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Lighting theory for 3D games, part 4: how to light a game world in a game engine

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This is part of a series on how I approach game lighting, from a more general and conceptual perspective. I build most of my examples in Unity, but this is meant to be generally applicable to any 3D game engine, most of which have similar lighting tools.

We started by thinking about light from a cultural and conceptual lens in part one. In part two, we treated light more instrumentally in terms of level design and readability. Then in part three, we surveyed the three-point lighting method for use in games. But none of this theory matters if we can't actually achieve it within the semi-hard constraints of computer graphics.

Lighting is traditionally one of the slower or "expensive" things to calculate and render in a game engine. Consider the science of visible light: countless photons at different wavelengths bouncing around at unimaginable speeds that somehow enter your eye. To do any of this at a reasonable framerate, game engines must strategically simplify light calculations in specific ways, and then hope players don't notice the inconsistencies. It is "fridge logic" -- we want the player to nod along, as long as it "looks right."

Okay, so how do 3D game engines generally do lighting?


The simplest form of lighting is "ambient light", a constant default light level to apply to every model in the world, even the parts in shadow. This isn't realistic at all, so the ambient light usually serves more as a "fill light" (see part 3), especially for outdoor spaces, where it is often a dark navy color to make sure the shadows aren't terminating into pitch-black.

But ambient light applies a flat effect on every object equally, so some might say it doesn't even qualify as lighting because it does not really help us read into the depth or topology of a surface, which is often crucial for basic gameplay or wayfinding. (see part 2) ("Can I walk up this hill, or is it too steep?") ... For light to seem like light, it has to change based on the direction of the surface, and standard ambient lighting doesn't do that.


Ok, this is better. Now we're getting some shape differentiation.

"directional light" is for sunlight or any other global light source, casting a constant light from a given rotation. It affects the entire world all at once, so it can be placed anywhere, even inside a wall; only its direction matters. Again, a directional light will shine on every surface facing toward it, and distance from this sun / moon does not matter. Because most scenes and game worlds will only have a single directional light, they usually function more like "key lights." (See part 2)


A "spotlight"casts a X degrees-wide cone of light at Y intensity. If you were making a game with lots of stage lighting, recessed ceiling lighting, or street lamps, then you would probably rely heavily on spotlights. The most common use of a spotlight is an elevated spotlight pointing down, de-emphasizing the ceiling and highlighting the floor instead. In this way, spotlights are great for implying specific directions or emphasizing specific places, whatever they're shining on.

Depending on how you angle a spotlight, it's not always clear where the light is actually coming from. Use that to your advantage.


Lastly, a "point light" is an invisible omnidirectional ball of light that casts light in all directions at X intensity. You would commonly use this type for things like table lamps, cage lights, or chandeliers. Point lights are really good at drawing attention to a given light source, because they generally have to be near whatever they're illuminating and all nearby shadow-casting objects will practically be pointing to it. (Versus a spotlight, where it's not really clear where the light is coming from, and we don't really care either.)

Together, these 4 light types are generally found in every 3D game engine or rendering package. They sort of form a complete domain:

3D LIGHT TYPES:Global, affects everythingLocal, affects nearby things
Shines in one directionDirectional lightSpotlight
Shines in all directionsAmbient lightPoint light

But really, this is just the beginning.


Direct lighting only accounts for the first ray of light, which is why it's called "direct lighting", as opposed to "indirect lighting" which attempts to model how light bounces off or interacts with surfaces. In the right-most image above, notice how the red from the triangle bleeds onto the floor, and how the blue from the cube bleeds into the shadow on the wall, and how the background is just generally brighter. Those effects come from light splashing around this space, and traditionally it has been very expensive to try to calculate these effects in real-time while also rendering your favorite face-shooting game at 60 frames per second. (I'll talk a lot more about this in a future installment.)

Try holding your hand up in front of a bright light source -- the red fringe around the silhouette of your hand is called "subsurface scattering", because the light is actually passing below the surface of your skin and bouncing off the blood. We could say that the standard direct lighting model does not account for different material or shading types, so that means we have to engineer a system to account for that... and what about glare, and/or the ways your eyes eventually adjust to darker or brighter spaces? We'll have to engineer those systems too!

So, this is basically the technical history of game lighting: trying to compensate for all the holes within this basic lighting model. Because of this, the 4 basic light source types are just the beginning of game lighting. There's so much more we have to think about and implement:


Let's say you're making a game set in a city at night.

