A New Chapter

Last Friday came and went.  Came and went like any other, but it was an important one.  Friday marked marked my last office day, and the start of a nice vacation before moving my entire family across Canada.  Within one month, I will be departing BioWare and EA, and joining an old friend in Quebec City as part of Ubisoft.  

I suppose it’s common sense to state that change is hard.  Change is really scary.  I’ve worked for Electronic Arts for the last 10 years of my life, the entirety of my career.  This company and the studios that I have worked for have never failed to take care of me and my family, and I wouldn’t think twice about working with the talented people of this company a second time.

But sometimes opportunity comes knocking on your door at the oddest of times.

Since taking up employment in this field, I have been very, very careful about where I chose to work, pursuing studios that properly embody specific criteria that’s important to me.   Just like everyone else who approached this industry with stars in their eyes, I was warned early on about what this field can do to you.  It’s cripplingly hard to get in.  It moves at a blistering pace.  Terrible working hours.  High turnover.  Horrendous business practices.  Hard to raise a family with such volatile factors at play.  Fortunately however, I’ve had a mixture of elements that have kept me warded from the worst that this industry has to offer, so that I can concentrate on growing a stable, rewarding career that helps me balance my job with my family: I am likable.  I am ambitious.  I am creative.  I am damn good at what I do.  And maybe I’m a little lucky.

I have a tempered personality of sorts.  When I’m at home with my family, I want to sit in the same chair, watch the same kind of shows, have the same kind of routine, and feel as comfortable and familiar as I can.  It drives my wife nuts.  Yet when I’m at work, I could not be more the opposite.  I want to learn new skills.  I want to try different things.  I want to experiment.  I refuse to do it the way someone else did.  I need to discover.  I need to move.  I need to be different and to advance.  I have made a name and a career for myself out of my feverish need to find new ways to do old and new things.

Living this far north and this far west has created one of the largest gaps between myself and family that I’ve ever experienced in my young life.  When I have not had family immediately nearby though, the workmates that I found here at BioWare have been the closest thing that I could ask for.  Hundreds of kind, caring people from the top down that have a vested interest in those around them.

I have never regarded work as just a “job” to do.  Work for me has been a place of happiness, of safety, of growth, of friendship, and yes, of family.  I transferred here because of I saw all of those things embodied with the people here, and I have become a richer person because of it.  And as of sending my farewell address in Outlook last Thursday, I now know that they have too.

There are a great deal of things that an “average” place of employment does not do.  An average workplace doesn’t provide breakfast every morning.  It doesn’t change its yogurt vendor from standard to greek style because it’s a healthier option.  It doesn’t meet a new employee and his bewildered family at 8pm the day that they immigrate in order to help them get situated in their new apartment.  It doesn’t give extended time off for employees mourning a miscarriage.  It doesn’t send gift cards to new mothers.  An average employer doesn’t provide career growth through challenging opportunities.  It doesn’t work extra-hard to make sure newly landed children can be involved in the upcoming annual kids Christmas party.  It doesn’t allow flexible working hours so that a dad can watch his daughter’s gymnastics finale.  It doesn’t do everything that it can to ensure that a soon-to-be former employee who is going to a competitor has everything that he needs to get off on the right foot during his exit.  But BioWare is not your average place.

Just like I’ve mentioned before, I am very, very careful about where I choose to work.  And believe me, if I didn’t see those same qualities in the studio that I am going to, I wouldn’t have even bothered with returning the call.

There are fantastic, family-friendly and people-oriented studios out there in the games industry, and they tend to be as modest as they come, which is probably why you rarely hear about them or the good stuff they do.  I am lucky enough to know that I have been working for one of them for the past 5 years, and shortly, I will be taking up residence with another.

To this day, even though I’ve been a lead for 7 years, I’ve never lead a project from beginning to end.  I’ve come in, helped to get the ball rolling by prototyping and inspiring, and then I’ve moved on to do the same on another project.  I’ve sometimes felt bad, maybe even a little jealous of the fact that I’ve never gotten to be there at the finish line, to have my hands dirty as the project is finished.  If anything though, it’s taught me dual lessons about both investing, and letting go. And now by virtue of my abilities and experience with those lessons, I will be responsible for a new roll that fully embraces that kind of nurturing-on-the-fly talent: art direction.

Last Friday was as bittersweet of a day as I could have imagined.  Knowing that a new chapter of my adult life is just beginning, but a current chapter was also ending.  A new studio.  A new company.  New colleagues, new home, new lifestyle, new language.  I have never spoken French in my life, but I sure as hell will be speaking a lot of it in the next few years.

