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Playing games is largely a process of exploration. Often this is in a very literal sense, where you’re given a simulated physical space and part of the challenge is learning the ins and outs of it, but just as often the heart of the game lies in exploring the the edges of the game’s design or of its story. What actually is exploration though? What separates exploring a world from merely experiencing it? How can we support exploration, make it fun and interesting? Or, perhaps more saliently, how can we avoid undermining exploration without meaning to?

There’s two parts to exploring: Methodology and results. Methodology is what separates the process from pure random trial and error – even if you feel that you are wandering aimlessly and finding things as you go, you’re still building up an understanding of the environment in your head and applying that towards your movements. At the very least, you avoid exploring areas you’ve already been through in favor of finding new areas. Results are whatever you get using your method of approach. So, when we’re designing for explorability, we must have both a world that is consistent and predictable, so there can be method to measuring it, and a world that contains interesting things worth discovering. There is also a prerequisite to exploration: In order for something to be revealed, in must first be concealed. In order for it to be discovered, it must first be covered, so the world must also have parts of it which are not immediately obvious.

If you lack consistency of world, then surprises come randomly and without justification, and the player tends to meander interminably before finding anything of interest. If you lack anything worth discovering, that’s obviously even worse, and if everything is already obvious then there’s nothing to find. As an example, if you create a world that’s continuously being randomly generated, it might be an interesting experience but there’s no way to effectively explore it: methodology is useless, the discoveries pointless, and you could never expect to have any more knowledge of the world than one had first coming to it, meaning a world completely uniform in its inscrutability, an open book containing nothing but nonsense. This conflict between randomness and exploration is one reason why games attempting fusion of the randomized worlds of roguelikes with the exploration-heavy worlds of metroidvania tend to succeed far more as roguelikes than they do as metroidvanias.

In creating a simulated physical space to explore, using these concepts of methodology, result, and concealment is a pretty straightforward task to grasp. First, make it so your world has some logical spatial relationship – most games are like this by default, since they’re built on modeling a 3d space, though some like text adventures struggle a bit and map transitions can always throw a wrench in the works. Note that this is not to say you can’t or shouldn’t have weird and impossible architecture, just to note that the more confusing and counterintuitive it becomes the harder it becomes to effectively explore the space, which may or may not be something you want. Second, make the world also have things worth discovering: In purely spatial terms, this would just be an interesting location such as a cave or grove, but more practically this is where the ‘physical’ space of the game starts to overlap into the design and narrative spaces, since most actual interesting locations in games are interesting either because they contain gameplay advantages such as powerups or tactical positioning or because they contain narrative content such as historical information or new characters to meet. Third, make it so it isn’t immediately evident where these points of interest are – this is why having things like minimaps, fast travel, and x-ray vision can work against the sensation of exploration, since providing this information directly often works directly against concealment. Too much information is provided for free, so there’s no real room for method to beget discovery.

So, carrying these concepts over from the spatial realm to the game’s design, if we want to have an explorable design space it must be, first, consistent: This, like spatial consistency, tends to come for free in a highly systemic game but become scarcer the more separate systems or special exceptions exist. If every game element exists within a consistent system, people can devise and improvise interactions, can plan out experiments and log their results. They have a territory to map. Second, the game’s design must have things worth discovering – understanding the bounds of the design is usually a core part of what it means to become better at a game, so this is covered as long as the game’s challenge isn’t trivial. This is part of what difficulty offers us, is a system worth exploring. Third, the system must not be obvious, must conceal parts of itself: This is one that a lot of modern games struggle with. There’s a tendency to clip off surprising and unexpected parts of a game’s design, to ensure that the experience always feels ‘fair’, to set the boundaries of the design strictly at those of the developer’s imagination. It seldom works completely, but to the extent which it works it impoverishes the game.

Narratively, the tenets of explorability tend to resemble a great deal of existing storytelling advice. Avoid plot holes and give characters motivations to create a consistent narrative reality, include drama, jokes, and surprises to generate interest, and don’t lean on cliche and trope so much the entire arc is obvious from the first moment.