First, start with your global settings. My ambient light is set to a dark blue-ish purple, and I have a directional light casting a surprisingly bright blue light on the whole scene. (see "Hollywood Darkness": We only want it to feel dark, not actually be dark.)

Then start adding in your local lights. In this case, there's a spotlight as well as a faint point light underneath to simulate light bouncing and splashing around.


Now let's start adding things that aren't "lights", but strongly affect how we perceive the light.

The fixture model now has a self-illuminated emissive material to appear bright. The light halo is a separate 2D sprite that fades in and out based on the player camera distance. There's a particle system spraying dust particles in a cone shape beneath the light. I've also applied a bloom, ambient occlusion, and chromatic aberration effect to the camera. And don't forget the skybox, which is the only way "Hollywood darkness" can really work. Lastly, I added some fog in the background to simulate some darkness / atmospheric scattering and push back the scene background a bit more.

Remember that the perceived brightness of a light depends on two things: (1) the actual brightness of the light, and (2) the relative light level / darkness in the areas around that light. In general, try to darken or dim unimportant things so the more important things can get more attention. Context matters!


Specularity and rim-lighting and self-illumination, projected shadows, chromatic aberration, screen-space ambient occlusion, cubemaps and spheric harmonics, high dynamic range tonemapping, glare and light halos... in game engines these technologies operate as separate features that are selectively enabled or disabled to optimize a game to reach a certain framerate or achieve a certain art style, but in real-life these are all part of the unified phenomena of light as we know it.

In the end, the player will only see one light source there. But we'll know better, we'll be able to see the subtle system of effects we've concocted...


Game lighting is not a unified system. Rather, it is a patchwork of all this random shit that will hopefully seem to go together. As designers, it's our job to make all these different effects and hacks seem like a coherent thing.

Sometimes this control is really nice when you can, for example, create invisible floating light sources without any visible light fixtures. (Paraphrasing my lighting design teacher: "I would kill for that kind of power.") But sometimes all this responsibility kind of sucks because you have to go and manually add every part and fine-tune it with all the other parts, and it can take a lot of work. (This is why many triple-A studios have now taken away time-consuming lighting duties from level designers, and given this work to environment artists and/or dedicated lighting artists. For more info on a history of level design, see my GDC 2015 talk.)

Lighting in games is about more than just lights. It's about the overall image and what kind of mood you want to build, while seeming plausible enough within your world that the player doesn't constantly double-take. But this idea of "plausibility" is dependent on notions of "what is realistic" -- which affects what types of new lighting technologies get developed, which affects what is aesthetically possible in our toolsets, which pushes for more "realism"... and so on.

Next time, I'm going to unpack some of these underlying assumptions about what "good game lighting" is, and how we can possibly transcend these assumptions, if at all.

NEXT TIME: part 5, the cult of fidelity.

Stick Shift has been Greenlit on Steam!

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Thanks to all your support, Stick Shift has been greenlit for distribution on Steam! The gamers have spoken!!! Now to do this giant mess of paperwork and to figure out how to navigate the Steamworks infrastructure! (... Steamworks being a popular North American gay bathhouse chain, of course)

There is currently no ETA for this release. I've never implemented Steam infrastructure in a game before. I also want to bundle some extra games with this game, and it'll take some time to figure out any permissions / get the systems to play nicely with each other instead of deleting each others data.

Any ideas on what the game's name on Steam should be? I'm thinking: "Stick Shift GOTY Edition"

Some recent exhibitions

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Some recent sightings of some sex games out in the wild... approach with caution.

Hurt Me Plenty at Two5Six in New York City. (May 2015)


Stick Shift at "Play Spectacular" at the Wellcome Collection in London. Curated by Holly Gramazio. (July 2015)


Succulent and Cobra Club in the back of a U-Haul box truck (and Stick Shift, in the driver's seat!) at Lost Horizon Night Market in Brooklyn (Bushwick). Curated by Stephen Clark + Babycastles. (July 2015)


Thanks to all the curators and events for having me! There's also a few more shows / appearances lined-up, so keep your eyes peeled...

When failure sneaks into stealth games

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The last moment of my last Invisible Inc run on "Expert Plus"; don't read the game text if you don't want spoilers
I'm facing my last obstacle on the last mission on the hardest difficulty of Invisible Inc. The past 5-7 hours of this campaign, and last 30-or-so hours of play over the last few weeks, have all led to this moment. There's a dozen alerted guards between me and victory... can I make it, or will I fuck it all up?