Yes yes, I’ve always heard it said that business is just business, that loyalty doesn’t go far in this world, that personal attachments are weakness.  Maybe I’m just doing this wrong then, and I’m okay with that; here at BioWare and at Electronic Arts as a whole, I know have friends and colleagues for life that are happy for me.  And I regard that as pretty damn special. 

Sure, when I moved here, I expected cold weather, and I found plenty of it.  But more importantly, I found a studio full of warm people that I can count among my friends for the entirety of my career.

Until next time, Edmonton.

Je vais vous voir bientôt, Quebec.

The Finish Line.

November 18th.  Today is the day. Dragon Age: Inquisition, in production for… I don’t know, years?  It’s been awhile, okay?  In many ways, today feels more like a relief than a celebration; every game release that I’ve been a part of has felt like that.  You’ve been building to this moment, pictured it in your mind after working so very hard on something for years on end, the moment finally approaches and… you just sort of want to go sit down on a couch somewhere with a drink in your hand, and watch some quiet TV, exhausted from the emotion before the moment even hits.  

It’s a proud moment for everyone here.  Work that is of this caliber never comes for free, and there are always sacrifices.  In a lot of ways, this milestone today is about more than just the game, and more than just the employees are celebrating its meaning.  Families and friends that are close to us know just how hard we all work in this industry, and understand that the breakneck pace that this field moves at is not for everyone.  Sacrifices.  Moving out to the middle of nowhere, a literal thousand miles away from any family, to a country that was not the one I was born in, was a lot to ask of those closest to me, to ask of my biggest fan.  But getting to contribute to something of this magnitude, to even have a chance at driving the direction of an already storied franchise at the behest of the responsibilities given to me?  To find fulfillment in the hopes and dreams that I've had for years?  How could I say no to that back then?

It's something special to behold.  Regardless of how the game would be received today, it would always be something special.  And yet, reviews for our product have been glowing.  Anticipation, even in the wake of the sometimes rocky relationship we've had with fans, is at an all time high.  It only works to augment the joy in this moment.

At the onset, those involved in entertainment make things for ourselves.  The glimmers of brilliance and bright ideas that we concoct are initially selfish creations, ones that appeal to our own innermost psyches.  And yet, as time goes on, we begin crafting, shaping, adjusting, reworking, and finalizing this work with the knowledge that we are not merely making this thing, this experience, exclusively for us.  We are creating something that demands to be shared.  The characters, worlds, and stories demand to be set free from the mere confines of our own personal imaginations, desiring to be enjoyed by those around us.  It cuts to the heart of the essence of storytelling and the human experience.  It can be difficult to reveal your creation to the world, scary and almost terrifying as you await its reception.  And make no mistake, those that you would share your bounty with can be as cruel as they can be kind.  Sharing something with the world, however, is when it can blossom, and if you are truly lucky, take on a life of its own.  

Are video games art?  There are plenty that have said no, and even some choice rabble-rousers from within the industry that have said they cannot be.  For me though, the longer my tenure in this field, the more convinced I become that video games not only can be art, but that it is their destined state.

I worked on Dragon Age: Inquisition for almost two years of my career before being called over to the new IP here in the Edmonton studio.  I came back at the tail end to help push the behemoth across the finish line.  The work I contributed to the project, the things my team was able to do, they are reduced to bullet points on a resume in time, a clinical recollection of dozens of man-months.  But the impact those things have had, the work that has been captured on a disc for all to see and play, that’s what continues on.  The work I had the privilege of completing on Dragon Age ranks among my proudest accomplishments.  And credit where credit is due here: I had the hilariously fun job of carving out an ambitious plan and getting to play mad scientist with feature sets all the way up to the production phase during my tenure on the team.  Shane Hawco was the lead artist who took over the character lead responsibilities after I moved over to the new IP and did the heavy lifting, making sure it all came together.  He stuck his neck out there for me to make sure that some of my crazy ideas sounded less crazy to leadership, and I can’t thank him enough for that.  That’s a peer-to-peer relationship that I wouldn’t change for anything.

And I suppose in some way, that’s what makes such a huge project like this so special: it becomes hard near the end to find one siloed piece of work that you can point to and say, “I did that.”  By the time it reaches the finish line, your work has been through several different people, multiple revisions, and everyone carries some of the responsibility.  One guy did the model.  One person created the concept.  One person picked that concept out of several.  One person rigged it.  One person did the glowing effect.  One person made the shader that it’s running on.  Two people did the animations.  And bunch of other people wrote the code that makes it all come together.  It really just becomes easier to supplant the word “I” with “we” because it’s the more accurate term. To me, this has always been a healthy sign of a team working in unison. It's a sign of colleagues.  A sign of friends.  A sign of people you can call family.

