So, the name of the game is OCDemons, and I thought I’d show you the track I came up with tonight which I feel really fits what I want to do here.
[soundcloud url="http://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/90215650" params="" width=" 100%" height="166" iframe="true" /]
“Come on, guys, this is our time. Our last chance to see if there really is any rich stuff. We’ve got to.” – Mikey, The Goonies.
It astonishes me to think of the opportunities we have, right now, as a result of the internet. Twenty years ago being a published journalist meant working your way up to writing for the local paper, and onwards from there. Now, it means opening a WordPress account and writing about what’s happening around you on any particular day. Games development used to be an arcane art practised only by coder-kiddies and trained professionals. Now, GameMaker, Stencyl, Twine and a load of other tools means that any single one of us can create whatever we want.
There was an article written by Ben Kuchera recently that ruffled a lot of feathers. Personally, I think he’s full of shit and tends to forget he works for the Dick Wolves company when repeatedly straddling his high horse while simultaneously promoting sexist content as a means to pay for normal, sane content, but he’s also not wrong in that a lot of online content is pandering to the lowest common denominator, the easiest click. Last night at an NUJ event Steve Boxer told an interesting tale of a games show on television that would bring out Page 3 girls and little people whenever things were getting boring in a two-hour slot. Are we really so blind that we can’t see how many sites are pulling this shit?
Games are no different, but the exciting thing is this is changing. More and more people are lashing out at content like this, and additionally people are beginning to write about and make videogames in a way that bucks the trend and excites me. We have games about depression, hormone replacement therapy, OCD (soon) – these are not light topics, but they are real topics that people should be relating to far more easily than whatever Call of Duty’s got going on.
It’s also pretty amazing to see the games press covering this stuff – I spoke to a couple of writers last night who seemed enthusiastic about covering games like this, and it’s heartening because you could imagine someone’s action if you pitched this to IGN or one of the other many content farms. Indie games aren’t ignored by any of the gaming press as of 2013, but then again many large sites limit their indie games coverage to whatever amazing thing someone built in Minecraft and how crazy is it that that one guy made so much money from this game shit that, frankly, has been done to death.
Every single person is a content creator. Everyone is an author, a game developer, a musician, a journalist. There are no limits any more, no barrier to entry, bar a connection to the internet, and even that can be free for some. The Girl Scouts have just introduced a badge for game development – everyone is in on this, and you should be in on this.
You are no longer just an “ideas person.” You can now be a person who made that thing that some people liked, that had an impact on someone’s life. Every single one of your life experiences is an incredibly valuable, important thing to people who want to learn and understand you because they’re open-minded enough to play games like Dys4ia or Braid knowing that there are things in these games that could change them, make them feel things that they’re not used to feeling when they’re shooting the thousandth bug-eyed alien in a row. Please share those experiences by any means, if you want to. There is no wrong medium, no minimum requirement. There may not be any “rich stuff” in the monetary sense but fuck that, the wealth in making games like this is connecting with people and opening up people’s minds to new ideas and perspectives, and anyone can do that now. The door is fucking wide open.
So step through it.
I’m making a game about OCD.
I think I first realised there was something wrong with me when I was a teenager. As kids, we’d play “the Mini game,” where if we saw a Mini, we’d race to be he first person to punch the other one. It was childish, and ridiculous, but we were children, and thus ridiculous. The problem started to become obvious when I would see a Mini while I was out and about and, years after we’d stopped playing the game, I would hit myself, whether I was with other people, or not. It’d be subtle, but if you happened to be looking at me at the time you’d wonder why I’d clench my fist and thump it into my thigh like that.
The truth is I did it because to not do it caused me a lot of anxiety. I know somewhere in my brain that if I don’t give into these compulsions, nothing will happen to me. I know that I will be able to forge forward and continue with my life. But that’s not really how things work. The patterns I follow keep me calm, contented, whole. I no longer feel as stressed out because I’m tapping my fingers in a certain way. Unless I do it wrong, of course, which means I have to start again. This happens often.
My date of birth contains the same number four times. This probably wasn’t the cause of my OCD but it definitely contributed to it. I go through phases, becoming obsessed with a certain number for several years before moving on. I’ll eat my food in a set number of bites, sometimes. Or set the volume on the television to a certain number even if that’s not as loud or as quiet as I really want it to be, because the “else” in this fucked-up “if statement” is anxiety.