The last time I was this engaged by a stealth game, it was the first time I played Thief 1 (1998) in 2002... a pirated version I downloaded off Kazaa, with all the cutscenes, music, and voice-over removed to save on file size. What was left was the most avant-garde game I had ever played, a world of footsteps and silence. Between then and now -- Splinter Cells were okay but not my bag, Thief 3 was a sea of mediocrity with a single shining jewel, Dishonored was okay I guess, those bits in The Last of Us quickly wear out their welcome, and Thief 4 was rather unfortunate -- "stealth" has felt a little dead for the last 13 years.

If we look back at the systems design theory behind Thief 1, we can figure out who murdered stealth.


Levels are places, moments, and stories. We can also think of some levels as systems. (For more on this, see "Dark Past, pt. 3") In his PhD dissertation, Dear Esther director Dan Pinchbeck theorized that the function of game narrative was partly to rationalize how single player action games get less complex over time. As you clear a level of enemies or settle into your favored equipment loadout, the game destabilizes into an empty "solved" state.

In stealth games, it is common to clear a level in this way. KO'd or killed enemies (there isn't really a difference) never wake up, so once player poke a hole in a guard patrol then that hole stays there forever. Because stealth games often support some form of body carrying action, many stealth players celebrate level clearing by posing a "family portrait" full of accumulated corpses.

So, the first thing a stealth game can do to feel fresh is to figure out a good way to repopulate and replenish a level -- but that's a problem almost every 3D action game has, so let's look a bit closer at some design patterns specific to stealth:


At GDC 2006, Thief designer Randy Smith gave a really insightful presentation on stealth game systems. (For more on this, see "Dark Past, pt 4") In it, he observed that stealth games have narrow thresholds between remaining undetected and being detected. Because being detected and pursued was an undesirable failure state, their big design goal was to help players recover from failure pretty quickly. Flash bombs, magic powers, parkouring, blinking, "swooping"... these are all designed to re-stabilize the system to help the player escape.

In balancing and tuning a stealth system, Smith argues that a designer's goal is to try to expand that really narrow partial failure margin as much as possible. This is the basis behind guards running slower than you, having rather limited vision cones and slow reaction times, and quickly shrugging, "I guess it was just a rat." Smith even quotes a level design heuristic about keeping guard patrols short and fairly isolated, to help protect the player from "jumping out of the pan and into the fire."

Being detected means failure, and failure is undesirable -- this claim is the petrified baggage weighing down the modern stealth genre. So it's refreshing when Invisible Inc takes the opposite approach, constantly teasing you about your impending death. In doing so, it redefines "failure" in profound ways.


Invisible Inc. is the murderous serial killer cyborg that does not run after you. Instead, it calmly walks toward you, which is somehow even scarier. There is no pretense of "ghosting" being the optimal play style here... in many cases, you will have no choice but to be detected, to KO a guard, or to set off an alarm. Some characters become more powerful only when shit is hitting the fan. Getting detected is not failure here -- what's worse is getting detected at the wrong time.

Eventually, guards wake up and loot becomes harder to steal. The mission constantly pushes back against you, escalating the stakes -- a puzzle that is constantly threatening to unsolve itself to become unsolvable. At the same time, this game doesn't pretend the guards have sophisticated AI (guards are very predictable) because a trash compactor does not need "human-like AI" to profoundly destroy you. The floorplan itself is the AI, as late-game teams of alerted guards flood hallways like poisonous gas. Contrast this interconnectedness and guard-to-guard interaction with Thief's stated design goal of isolating patrols.

In a way, Invisible Inc. is one of the few video games about global warming. Here, failure is not a state, because that would be too easy. Instead, failure is the slow glacial process of watching your loved ones drown. You can always lose more. Unlike every other stealth game, slow and patient observation usually means slowly suffocating death here.

And this apocalyptic relentlessness is possible ONLY if you coach the player to have a different relationship to failure than most stealth games, and decouple detection from failure. One of the most beautiful things that Invisible Inc does is that halfway through a mission, you can always retreat early without actually accomplishing the scouted objective. Retreating is a common mechanic in everyone-dies tactics games like XCOM, but it is totally unheard of in most stealth games, which usually handcuff themselves to a binary mission success or failure.


Back to that last mission of my Invisible Inc playthrough, the only mission without an exit teleporter. The culmination of my 30 hours of play have all led to this moment. I have to get two VIPs through this lobby full of a dozen alerted guards, to the control room at the bottom of the map. If I don't act now, the guards will spread out and become difficult to manage AND the other guards behind me will wake up.