As mentioned earlier, these spaces all overlap. The surprises you discover in the spatial layer may have implications for the design, the techniques you discover in the design layer may have implications in the narrative, the story you uncover in the narrative may lead you to new places in the spatial. These aspects are all woven together, and the ability to uncover them collectively is one of the greatest things games can offer as a medium.

It’s very frustrating, sometimes, being an artist who is both terrible at and temperamentally disinclined from all forms of self-promotion. There’s a yearning to make people look and listen paired with an absolute aversion to the actions that could actually make that happen. However, as much as that bothers me sometimes, I’ve been thinking more and more about what success would look like to me, and what would come with it, and I have to admit that some of the things that might accompany it are worrying to me – and perhaps not the sort of things one might expect.

I think the part that scares me, and this probably explains a lot about why I’m so bad at self-promotion, is that if people are actually listening to you then you need to be extremely careful about what you say. I don’t mean this in a “oh boy you can’t say anything without offending anybody these days” way. I mean it in the sense that, when people are listening to your words your words become, effectively, actions. If you have an audience of millions any little thing you say might, potentially, have life and death consequences. The fact is, I don’t think I could continue to write the way I write now and feel ethically okay with it: When maybe 20 people read my blog a day, I can throw my thoughts at the wall and see what sticks. I’m sure that if I went back through my archives now I’d find many of my old posts naive or ignorant or completely idiotic – and, for me, that’s okay, because what I’m primarily interested in here on Problem Machine is just posing questions that interest me at the moment in a hopefully thought-provoking way. But if thousands of people were hanging on my word? Tens of thousands? Millions? I wouldn’t be able to do it. Any random thought could justify any unconnected action. I’d be pouring something into the ideological makeup of the world without having any idea of what effect it might have, dumping mysterious glowing goo into the water supply just to see what happens.

The point of which is to say that the ethics of art creation don’t necessarily scale. You can create a lot of art as a small creator with a small audience that you really can’t if and when that audience grows, and this constantly trips up small creators. In many ways, staying small is in your best interest if you care at all about creating ethically – just as the spider men say, with great power comes great responsibility, and thus if you feel unprepared to shoulder that responsibility without causing harm your best bet is to avoid great power.

And yet, we have so many incentives to become bigger. Not only are we told that success for an artist looks like having a big audience, it’s also, for most of us, a prerequisite for being able to survive while creating. If you can’t find a patron (or spouse) to support you while you work, you have to build a fan base large enough that you can float off of their contributions or page views – if you want to work full-time as an artist, anyway. This is why we keep seeing the pattern repeat itself of some small-time entertainer becoming hugely popular through Youtube or whatever and then saying something stupid and reckless which makes everyone mad at them: The kind of personality it takes to rise by force of personality from a small-time celebrity to a big-time celebrity is largely incompatible with the awareness it takes to actually be responsible with the power that reach confers.

The strip of available space to work in is narrow: The art you’re capable of making, the art you want to make, that art which is ethical to make, the art you are comfortable making, each of these shape the space of the art you can actually make – and the context of your place in the world changes the range of each of these. I don’t think it’s rare at all for this narrow strip of fertile ground to completely disappear as peoples lives change, as they run out of time or emotional space to express themselves. The time and context we have available to us to freely create is, over the course of our lives, potentially extremely limited.

No matter how much you might wish to, you will never know for sure your work is harmless. If it makes you feel any better, you’ll also never know that anything else you do is harmless. It’s all guesswork, of hope and leaps of faith that maybe we won’t do too much harm without meaning to. So, what, are we to sit in place and molder? Are we to always be paralyzed by a sea of choices with consequences with consequences with consequences?

But we do not essay forth into a void. There are already people creating, and many of them creating irresponsibly. Even having some awareness that you might have great power and, if so, it ought come with great responsibility puts you ahead of the game.