Quite frequently people tell me that I worry too much, and I begin to wonder if they actually know a lot about what living with something like this is like. I’ve had to teach myself, over the past however many years, how to behave, at least on the surface, like a normal person. How to realise that a lot of my obsessive behaviour is just that – obsessive behaviour, things most people would not do, things most people would not think about.
If I’ve ever spoken to you there’s a fair chance I’ve analysed everything that’s happened or fixated on one minute detail and had to stop myself repeatedly from asking you about it. You’ll also notice I constantly correct myself while I’m talking, because for some reason it feels very dishonest for me to say sentence A when I was going to say sentence B. So I’ll find a way of saying both. Also, if I’ve ever forgotten what I was going to say to you, you may let it go immediately but it will really get to me, immediately, because it suddenly becomes incredibly important. Same goes for me not hearing something you’ve just said, as saying “never mind” to someone like me just doesn’t really click into place like it should with a normal, carefree person.
The reason I want to make a game about OCD is to give other people an idea of not how sorry to feel for me and anyone else who deals with this, but to help people to understand. To realise that while you might laugh at someone stepping on a bath mat because they feel they have to else they’ll start to freak out, that this is one of the things that keeps them feeling balanced. It’s a really difficult concept to explain and the moment you analyse it it makes no sense at all, but when you’re there, in that moment, tapping your fingers in the right pattern is what unlocks the rest of the day for you.
I was out to dinner with some nice people recently and, when talking to them about the game, one of them remarked that OCD is like being on one of those inflatable running tracks at fairgrounds where you have an elastic cord that will yank you back to the start after you run a set distance. I agreed, and remarked that as you go flying back towards your compulsive behaviour, there’s the sense of shame and failure that goes with it as you give in YET AGAIN to behaviour you know isn’t normal or healthy but you don’t really know what to do as you’ve got no fucking choice in the matter.
Playing games is often difficult for me as a result of all of this shit. Some people like collectibles in games, and I understand why. For me they are a major source of anxiety when I’m playing, because I constantly worry I’m missing things and not getting the full experience. That’s basically what OCD is, really – feeling like everything needs to be finished, or done, despite the fact that nothing is finished, or done, it’s just needless bullshit on top of your life that has no real place in it.
Designing a game around these concepts has been very interesting – working out how to implement compulsions and the anxiety that results from ignoring them has been an exercise in both design and communication. For once I feel like I’m communicating something very specific to the player. I’m not sure I want to tell them what the game is about, because part of me really wants them to just “get” it, but the other part of me is extremely worried they won’t, and again I wonder how much of that is me, and how much of that is my OCD.
That’s the issue I’ve really run into as an adult – working out what bits of my thoughts are the broken/unwell part of me, and what bits of me are the normal, everyday person part. I’m genuinely not sure a lot of the time, but when I’m having a nice conversation or playing a game or watching a film sometimes it all drifts away and I can exist outside my head for a bit, and things become clearer and more happily exciting and colourful and I can forget, for that little period of time.
One of the best compulsions I have, well, the best, really, is honesty. Occasionally little white lies seep out (I say this slightly disappointing bit because I am compelled to, to give you some idea of how this works), but most of the time I am literally incapable of lying to people, as it became an obsession a few years ago. Unfortunately that gets exhausting for people so I’m learning about the idea of keeping things to yourself and not telling someone EVERYTHING EVER, but that’s a difficult process and sometimes I feel like I’m standing slightly to the left of everyone else, that everyone else is stupid and this stuff matters. The world seems extremely dishonest to me, and that makes it feel like a cold and heartless place full of people who are self-serving unconcerned about the smallest impacts. Then I realise that OCD often means you can’t see the fucking forest for the trees, and again I attempt to understand how things work for someone I’d consider more stable.
Hopefully people then like the game and talk to me about it. I would like to show them how things work.
And no, I don’t really fully understand The Number 23. I think it makes even less sense to me than it does to you. Sorry.
So, I launched Escape Pod just over twenty-four hours ago, and it’s finally out of the peer-review section of Newgrounds. I have no idea how well it’s going to do – it’s about as complicated as the helicopter cave game, quite frankly – but I’m pleased it’s done and while I’d love to take it down and add all the suggestions to it, part of me just wants to leave it up and keep going.