It’s a work of art.

Not Always Fun and Games.

Image courtesy of Kids DIscover

The other day after I got back the diagnosis, I had been debating whether or not I should write anything, whether it would just be better to forget it and move on. If I’m honest with myself though, writing something would really help, and frankly, I don’t want to forget about this moment. I want to move forward from here, but I don’t want to forget. I’m not writing this to create any sort of suspense. That would be dumb. I just spent a week in agony not knowing myself, so it would be silly to structure a blog post to mimic the situation that I abhorred, so I’ll start off by saying that I’m okay. I do not have skin cancer. What I had was a “dysplastic compound nevus with mild atypia.” Layman’s terms, an odd mole that looked and followed the same patterns and criteria as a cancerous growth without actually being one, but one that could have potentially turned into cancer if it was allowed to stay. But it was fully removed, and save for a yearly visit to the dermatologist and upgrading to SPF60, life will continue as normal. And for that, I could not be more grateful. The word “cancer” is an ugly, showstopping word. I suppose everyone would have their own unique reaction as they sit on the doctor’s table and hear words that they don’t want to hear. It doesn’t matter if you’re 5 or 50, you can still feel like a little child sitting there. I only checked myself because of a PSA someone had posted on Facebook, because I figured, “what would it hurt to look?” And when I found something that didn’t just fulfill one, but 4 out of 5 criteria, I got scared. Scared enough to make an appointment that same day at the walkin clinic and get checked. And when I heard the doctor utter the word that I was terrified of, all the surrounding words sort of became a muted, jumbled mess that didn’t really stick. Adjectives and phrases like “potentially,” “could be,” and “might be” were just rolling around in my head like marbles in a jar, and all I kept hearing was that one ugly one. Cancer. That’s what held firm. As dirty as that word is, “biopsy” felt equally frightening.

No fun.

It’s a very precarious situation to be in nowadays. The internet gives us more information than we can possibly handle, and it lets us be more informed than ever. But sometimes, it lets you be informed just enough to know something’s wrong, but not enough to actually understand. And if you don’t know for sure, it’s really easy to assume the worst. Especially when it’s potentially fatal. Easily treatable if caught early. Great. But what time period describes early? After frantically flipping through every one of my Facebook albums (that’s where everyone stores their pictures nowadays, right?), I isolated the oldest shirtless photo I could find where the right side of my back was viewable. 2009. It’s been there since at least 2009. Is more than 5 years still early? Is it too late? What if it’s been there longer? This mole still looks small, but what if it grew straight down like some do? I’m finding posts at skincancer.org from 28-year-olds that were diagnosed with class 3 melanomas, people that had no idea that this was slowly burning beneath their skin. What if it had reached my lymph nodes like them? What if it’s inside of me already? There are a group of photos on this website of small moles like mine captioned “all of these cases were fatal.” I’ve only been burned twice in my entire life, once on my back when I pounded tar paper onto the roof of a commercial building as a teenager for 80 dollars. Did I unwittingly earn 80 bucks to contract skin cancer? Reading about health conditions is a terrible idea most of the time, and maybe if I did more reading I could be better informed of other options but reading is how I got to this point right now and all that I am sure of right now is that I. AM. SCARED. What’s going to happen to me? Maybe I overreacted. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so worried. But in the week that passed between my initial appointment and the call to come in and “discuss the results” (could there be a more ambiguous phrase for them to use over the phone?), it was an up and down journey almost every day. One moment I felt like I would be fine. The next moment I was terrified that they would tell me that it was malignant and I needed radiation immediately. What I came to understand later, is that it’s easy to look at numbers and scenarios and be optimistic about them when it’s someone else. But as my mother told me earlier this week, it’s different when it’s you. It’s different when it’s your potential diagnosis, your time to wait for test results, your potential cancer. It’s not all that easy to consider the best case scenario when you and a deadly disease have been mentioned in the same sentence. I suppose I could attribute my fear to the fact that cancer is already something that I know by name. I have some very important people in my life that have had to fight this ugly disease, and sadly, you’re probably just like me in that regard. My mother has Non-Hodgkin lymphoma. My stepfather had class 3 melanoma. My grandmother had lung cancer. My most dearest friend, the sister I never had was diagnosed with brain cancer. In each case, they have fought against and have either safely managed or outright beaten their form of the disease, which is… nothing short of amazing. But cancer makes it personal. I’ve had to listen, to offer encouragement and prayers, and shed mutual tears with people I care about over it. I’ve often heard the phrase that “cancer affects everyone,” and I hate the fact that I know it. So if I became terrified at the notion that I may have a treatable-yet-highly-aggressive form of it, I suppose that can be excused. This week of being in the dark has really made me evaluate myself, which is what you do when you don’t know what will happen next. What it comes down to is, I have worried far too much about the small stuff in this life, to the point where I have let it get in the way of what is otherwise a very blessed and fulfilling journey. Do I have enough in my checking account? Am I properly saving for retirement? What’s that noise my car is making? Did I sound okay in that meeting? Should I have said hello to that person instead of being bashful? Was the phrase “sounds good” in that email genuine? Will that pole rust if I don’t do a second coat of paint? Am I being a good dad? I have three beautiful, fun, messy, loving daughters. I have a fourth child coming any moment now, and couldn’t be more excited. I am married to a woman who is exactly the kind of person who makes me unbelievably happy, and a better person by simply being herself. I have a job that I worked so very hard for, one that I adore because I get to do what I love and get paid for it. I have a great life and I am very, very fortunate to have it. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let my silly worries take a moment away from that.