It’s better to go into it with eyes open. It’s better to worry about whether you’re relevant than to be loudly irrelevant, to worry about being unethical rather than being violently unethical. Even if it makes it harder to create, narrows the range of what we can create, it also opens up new possibilities and helps us better evaluate the real quality of our work. When you observe the world, you see a few people who are brilliant and many people who spout bullshit with unearned senses of self confidence. It’s easy to cast yourself as one or the other in your imagination, and to never end up saying anything out of fear of being unable to live up to the ideal of brilliance, or fear of unintentionally becoming another bullshit peddler. However, even as the world is full of vapid braying, the world is also full of people who never say anything because they’re not sure if what they have to offer is valuable, and the world is also full of people who try to be heard and cannot because the level of noise is too high, and all of them have so much more of value to offer than those buffoons who usually hog the spotlight, who are certain beyond question that it’s worth everyone’s while to listen to what they have to say.

The question is not whether you can be brilliant or a buffoon, but whether you can speak out at all. As long as you approach your words with care and thoughtfulness, they will always be worthwhile in a world where so many words are produced without thought, without care.

Well, it’s been a busy month. That’s putting it somewhat mildly – the last week or so has been possibly the hardest I’ve ever worked on a project, putting in anywhere from 8-12 hours every day and culminating in one last completely brutal 14 hour day on the first of February to wrap the project up. It’s still not perfect, I could definitely find plenty to do if I wanted to spend a week or so on polish and fixes, but for now I really just need to let this one go, because I’m exhausted and I want to move on to something else.

For January, I participated in Wizard Jam, the Idle Thumbs community game jam. The premise of the jam is to create a game based on the title of an Idle Thumbs network podcast, and since many of those titles tend to be weird and imaginative to start with there’s plenty to work with. I picked The Convergence Compulsion, and then later when I found out that someone else was interested in using the same title, appended the subtitle “The Satisfaction of a Job Well Done”, another podcast title. My very early conception of a game to go with this title was a fast-paced 2d puzzle game in the vein of a match-3 or Tetris where you tried to get different laser beams to line up, but the idea that eventually captured my imagination was a game where you build machines out of elements that emit power, manipulate it, and then turn it into some sort of work. Along the way, it shifted away from the idea of building complex machines and towards figuring out a solution to a puzzle made out of a few components and a number of simple humanoids, kind of like the games The Incredible Machine and Lemmings. At the end it came out pretty close to that, except most of the humanoid behavior had to be cut/simplified.

The concept of Convergence Compulsion is that you work for The Convergence Corporation installing hardware in different locations. The hardware usually consists of at least one power orb, which emits power particles, and at least one converger, which attracts them, and then using these and some other devices which focus, reflect, or split these particles you need to power different machinery. This ended up being kind of a finicky concept – Sometimes machinery ends up getting accidentally powered on just due to random chance, sometimes it takes a while to get the equipment specifically where it needs to be to focus particles, sometimes solutions I didn’t anticipate work and sometimes solutions that should work fail to because I didn’t script the levels to account for them. For the most part, though, I think I’ve managed to achieve the game I had in mind.

Here it is:

Convergence Compulsion: The Satisfaction of a Job Well Done

 

In addition to this, Wizard Jam 8 participants created a number of other great games, many of which I commend to your attention. A few standouts among those I’ve played or seen played thus far:

I’m exhausted but generally pleased with what I accomplished during January, which brings us to February. Now, I had originally planned on making another game this month, a 2d platformer project so I could better understand the capabilities and methodologies of Unity 2d development, but right now I’m really ready to just not work in Unity for a while. Thus, the 2d platformer project is getting pushed back one month to March, and for February I’m going to be focused on writing music, ideally with the end-goal of making another album. I have a few tracks floating around already, so it will really only take maybe 5 or so more to have enough for an album, but we’ll see where I end up. Even if I don’t end up having enough it’s fine, I just want to spend this month making as much music as I can and definitely not programming.