Short stories. When I was trying to write novels, I kept faltering after realising just how much work it was. I’d gone from writing 1000-word flash fiction and other short pieces to attempting an 80k manuscript, and that was dumb. Same goes for games. COOLO FORVER was a year’s worth of work, as is fragments (you’ll hear me talk about that game on a podcast at some point in the future, just waiting for it to go live). Small games, however, saved me. Stopped Hug Marine from being the last thing you ever saw me release.
Overall the project didn’t take long – probably about a working week’s worth of work and testing, possibly less. It’s not a hugely complicated game but I’m fairly happy with the look if a little frustrated at the workarounds. Happy accidents include having the UI glitch out when you hit something because I couldn’t figure out how to stop your score from rising after you died without breaking the entire game, and making the game a space themed one because I was getting fed up with dealing with an endless runner that used gravity.
It also ended up being a game that’s now a significant part of a mythos I’ll be working on over the next however many years, hopefully – I can’t be arsed to keep saying “IT’S COMING OUT THIS YEAR HUR HUR HUR HUR” because I keep doing that and then I go make games that aren’t that one, and I feel like an utter twat as a result.
It’s a flipping addictive game, though, I’ll give it that. Had it been a game I’d found rather than made I’d probably do what people I know have done and sat there going for high score after high score. The leaderboard became a thing with a couple of the folks at work, and it’s been amusing to see the usernames of friends and others I know appear on Newgrounds, almost like our own little private joke. Maybe we’ll form an indie game dev clique, too, haw haw. >.>.
Anyway – happy with it, glad it’s out of my system, would love to make it better but because it’s a significant game in my life updating feels weird and Escape Pod 2 just sounds messed up, so I’ll probably take those ideas and solved problems in my head and apply the total fuck out of them to my next project - Cowstronauts. More on that soon. Later peeps. –CY
Quite frequently, these days, I feel like making games is my only way to communicate with people on a level subtle enough that I don’t freak them out. It’s difficult to live with issues that challenge you to engage with people openly and honestly, and I find that being able to create interactive experiences is an outlet that makes things just that little bit more manageable.
The odd thing about it I suppose is that it doesn’t actually matter if you “get it” or not – what matters is that I’ve put that message in my game, and it’s now out in the wild and to me that’s the same as writing a cryptic song or making an arthouse film. The meaning isn’t going to sink in with everyone – or anyone, even – but that release is enough.
What I’m asking you to do, when you make games – games where you’re not answering to anyone but yourself – is to stop giving a flying fuck what anyone thinks. Don’t worry about things like whether or not the theme is too heavy, whether you’re going too deep and dark, whether the music fits. This is your space, the safe haven where you express yourself, and it’s arguable that the reason you’re making this game for yourself rather than heading into an AAA studio’s lobby and contributing to something larger and safer is because you want that freedom of expression.
Our lives are finite. Doesn’t matter what you believe in, spiritually – the reality is you’ve only got one lifetime in which you can make and release art. One opportunity to communicate to people what matters to you, and if you miss that window, there’s nothing more heartbreaking than feeling that some crucial aspect of yourself has been misunderstood, whether you said it directly or not.
Indirect expression is all art is, really. Saying something without actually saying it as you would on the phone to a friend. Painting a large dark landscape rather than saying “I’m depressed.” Making a game about a little man with no skin who falls in love with a girl made out of bandages because it’s an easier way of telling the world that there’s someone with you who keeps you safe. Sometimes, it’s just not that easy to find the words, and when those days arrive on your horizon, you can turn to art and expression, and save yourself from the horrific prison that is endlessly smiling at people and hoping they can see past the grin to all the churning emotion seething beneath your surface.
Sometimes I make games because they make me smile, or laugh. I made a game about someone whose job it is to hug people. I made a game about being frustrated with grinding in RPGs. I’m also just about to release something that has a level of personal meaning I don’t think most people would even consider, let alone notice. But making games, sometimes, is my way of screaming into a pillow, of getting it out of my system, and I’m asking you not to stifle that for yourself. Don’t conform, don’t bow, because the moment you do all it does is put walls between you and the people you need to understand you.