Dog walking in tiaras and one set of pajamas. Average day.

My wife oftentimes says that I’m exhausting. (She usually smiles after saying it. Usually.) I’m inclined to agree with her. The brain I have between my ears almost never shuts off, and it’s quite the double-edged sword. It makes me really good at my job and a really great problem-solver, but a potential basket case when it comes to downtime. There have been multiple instances where I can be sitting on the lounge chair, relaxing outside in the lawn that I have painstakingly manicured and not even realize that I have suddenly leaned forward and begun removing a starting patch of creeping thistle that I spotted near my foot. “Nathan. Stop pulling the weeds and re-LAX.” Then I smile bashfully because she’s right, and I take my place in the chair again. Typically, my skin does not scar all that much, and the spot where the biopsy was done will be no different. I’ll have a tiny, almost undetectable spot in the middle right of my back, and as weird as it is to say, I’m glad it will be there. I’m glad that I will be able to see it years on down the road. From now on, whenever I worry about something silly, whenever I feel like I’ve lost my focus, whenever I am sweating the small stuff, whenever I am on the verge of consuming myself with fear over things that have not yet come to pass, I am going into the nearest washroom and look at that mark. I will look at it and remember just how very fortunate that I am, that I have many days on this earth ahead of me, and that my life is far too rich to be spent worrying. 

So Long, Old Friend.

I wanted to post something sooner, but emotions are funny that way.  Everyone goes through it differently, and in their own time.  Wednesday night and Thursday morning were filled with a lot of sadness for me as I processed this alongside my twin brother, who had been a part of that studio for five years before it closed down last week.  I suppose I just wanted to offer my own pick-me-up to everyone over there.

It's made me sad to know that there are people there, hard workers and even more importantly, friends and family that are in the midst of a trying time.  Losing a job is never easy, and I don't think anyone's going to argue that it is.  Over the last few days though, one of the things I've had to remember, and I'm sure everyone there will have to remember, is that people like us didn't get into such an organic and at times downright volatile industry by being bumps on a log.  We got into it because we are driven people that want to see something bigger than us succeed.  And to be frank, it's that attitude that ensures me that my brothers and sisters over in Fairfax will find something new.  Something satisfying.  Everyone who's worked at that office can regale you with stories through almost twenty years of history about what it was like working there in Fairfax, VA.  Just like family, there are good tales and some not so good.  At this moment in the company's history, it would be easy for the armchair analysts to take a look at the tales that tell where things could have or even should have been different, but the entirety of that history, the whole that it encompasses... that's part of what being family is about.  The important part is that you go through those things together.

This seems like so, so long ago.  Is it Roman enough?

There has always been a part of me that has a hard time understanding the cold, unblinking logic of the  business side of things.  There's only so much of it that I understand, or care to understand.  But I know enough to be cognizant of the fact that it's not always pretty.  Businesses exist to make money.  Sometimes decisions are made to that end that I don't understand, or frankly, don't want to understand.  I'm sad that things like this happen sometimes, or rather that they affect good people.  But I suppose I'm also comforted to hear that the company is doing everything it can to ensure that the people there can find placement elsewhere in some cases, or in other studios via a job fair that it will be holding soon.  Not to mention severance packages.  I suppose in a world and industry that is far from perfect, it's post-mortem treatment that is far, far better than some of the horror stories that you can read about out there.