Here's my really clever plan:

I'm going to send my other two characters to run into the lobby. Their jobs are to (a) get caught, (b) die loudly, and (c) in the process of dying loudly, get the guards to look the wrong way and in the wrong place, so my two VIPs can slip past them undetected. The last detail to figure out is the wimpy level 1 grunt standing outside the control room, but he'll be easy to deal with -- I give VIP 1 a taser to KO him next turn.


I hold my breath and begin... and everything goes to plan. A dozen guards look the wrong way. My VIPs salute the agents' noble sacrifice, turn on their cloaking devices, and slip through. A million gears and cogs are working perfectly in concert, like one of those really expensive Swiss clocks...

... and then, at the very last second, a Swiss ant gets lodged in the last gear.

That level 1 grunt? He heard the commotion in the other room, ran out of the range of VIP 1's taser, and then stopped right in the middle of the doorway. Now VIP 2 can't get through the door, and he can't wait any longer because his cloaking device will run out in the next turn and the guard will see him. So just like that, my playthrough ends with a whimper of an overlooked detail. All the pieces were there in front of me, I just failed to connect that one last dot and predict what was really going to happen.

Technically, I haven't failed at all, and both VIPs are alive and undetected and that last guard doesn't even know I'm there. No one is screaming after me or chasing me, because this is a game that knows there's no need for it to run. This is a stealth game where the AI doesn't even know how hugely I've fucked up -- failure itself has been made stealthy.

Real failure isn't about getting spotted; no, real failure is realizing you weren't so clever after all, and maybe you were never really that clever -- and now you've just royally fucked yourself. This is the importance of disconnecting detection from failure, it allows us to have a freer and more profound relationship to failure.

Sure, fear is pretty... but existential dread is beautiful.

PSA: free (and COMPLETE) photorealistic 3D character workflow from Mixamo

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Mixamo got bought out by Adobe... as part of the merge, they've turned off all their billing systems... which means almost everything they have is now free.

"Fuse" is their (free) character modeling / texturing / creation tool that is miles ahead of the old Autodesk Character Generator -- from there, you send the character mesh out to their Auto-Rigger cloud service (also free) with 60+ bone skeletons and facial blend shape support -- and with every (free) account you register, you get 20 (free) animations, and you can potentially make unlimited free accounts. This is a complete character art solution from mesh to skin weights to rigging to animation, for free. It's pretty impressive, and you can easily make a game that looks like a prestige AAA FPS from late 2013. (These assets don't have the accuracy of photoscanned models or DX11 procedural hair, but they're very well crafted.)

Tentatively, they're going to shutdown this infrastructure on December 31, 2015 (I think, according to a cryptic e-mail I got a few months ago) when they've finalized more of the merge with Adobe, so make sure you grab as much stuff as possible while you can.

To celebrate, look at the brunch hunk I made in Fuse (above) and exported out to Unity. Again, it's pretty high resolution stuff with no restrictions. Make use of it for your games while you can.

I'm documenting this resource as a "PSA" because making the tools of photorealism accessible and widespread helps (a) sabotage game industry machinery that privileges fidelity as something valuable, (b) re-contextualizes realism as a stylistic choice rather than a "default" marketing tactic.

Have fun!

A game is a brain is a forest

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I just read this article about how plants are intelligent. It's a classic philosophical problem. Is a brain in a jar any different from a plant, and what exactly is intelligence or consciousness? Recent articles about how "plants talk to each other using an internet of fungus" are in vogue with recent thinking that corporations are dystopian artificial intelligences that have enslaved human society, or that we have to generally decentralize human-ness in human thought. The argument here is that self-sustaining complexity, usually in a network structure that resembles a brain (not that mere human brains are so great or whatever) must produce similar effects, so a brain is at least as complex as the internet or a forest or global capitalism.

Once something becomes boring, it is no longer complex because you have reduced it to boredom. So maybe another word for self-sustainingly complex is "interesting"... and, well, I think good games are interesting. Maybe a game is like an internet, or a brain, or a forest, or some shit?


Much of the popular formalist language about game structures reduces some games to "linear" or "non-linear" or "branching." This makes sense when you're a developer who has to script these interactions, usually programming in binary if( ) statements that are TRUE or FALSE, 0 or 1, etc. and your job is to keep these branching logic structures at a manageable complexity.