It’s also an easier way of discussing subjects that are still massively taboo. You can write a thousand songs about death, depression, drugs, sexual abuse and any other number of subjects most people don’t want to discuss at the dinner table, and no one will say a thing. Same goes for games, and while it’s important to talk about these subjects to remove the very taboo keeping suicidal people from talking to anyone until they’re swinging from the ceiling, it’s also important to remember that you have this outlet, and it’s widely accepted. In fact, it’s probably even more acceptable than yet another game glorifying the fucking armed forces or whatever the hell messed up themes people are championing as pseudo-heroism in AAA titles these days.
If you can’t do any of these things, that’s fine. Like I’ve said before, don’t think that because I’m championing this shit it’s the only way to go – it’s simply what works for me. And to think that I can churn out Hug Marine and some kid wants to come and do work experience (I had to explain to them that my studio is literally my MacBook and wherever my arse is planted) it’s a positive sign that while people won’t always understand your work, it’s good to know that you’re inspiring people and making a difference.
The most heartbreaking thing I’ve seen in a while was the scene in which Jonathan Blow’s discussion of Braid’s meaning is juxtaposed with Soulja Boy playing Braid as, well, an everyday videogame. While there’s nothing wrong with that (I thought it was hilarious the first few times), once I realised that Blow saw that as yet another person not getting what he was trying to tell them, my heart broke for him. But that’s going to happen to you a lot, with art. I can, from a personal standpoint, understand how damaging that is, but it’s a risk you take with personal projects. No one’s considering becoming a shut-in because someone didn’t get the emotional vibes of Rayman Origins.
Anyway. My point is, really, to express yourself if you can, and not to worry about the fact that you’re not doing it verbally. Sometimes even that isn’t even enough, and presenting the work to people who appreciate it means there’s a chance of at least one person seeing all the fear and hate and upset behind a set of sprites on a backdrop.
Sometimes that one person is enough.
Do me a favour, internet – if you’re not aware of 100% of the ways online advertising generates revenue, stop commenting on it. Your opinion is meaningless. Not because you are, but because you don’t fully understand the basics of what you’re attempting to disagree with.
So, one ongoing issue is that people are pissed off because they’re having to consider turning off AdBlock. People use AdBlock for the following reasons (if there are more, tell me):
1) They believe all content should be free (for them).
2) They dislike how cluttered websites are due to ads.
3) They find some of the adverts used offensive.
4) They feel like the ads are being shoved down their throats.
5) They don’t actually understand that much about how adverts work.
6) They would rather pay a subscription for an ad-free site.
Let’s break down these concerns and tackle them, because then I can just point to this link rather than having to explain the very basic concepts of content magnetisation and consumption to every single person on social media who once used the internet and is therefore an expert consultant (apparently).
1) They believe all content should be free (for them).
This is the biggest problem we have. In 2013, the average piece of software is less than a dollar. The average article? Free. Novel? Often free. Video content? Free. You’re so infrequently actually paying to see and enjoy content that when that barrier does appear, the idea of financially rewarding the people making your lives less boring or uninformed is abhorrent to you.
The trade-off is simple: people put adverts around their content. You don’t have to click on them, and you don’t have to buy the products advertised, although some people will. Now, while some people will purchase things as a result of seeing those adverts, you are under no obligation to do so. But the amazing thing about ad impressions is all you need to do is see the advert, and you’re helping a content creator pay their rent. Simple, right?
2) They dislike how cluttered websites are due to ads.
This is fine, because there are a lot of stupid approaches to placing ads on websites. Wraparounds are my least favourite, as they mean that if I click near the article to focus the browser and scroll, I end up on another page or spawning a pop-up, and that’s just invasive and it puts me off the site. But many ads are either obvious re: clicking on them, or subtle enough that they’re not right slap-bang in the middle of your content. You are being over-sensitive and selfish by demanding minimalism in an environment that cannot sustain itself on it.
3) They find some of the adverts used offensive.
Again, this is an issue – many adverts are deeply sexualised when they shouldn’t be, or offensively marketed in the way that they pigeonhole and stereotype people. Sadly, you’d be surprised at the decent chunk of those where that was simply them trying to appeal to the broadest number of people, rather than implying everyone is the same. But this is an issue, and one I agree with.
4) They feel like the ads are being shoved down their throats.