One aspect that has really touched me in recent days is seeing the multitude of former Mythic colleagues that have been reaching out to our friends to let them know about open positions at their own studio that they currently call home, or to simply see if there was anything that they could personally do.  What makes my heart swell is that the people reaching out weren't always employees that completely loved Mythic, or always someone who had been broken up about leaving.  Regardless of how any of us former coworkers felt when leaving previously, we all still remembered what that studio meant to us, but more importantly, what those people working for that studio meant to us.  I think that's part of why you always hear people talk about how once you're in this industry, you're in.  Getting your foot in the door is the hard part.  When you work with someone through thick and thin over several years, you get to know a person.  You get to know whether or not they're capable of doing great things, and you always want to work with those that are.  Sure, there are times when you may have to look into hiring someone new and fresh out of college, the kind of person that seems to have the vigor and attitude for the job.  But then again, if you could hire someone who sat next to your for hours on end, trying to track down an insidious bug, someone that you celebrated with by exchanging high fives when you did, all to improve or even breathe the first breath of life into a product you were working on together... that's the kind of stuff you remember.  That's the kind of person you want by your side.

First armor I ever did on Warhammer.  Those were great times.

So yeah.  I spent the better half of the end of last week feeling very sorrowful.  I was sort of watching the vernacular that I was speaking with in conversations, and listening to the words that others spoke to me out of concern.  Condolences.  I'm so sorry.  Let me know what I can do.  I felt a little guilt and maybe even slightly embarrassed over the fact that it sounded like someone died.  Honestly though, in some ways I guess it felt like it.  But I started feeling better when I realized that there isn't real death involved here.  Yes, a brand perished.  However, when you come right down to it, a job is a job.  They will come, and they will go, and then they will come again.  The connections and the memories that you make at that job though stick around.

Not only that, but in the special case of our industry, the worlds and characters that we create, the software that we can physically hold and touch and play, that kind of thing lives on forever.  That's one of the great reasons I sought out this career in the first place.  There will always be times when as volatile as this industry is that we'll go through things like this.  But in the end, we get to contribute to the creation of something.  We bring forth things that did not exist before we conjured them, and pulled them all together for the enjoyment of others.

It's a rush, an almost feverish addiction, that we seek out continuously.  It's that mutual craving that brings me comfort and confidence that everyone there will find their next world to contribute to.  And I'll be ready to celebrate with you when you do.

Of Pixels And Melodrama

Like so many Wednesday and Thursday nights, I find myself sitting on my Ikea couch, kids in bed, the lights dimmed, volume up, playing Battlefield 4.  I’m hanging outside of a Little Bird and shooting rockets at tanks that we’re on a collision course with, pulling off that perfectly placed shot the destroys the tank just as we do a nosedive straight into the ground.  There are many positive thoughts that I have from playing a game built for teamwork like this, and one that looks as beautiful as it does.  But do you know the one thought that doesn’t cross my mind?

“Man.  I bet you I would be having more fun if this was 900p like that other console.”

Now before I start down this console-centric diatribe, let’s get some things straight.  First, I’m not going to say that I can’t notice the differences between resolutions, or that they don’t matter at all, or that I was never one to tout how my console was better than your console.  Don’t get me wrong.  I would be lying if I said that I’ve never had a rabid devotion to a specific gaming brand.  Back when I was in middle school (that’s right, MIDDLE SCHOOL), I console-warriored with the best of them.  My brother and I sold all of our NES stuff to help save up money for a brand spanking new SNES, and we were convinced that it was the best gaming experience in the neighborhood.  Sure, we had plenty of friends that owned the Genesis, maybe even that one weird friend that had a TG16 (he probably licked his shoes everyday), but if you wanted multiplayer mayhem?  You had to come to our house.  The controllers, the stereo sound, the 256 on-screen colors.  C’mon, how can you not understand how superior this is to your dumb Sega box?!  I’ve had an understanding of the details for some time, and have had to acknowledge the strengths and weaknesses of each console I’ve owned.

Forget Gretzky, it was all about the Bure in my house.

I’d like to think that I’ve grown up, perhaps even matured slightly when it comes to brand loyalty.  Actually, I’d like to think that baseline game fans everywhere have grown up a little in regards to their dialogue about differences, but if you take a look at console news recently, that doesn’t seem to be the case.  It’s the same argument, but just with different names.  720p vs 1080p.  Scaling.  Frames per second.  Resolution-gate.  The debate has swirled all over recently and the topic goes by so many different titles, but it comes down to this: the PS4’s hardware has several advantages at its disposal that currently give developers more graphical bandwidth, which has typically translated into better FPS, and/or higher visual resolutions.  And there you have it.  Marketing strategies aside, that’s the big talking point right now, and the crux in the mind of the pundit as to whether or not the XBox One can survive long-term.

Let me take a moment to state my own opinion: I don’t get it.

