throughout. It’s a great (if not very subtle) example of games writing acting as the carpenter’s hammer rather than the novelist’s pen. While none of it hit you in the gut, brought a tear to your eye or made you gasp with an unexpected twist, it was good writing nonetheless.



Turns out DudeBros can also be effective communicators!

Turns out DudeBros can also be effective communicators too.

Zooming in from the overarching scenario-type writing to the minute-to-minute experience kind, you can also see a vital role that’s easy to overlook. We’ve all had experiences where the entirety of what’s happening in a game fails to be communicated to us coherently, either because we haven’t grasped an important mechanic or are just not looking at it the intended way.

Often in fast-paced action-heavy games where that doesn’t happen a lot (like Gears), it’s because your focus and understanding of the scenario is being shaped by mission directives or context-specific character speech. For all its malignment, “RAZOR HAIL” is a pretty stunningly effective thing for a character to scream at you if you need to be told “keep yourself covered from above at all times or you’ll be ripped to shreds”.

Whether a particular game is built around mechanics or a story at its core (or both), the function of this seemingly incidental writing is to connect the player in their limited perspective to their place in the immediate scenario and the wider game world.

A poorly written or communicated aspect of the game will break the player’s ability to experience the game as intended, even as the disruptive and unpredictable tendencies of the player will break any writer’s attempt to focus attention too absolutely or tell a story too linearly. Yet for all this, if the writing of a game is absolutely nailed the player will hardly even notice it’s there while they’re playing.

It’s this unique relationship between players and game designers - each affecting the way the other creates and experiences - that makes the supporting writing in games so largely unlike the writing in any other media, and it’s why that writing is just as worthy and just as deserving of our analysis and attention as the more literary kind we tend to focus on. 
 IGN Logo


Tim is a freelance writer based in Sydney. You can catch up with him on Twitter and why not join the whole IGN Australia team on Facebook?

Thursday, January 29, 2015

On Becoming a Game Writer / Gamasutra Columns by Richard Dansky | Central Clancy Writer | on October 10, 2013

http://blog.ubi.com/the-write-stuff-on-becoming-a-game-writer/


On Becoming a Game Writer
One of the questions I get asked most frequently is How do I get into game writing? Now, this isn’t the same as How did you get into game writing? Ask ten game writers that question and you’ll get twelve different answers. No, what people are looking for is the clear and well-manicured path into the profession – a certain set of steps to follow that, once completed, will yield a position as a game writer.

This is a perfectly reasonable question to ask, and in a just and fair and logical world, it would have a simple and concise answer. Unfortunately, we are not living in that world. There’s a reason every game writer’s journey is different, and that’s because different companies are looking for different things in a writer. Some embrace the role and smooth the path, some have very specific needs and wants, and some aren’t quite sure what exactly they’re going to do with a writer, but they’re pretty sure someone needs to be generating some text assets for their game right about now. There is no one true way, and anyone who tells you there is, is most likely trying to sell you something they’ve written about how to become a game writer.
On Becoming a Game WriterThat being said – and bearing in mind that I am not, in fact, trying to sell you anything – there are a few things you can do to advance toward game writing. They’re not hard and fast, there’s no achievement unlocked after accomplishing them, and they may seem a little counter-intuitive in places. But in 14 years of doing this, I haven’t found anything better. So, if you want to be a game writer, here’s what you’ve got to do:

Check Your Ego

If you believe that you are going to walk in the door as a writer, elucidate your grandiose vision for the story you want to tell and have the development team magically transmogrify into Oompa-Loompas who are there to actualize that vision, you may find yourself sadly disappointed. A writer is part of a team, there to mesh harmoniously with folks from other disciplines in order to create the player experience. Fail to understand that you are part of a team – that you are creating assets and providing deliverables, not cavorting through the fields of the Swiss Alps in a smock whilst declaiming Romantic poetry that the rest of us are privileged to hear – and you will probably also fail to understand why nobody wants to work with you.

Play Games

If you want to write games, play games. To write for any medium, you need to understand that medium’s unique form and demands. The best way to acquire that knowledge is to consume that medium, and by consuming that medium – or as we call it, “sitting your butt on the damn couch and playing some games” – gain both experiential and instinctive knowledge of what works.