This ties into number two, so we can safely say the same for this.
5) They don’t actually understand that much about how adverts work.
This is the main impression I got while discussing this issue with people, and at one point had to actually block someone because I was being told by someone who confirmed they’re not a content creator that the content market is fine, no one is suffering, and I’m proposing an unsustainable model. Yes, unsustainable model being online advertising – one of the most money-filled things you can do with a website!
The most common misconception I came across was that people believe that you have to click on an advert for the site to make money, or that you have to buy something. This isn’t true at all. Ad impressions count towards revenue, and I know this because I have a bookmarked link for my Newgrounds revenue page that will show you that I made cash PURELY from impressions.
The best thing you can do is really go and learn about this topic before you start criticising those who rely on it for income. Do not simply assume AdBlock hurts no one but yourself because you “never click on ads anyway and wouldn’t buy that shit.” That’s not how it works, and your ignorant approach to using the internet is one of the main things devaluing the people who actually make high-quality content for it.
6) They would rather pay a subscription for an ad-free site.
Good for you, and thank you. You’re fantastic. Sadly, this is also not a viable option. Say you subscribe to one site, but there’s a really cool game/article/video on another. Do you subscribe again? What about again after that? Are you beginning to feel the tug on your wallet for content that people used to pay for all the time? Yeah, you can, can’t you? It sucks. So buy whatever you’d buy normally, keep AdBlock off, and let the advertising companies pay the site for your visits, rather than you paying yourself.
Penny Arcade championed its Kickstarter that allowed it to go for a year without ads. Do you know what it actually did? First, it gamed Kickstarter and broke one of its rules – that this would not be a recurring thing, which Ben Kuchera himself confirmed to me would be something they’d consider once this “ad-free year” runs out. Two, the rewards they offered were not for extra content – they were for things like being an intern for the day, for the low, low price of several thousand dollars. Mike himself admitted to me that he wouldn’t pay for it, but they’ll happily charge you for it anyway.
That is what I’d call an unhealthy model, and it’s also unrealistic because this is a company that owns Penny Arcade and runs PAX, in addition to Child’s Play. They are not your average website’s worth of folks trying to make a living – they are a content creator’s Cinderella story, and pointing to them as an example is therefore utterly pointless.
-
Look. No one’s saying you have to buy anything, or put up with invasive or offensive ads. That has to change. But you need to accept that most people will not pay a site themselves to access content. Even a site as big as YouTube would risk destroying itself if it paywalled the site. Paywalls already exist and many people absolutely despite them. Turn AdBlock off and allow people to eke out a living. Content creators are, in the majority, not living like kings because you’re putting up with ads. But after the amount of whining and self-entitled bullshit they’re putting up with because you bit the hand that fed you entertainment, I think living like a king would be adequate compensation. Enjoy your free stuff.
“Are games art?”
“Are art games really games?”
“Is Proteus a game?”
These utterances keep appearing in my social feeds, time and time again, as people endlessly debate what should qualify as a videogame, the need to obsessively categorise everything rather than simply going and playing some fucking videogames overtaking their self-awareness to the point where people write long diatribes on this bullshit method of approaching the industry’s borne fruit.
While there was one game that really did make me question whether I was playing a game (I’m sorry, Dear Esther, I tried, but I’ve been on travelators faster than that) or simply interacting with a digital representation of something else, there are some really bizarre divides within the indie community at large as to what consitutes a game. Proteus is a great example. “Is it a game?!” people would ask, frantically, as though their hard drives would wipe themselves if they designated it as such and – deep gasp – might even turn out to be WRONG. Turns out that an interactive video experience in which you play – that verb is important – around and make music and explore and generally indulge the more simple, instinctive elements of your psyche means it’s a videogame. You are playing. Therefore, it is a game. This isn’t rocket science.
I think part of the problem is that some people, usually those same people who think that Hollywood movies shouldn’t have a “message,” dislike games that venture off the Call of Duty beaten track and actually try to make a point. Which is interesting, as I’ve found that the Call of Duty series made the same point in every one of its games, that I think the primary audience missed – that the heroic figures in the CoD mythology are psychotic bastards who need to be fired into the sun, made necessary because it makes people feel tough to smash glass inside someone’s mouth in a videogame. Shrug.