For me, I honestly don’t understand why this is becoming the definitive talking point.  There are plenty of issues at hand to discuss when it comes to understanding why the console is where it’s at right now (Microsoft’s messaging, the executive-level debate about the value of the games division, etc.), and there are certainly responsible journalists out there that have attempted to take it all in as part of a bigger picture.  Kudos to them.  But a majority of the press and forums debates out there have been cooked, baked, double-fried, and seared down into that single talking point: XBox can’t do 1080p, yo.  (Which is a misnomer in itself, it can do 1080p, just not at the graphical… forget it, I’m losing you).  I even read one publication just this very week that in its preview for Titanfall, stated that the game was “plagued” by a 792p resolution.  Plagued!  It’s accompanied by a video that shows the FPS output of a play session over a few minutes, with the framerate dipping to the 50s and occasional high 40s during some large explosions.  The two are linked together in the article as if I’m supposed to imagine the person behind the controller saying in a dramatic voice, “Alas, my fun is but a sine wave, a hapless refugee aboard this fluctuating framerate!”  Faint, and scene.  

Do we actually expect real people to feel upset about things like this?  Are we really expecting people to pause, take notice of the framerate dip, and feel a sting of disappointment?  Are we expected to now chide development teams that may dare to make games 30fps in the new generation, as if the gameplay experience will be broken without the fulfillment of this technical requirement?  

Let me go out on a limb and just say No.  No to all of that.

My point is, when weighed against the entirety and infancy of this next generation of gaming, this a really stupid thing to argue about.  More importantly, we need to stop pretending that this is the first time one console had a hill to climb.

For the longest time, consoles have had distinct advantages and disadvantages that were and always have been a result of juggling features, power, and price point.  In turn, developers have always had to take those points into account when designing games in order for them to create the best experience for the consumer; it is a delicate balancing act between designing for, and around, the facets of the hardware, and harmonizing those differences when making cross-platformers. However, even though the differences between console architecture and the resulting consumer experience have become less apparent than they have in the past (they have, think about it), it seems like the public has become even more obsessed with finding them, and for some reason, they carry more weight than ever!  Framerate measurements?  Really?  Has anyone even bothered to remember how significant the differences between consoles used to be, and how much more of an impact those differences actually had on the consumer’s experience?  

Can you remember, say, the differences between Earthworm Jim on the Genesis and SNES?  Sure, the SNES had richer hues, actual alpha masking, and (in my opinion) better music.  But the Genesis had a much cleaner sound palette and, prepare yourself, an extra level.  32 meg cart (SNES) vs 40 meg cart (Genesis) that actually translated into something.  

Genesis on left, SNES on right.  One of the goofiest platformers on either.

Based on the machine configurations in past eras, there were some easily apparent differentiations between cross-platform titles, as well as exclusive ones.  However, the king of contrast was in the 32/64-bit era.  You know which two I’m talking about.  CD vs cartridge.  Raw polys vs texture resolution.  Four standard controller ports vs two.  Analog stick vs digital only.  Redbook audio vs sound being shoved through the main co-processor.  With the PSX and N64, we were no longer talking differences in color palette structure, but wholesale contrasting strategies within the machines’ architectures that had phenomenal impacts on the approach that a developer had to take in order to fully leverage the power of the machine.  Despite the weaknesses of one console versus the other, there are countless examples of games where it came together because the developer played to the respective hardware’s strengths, instead of dwelling on its weaknesses.

Now walk back to the present day and compare all of this with the original, primary disadvantage of the XBox that will apparently doom the entire system: it is currently displaying games at a resolution lower than its nearest competitor.  Not that it has less levels, or fewer controller buttons, or a lack of transparency masking, or an inability to play online.  Its first games in its lifecycle are running at a lower resolution than its nearest competitor.  Just how dumb does this sound now?

And make no mistake.  Just as it happened in generations past, there are, and will be ways that developers will find ways to make both of these machines sing in the same exact manner as they [we, I get to say we now!] have in the past: not by squeezing more juice out of the core, but by changing the approach in how we deliver or run the data.  It’s why I have to laugh when I see articles that talk about both the PS4 and XBone in general, about how developers have “already fully tapped” into their power.  

With workflows from the previous generation?  Perhaps.  With the new technologies that are on the horizon?  Absolutely not.  