It’s not the only thing, of course. You don’t sit through twelve hours of Dynasty Warriors 8 and emerge with the knowledge of how to write meaningful systemic dialog chewing its way out of your head like a particularly hungry Athena.On Becoming a Game Writer You do, however, walk away with a pretty decent sample size of things that worked and things that didn’t work, and you can start putting that knowledge to use in your own work.

Observe Games

Of course, when I say “play games” I don’t just mean “play games.” Racking up body count in adversarial is cool, but if you’re focused exclusively on optimizing your play, you’re missing the chance to observe game writing in its natural habitat.

So play as a player, but also play as a writer. Listen to the dialog. Observe the visual storytelling. Look at the text that gets used, and ask yourself why those choices might have been made. See if you can reverse engineer – and thus understand – the narrative design.

Do this, and you’ll get a better grasp of how game writing works when the rubber hits the road. It’s not just the words, it’s when the words get used, and how many, and to what end, and where there are no words at all. Watch the game as you play it, and learn.

Make Games

The best way to learn what works as writing in a game is to get your writing in a game. Luckily, we’re in a place in the evolution of the industry when it’s possible to get your writing in a game even if you’re not working for a game company.

Go find yourself a Game Jam, or haunt a local college’s CS department bulletin boards to find groups that are making games on their own. Offer your services as a writer, even if all they need is menu text. Grab a tool kit and make something with your words in it. Get your stuff in a game and see how it plays.
On Becoming a Game Writer
And I’ll be honest here – odds are your first few cracks at it aren’t going to be great. That’s OK. This is the space where you can learn, and you can get better without your employment being on the line. Because the more games you write for, the better you’ll get at recognizing what does and doesn’t work, and the quicker you’ll build the habits of good work you’re going to need.

Besides, it doesn’t hurt to have actual, honest-to-Murgatroyd games in your portfolio.

Tweet

And by tweet, I don’t mean HAW HAW CAT VIDEO LOL. One of the things Twitter does is force you to phrase complete thoughts in a constrained space. This is entirely akin to writing for games, where you must on occasion phrase a complete thought in a space that is entirely constrained by the number of characters the German localization is going to require. Or, more likely, constrained by the fact that you don’t want your dialog to ramble, potentially interrupting gameplay in the process.

So tweet, and tweet smart. Learn how to write short, pithy sentences that communicate a point. And lay off the cat videos.

Talk With Game Writers

The best way to learn about the job is to talk to people who have done the job. This is not a surprise, nor is it unique to game writing. So, if you’re interested in the role, find ways to interact with people who are doing it. Go to conferences where game writers are speaking. Follow them on social media and engage – respectfully. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions goes a lot further than Why did you make that incredibly stupid decision in your last game? Look to the IGDA Game Writing Special Interest Group and get on their mailing list. Make a reputation for yourself as someone who can engage cogently and professionally, and who has interesting things to say about the subject matter.
On Becoming a Game Writer
Also, don’t be a jerk.

If you do these things there’s a better shot that when someone has an opening and your name gets floated as a possibility, you’ll get a positive response. As opposed to, say, slagging a writer on your blog and then turning around and asking them for work. Because that always goes so well.

Taking the Next Steps

Will doing all these things get you a job as a game writer? No. Knocking on doors, sending out resumes, applying for gigs and presenting good work in your portfolio will actually get you the job. But if you do these things, you’re in a better position to be ready to knock on doors – and to be prepared to seize the opportunity when somebody answers.

For more of Dansky’s advice for writers, check out this post:

Tips for Writers
the author

Perhaps best known for his brief stint as the world’s leading authority on Denebian Slime Devils, Richard Dansky has been with Red Storm/Ubisoft since 1999. His first game was Shadow Watch and his most recent one is Splinter Cell Blacklist. In between he’s served on the advisory board for GDC’s Game Narrative Summit, helped found and develop the IGDA Game Writing SIG, and appeared on Gamasutra’s list of the top 20 game writers in 2009. He has also published six novels, one short fiction collection and a ton of tabletop RPG sourcebooks, which is why you should never tell him about your character. For a tantalizing taste of Dansky's inimitable insights, read his recurring column on the UbiBlog ("The Write Stuff") and follow him on Twitter: @RDansky