Games just aren’t about simple messages, any more. More and more people are making them, even me (sorry), and you’ll swiftly discover that people make them about all sorts of things. Depression, hormone replacement therapy, social anxiety – just some of the themes that for some reason people know are part of every day life and yet we don’t have them often enough in our fiction to the point where society has indicated that these are not “fun” subjects, while war remains a perfectly enjoyable Sunday night with the kids. It’s fucking surreal, really.
GRINDSTAR probably challenged people’s notions of what a game was, given it simply asks you to click just over a million times, but really, if clicking and watching numbers goes up means you’re not playing a game, then I guess it might be time to retire most of the RPGs you’re playing. When someone can create a game like Proteus – a game that made me emotional because I’d never been confronted with such wonder in a virtual environment before – and then have to field endless bullshit enquires by “games journalists” about whether or not it constitutes what we define as a “videogame,” I begin to wonder if there’s any point in making anything deep at all. (UPDATE: I have zero idea why I said that, there’ll always be a point, but there certainly won’t be a point in listening to the endless OCD bullcrap some people write about the stuff you make.)
I could understand it if Proteus had shitty mechanics, or didn’t really do anything. I mean if you simply floated around automatically and could only use the mouse to look about as you moved, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d stumbled into an interactive screensaver (note to self, figure out how to get a Proteus screensaver). But given you can run down hills and chase frogs and change the island environment and actually do things that are fun, if your first reaction is OH I DON’T KNOW, IS THIS A GAME? IS IT? I’M NOT SURE GUYS then please, please just go and play something else and stop endlessly polluting the internet with pointless posturing. It’s like modern art – sure, you might not fucking enjoy it because it’s less obviously artistic to you than an oil painting of some flowers, but it’s still art, so either get on with it or just stop bothering everybody else.
“Hey, but what about if a game is depressing but interactive but you still have puzzles and-”
*gunshot*
NO. STOP IT. GO AWAY.
–fn
Hey! So, I had a really relaxing Christmas, in which I did do a little game development, because it’s as natural to me as putting on some TV, at this point. It’s just “what I do” when I’m not doing anything else. At the moment, I’ve got quite a few prototypes and concepts that are in-progress, and I’m going to have to force my ADHD-esque self to focus on one of them lest they all flounder and die.
Currently that project is an action platformer that’s totally over the top and involves a lot of skill and a lot of set-pieces. I spent part of last night implementing glass that shatters when you hit it, and that was a really interesting process for me, as at first the player would lose all momentum when hitting the glass, but I found growing the collision bounds and making them non-solid meant that as you passed within the glass-break collision box, the window would shatter just as you hit it, rather than you passing through the thing and seeing it break while you run away from it, which would’ve been silly.
I’m also still toying around with my art style, as I’m having a lot of difficulty with run cycles. It’s the legs, really – it’s one thing to draw someone running, with a pen, but to do it with characters that exist within boxes that are sixteen by sixteen pixels before scaling is really difficult, for me. Luckily, there are a ton of examples on the web, and by opening .gifs in Pixen I can actually analyse them frame-by-frame to understand how better animators than I have accomplished these Herculean feats of spriting.
Also, my explosions suck, too, but in time I’m hoping to blow away the competition.
Blow away.
Blow. Awa-shut up.
So, Christmas is upon us, once again. “Upon us” seems a tad morbid given that I love Christmas – not the religious side to it, just that there’s a week in which most of the world throws their hands up, says “fuck it” to everything and goes and overeats with the fire on and their loved ones around them. That there’s a day on which I can visit my insane gift-buying compulsions upon people. Happy times.
It’s been a good year for me, developmentally. I’ve learned more at my day job, and I’ve finally started making games. 2012 heralded the arrival of Hug Marine, GRINDSTAR and FailStone 2, and has also conjured into being two in-process projects, as well as a couple of larger planned ones. I was initially going to try and knock out the two in-process ones before the New Year, but I’ve decided to Stop Being Mental and give myself a break, relax a little, and try and forget about that game dev itch I’ve had constantly, lately.
There’s some people I’d like to thank, as it happens, for the ongoing development work I do here and my general self-confidence and happiness levels. So here goes.
The others, of course:
So thank you all, enjoy your Christmas breaks, and I’ll speak to you in the new year. Much love. –CY