Personally, I love my XBox One for gaming, damn the visual differences that-I-couldn’t-care-less-about-because-I’m-not-playing-it-side-by-side-with-a-PS4-equivalent.  (I also love it for the set top box aspects, but let's focus here.) Being able to set my GPS in Need For Speed by simply saying where I want to go out loud?  That’s pretty slick.  Switching to my favorite player in Madden and calling a blitz by simply telling the machine what to do?  Fantastic.  Leaning around walls in BF4 and controlling the helicopter swivel with my shoulders and head, respectively?  Wicked fun.  It’s early glimpses of development teams that are taking advantage of unique system capabilities to make the gameplay experience flourish, instead of attempting to make the same experience across the board, at the expense of the “have-not” platform, be it visual effects, audible abilities, or yes, resolution throughput.  This is a good thing.

Just, seriously.  Stop with the doom and gloom.

This sometimes reminds me of my kids at home.  It used to be if you served them different drinks, one of them would complain that the other had the beverage that they actually wanted.  Then it changed into a comparison of the amount of food contents, sometimes coming down to a specific count of something, like raisins or the like.  As parents, we’ve seamlessly adapted to these pratfalls, and what it’s turned into is a homogenization of the respective presentations: every child’s meal is identical by design.  Same cup style, same plate color, same food, same portions.  But even when you have mealtime distribution down to a science, taking into account all variable factors, another point to complain about somehow, some way, always surfaces.

“I wanted the pink fork!”

Mealtime ruined.

We gamers like to think that we’re a grown up and sophisticated bunch.  But until we stop acting like children in our discussions, we will continue to sound like them as we argue over who’s having more fun, instead of concentrating on actually having it.

This is the first time since that 32/64-bit era where we have multiple systems that despite their architectural similarities, have technological philosophies that could potentially create unique approaches to gameplay and delivery of said gameplay on each system to the benefit of the end user.  The experience you have with a game on the Wii-U will be different from the one you have on the XBox One, and the experience you have on the XBox One could potentially be different from the one you have on the PS4.  We have a very real chance of seeing a shakeup in what it means to play a game.  I’m actually excited at the prospect of digging back to an era where developers had to be notably creative with their approach to each respective console.  

Maybe I’m alone in this, but I’m excited at mealtime experiencing a little bit of a mixup.

Defending Dungeon Keeper

It's enough already.

I've been following Dungeon Keeper Mobile for awhile now. I happen to live in one of the soft-launch countries, so I've had more time with the game than many. It's been released in all countries recently, and I’ve been talking to fellow gamers, watching reviews, seeing scores, and overall I’m incredibly happy for my friends at Mythic for making what looks to be a highly successful title. Even when it’s not your own product, you can’t help but feel good about someone else’s success. 

But there are, of course, dissenting opinions. Opinions that are perfectly valid, even if I don’t always agree with them. But it’s some of the churlish bitching about IAP, the accusations of greed and, unfortunately, the predictable-but-still-highly-inappropriate assessment of the developers’ character that has me writing this article. And it's enough. There have been plenty of press articles covering the aspects of this game which are less than agreeable to particular cross-sections of the community, and very, very loud opinions speaking about why they, the critic, have been left feeling insulted at the fact that a game has been designed for a market that they are not traditionally a part of. I think it's time to hear from someone who apparently belongs in that market.

Before I go any farther, let me lay my cards on the table.

I am an EA employee.
I work at a studio that has absolutely nothing to do with the product I am about to speak of.
I have a family member that does work on this product.
I have an active distaste for most mobile games.
I can’t stand F2P games.
I cannot stop playing Dungeon Keeper.

Since it’s the festering dislike over the amount time it takes to complete some tasks in the game that’s making the most noise at the moment, I figure I can get right to the point here.

As someone who does not play mobile games, I was pleasantly surprised by how fun and engaging this F2P app was. Finally, a mobile app that fits my fairly disorderly gaming habits that are squeezed between work and married life with three children. Based on the reviews I see, there are gobs of people who share that sentiment. But it’s the turgid backlash at the IAP model that surprised me, or rather the reasoning behind it. “The waiting without paying makes the game unplayable,” is perhaps the most crystallized summation that I am able to glean from the criticism. The time mechanic is viewed by some as a roadblock in between them and any enjoyment of the product. Personally, I think that’s an incredibly kneejerk reaction, and borders on ignorance of both historical and trending game delivery models.

Building up an experience over the elapsing of time has been a successful mechanic in many forms through the entertainment field. Why then are we so shocked when developers dare to build this mechanic into a title as a way to encourage steady play habits, and potentially guard against burnout? Frankly, I think it’s downright disappointing that so many mobile games out there depend on instant gratification like a crutch, seeking your attention and ad revenue for 10 minutes before moving on. I think the throwaway nature of some titles is why mobile gaming, in my opinion, still struggles with its identity. Binging on time wasters can be fun sometimes, and we cannot fault developers who strive to craft that kind of experience. But on the flipside, we cannot, and should not fault developers who wish to craft a more elongated experience, be it for monetary purposes or as a design mechanic meant to aid in gameplay digestion. Or both, as the case may be. Stretching the experience out over hours and days is what makes me come back to the game on a regimented basis. This is not a binge activity unless you front the money to make it one, and personally, I’m completely okay with that.

I can already hear what some of you are saying. The value added by waiting is fake. It’s an artificial stopgap, it’s there only to piss me off and make me fork over my money. If you’re the cynical type, I suppose that would seem like the case. However, sense of value through artificial means is neither new nor unheard of, and it would be folly to suggest that its application as a design device is invalid. Think about all of the crazy loot that you’ve probably acquired in gaming over the years: armor sets, scores, weapons, and achievements that may have taken you days, weeks, even years to pull together. I can think back to Everquest, a brutal game by any standard, when I drooled over ye olde Armor of Ro set for the paladin class. (For the uninitiated, the Armor of Ro was one of the original class sets introduced to Everquest that had you gather resources together to forge.) A paladin in Ro could look like they were made out of tin foil and cheese, but would have armor stats to make anyone envious. Even though I craved the set, I couldn’t just have it fall in my lap. I had to work for it, squat for it, spend several days straight killing stinking gargoyles in Mistmoore to pull a single granite stone out of their pixeled asses, only to die at the zone line fleeing from a will sapper. But when I forged my first Bracer of Ro, there was a moment of magic. Not because of the stats or the visual. It was because there was something on my screen that represented the work I had put into my objective. I kept my original Bracer of Ro squirreled away in my bank, years after it had failed to be of use to me.

The parallel I’m trying to make here, is investment. Investments in games take all different forms, and even though the result of said investment is completely fake, the investment itself is quite real. The feeling of accomplishment from seeing it through is very real. So when one of my Dungeon Keeper imps completes a long workshop upgrade, thereby unlocking several more devious traps for me to build, I feel good. I’ve waited for those traps, and I’ve weathered the storm of other players attempting to gank me while my main defense is down for maintenance. My revenge will be that much sweeter with several days’ accumulation of new player targets, soon-to-be victims.

To wit, I have been playing Dungeon Keeper for 2 months now. I have 4 imps, 2 immortals, and I’m in the higher tier of the trophy ladder. I play probably 6 times or more per day. Go ahead. Ask my wife how much I play this game and she’ll probably roll her eyes. And you know what? I feel a little ashamed of this, but I have not spent a dime yet. I plan on doing so in order to snag some more imps and grab another immortal, but primarily, I want to spend some money on a product that I feel is very deserving of it. Reviews that decry the inability to do anything while they wait for tasks to complete are, in fact, doing something wrong, because in between your imps completing tasks (and a majority of the dungeon blocks take a paltry 3 seconds to dig, stop complaining!), there are other players to sack, replays to watch, dungeons to visit and study for strategic refinement, re-ordering of rooms and traps to complete, and resources to click. Always resources to click. My point is, there is plenty to playing available here.

The most unfortunate part about this snafu is that it detracts from things about this game that are without a doubt well-done. Regardless of what you may feel about the IAP model, the actual gameplay experience is smooth, extremely fun, and chock-full of little touches that really deserve praise. Watching minions currently being upgraded gather at the training room, hearing imps mumble to one another, being mesmerized by the special effects detail, giggling with glee when a perfectly placed boulder rubs out an entire battalion of skeletons. I could go on and on. If you haven’t given this product an honest try, you really should. My dungeon’s name is Herpaderp, and if you steal my immortal I will come down on you like a ton of bricks, son! You ain’t seen a dungeon heart snipe like the one I roll.

The thing that I have disliked about freemium-style models is the need to pay in order to stay competitive. The pay to win, if you will. It’s not my cup of tea, because I dislike arms races that are linked to my wallet. In contrast, I think the way Mythic has handled it is actually quite elegant. In this style of IAP, the player is free to pay for a privilege, namely the expediting of tasks. But if you don’t want to pay for that privilege, you won’t be left in the dust as a result, unlike some other apps out there. You’re not left with half a game if you choose to go that route, or even half an experience. For free, you get to play the same exact game as the guy who sinks $50 into it, and you get access to everything that the person who sinks $10 into it does. The only thing that will differ between these people is the digestion of their play time as a result of what they’re willing to spend. I think that’s a stellar approach. It’s a mechanic that keeps players like myself thirsty, a guided sip of playtime here and there instead of the gulp that makes me sick and swear off the stuff for good.

It’s a game mechanic that, be it direct or indirect, keeps me coming back again and again. That’s what successful games are built for.