But when we play / perform in games, we make thousands of choices a second -- where to look, when to move, your pacing, your tone, your projection of how the game was meant to be played and how sincerely you keep to that projection, etc. This is why YouTube and Twitch and competitive gaming and speedrunning have emerged as significant forces in game culture... when someone plays a game in an interesting way, we feel compelled to watch and engage. These players are finding new ways to play games, or maybe even finding new games inside these games.


Thinking of a game as a set of "Interesting Choices" suddenly seems so ridiculous and reductionist; a choice is interesting or boring based on whether the player can play it as interesting or boring, and a choice exists only if players understand it as a choice.

Skate 3 (2010) was a derivative open world skating game somehow salvaged by players who understood the surreal beauty of its glitchy flopping ragdoll physics. They transformed Skate 3 from a rote sequel into a ballet that predicted the future popularity of other ragdoll games like The Amazing Frog or Goat Simulator. The best videos combine the strangeness of bodies with awkward cinematography, first filming a dude's head vibrating in a wall and then zooming in on a billboard advertising a mayonnaise substitute. And if you actually play Skate 3, you realize that it is not easy to do this stuff, it takes finesse and skill and comedic timing to be funny and interesting in Skate 3.



But is that game the same game as Skate 3? Well, it's the game they found inside Skate 3, beneath the writhing rubble and tone-deaf product placement. They found new "choices", new ways to play and perform Skate 3 that magically made it interesting. In this way, we could say these players are some of the best Skate 3 players in the entire world.

So here's where I'm going with this:
  • If we have to define a game in terms of choices, then we make countless choices when playing games. Every gesture of the mouse, every millisecond you hold down [W], every sound you mutter, every word you write on your blog about it, is an expressive choice in performing the game.
  • Skilled performers understand how to play off these possibilities in an interesting way, all while discovering new possibilities and new methods of expression and new ways for the game to mean things. They even find new games inside the game.
  • Much like how biologists and philosophers are re-defining intelligence as complexity, and psychologists are developing a theory of "emotional intelligence", we should re-define player intelligence or "skill": player skill is the ability to make a game seem interesting. If you are "good" at a game, you are good at thinking about the game and expressing that thought about the game somehow. Let's Players are game critics are skilled athletes -- what's important is the richness and novelty of their performances.

When players talk about how they played a lot of Tekken 3 because they found it really erotic, that means they are good at Tekken because now fighting games are suddenly interesting to me as a form of sex. This makes a lot of sense, since EVO is basically the biggest most intensely sexual nerd orgy ever. I can now understand every competitive tourney as a raging circle jerk -- it is like Michael Jordan's fadeaway, a gesture that brings new beauty to a game.

But if you can't make Proteus interesting for yourself, then maybe that means you are bad at playing Proteus. That's OK, just acknowledge that you suck at Proteus instead of complaining that it's a bad walking simulator -- of course it'll seem bad to you, that's because you're a sore fucking loser, you terrible fake newb bullshit gamer?

"Summer Days" from Proteus, by Matt Glanville
By this, we can finally understand Dear Esther as a game that's just as difficult as an XCOM or a Rocket League. But you may have noticed there's no Michael Jordan of Dear Esther?

If games are brains, then they also suffer from many of the same problems as brains or corporations: they intimidate and harass other brains, and prevent other brains from developing.

There's a lot of talk about "making diverse games" and recruiting "diverse game developers"... but for all that to happen and work, we also need "diverse players" playing games in many different ways. There's no Michael Jordan of Dear Esther because games culture actively discourages such player cultures from forming.


Maybe a game is more like a forest. Expressive players help turn leaves toward sunlight, or nudge roots toward water. Research has also shown that trees help other trees:
"Simard now believes large trees help out small, younger ones using the fungal internet. Without this help, she thinks many seedlings wouldn't survive. In the 1997 study, seedlings in the shade – which are likely to be short of food - got more carbon from donor trees."
It's almost as if trees know something we don't.

The molten rituals of Hylics

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Hylics, by Mason Linderoth, is one of the best RPGs made in the last decade. Imagine a game finely distilled so as to consist solely of the weird funk of Earthbound plus some David Cronenberg technoflesh plus the young dread of Gumby... and when you've completely imagined that, now look in your weathered dusty hands to find the freshest nugget you've ever seen.

You should make it your duty to play it, and it's (refreshingly) short for an RPG at 2-3 hours, so go to it. (WARNING 1: SPOILERS FOLLOW. WARNING 2: LOTS OF HYLICS GIFS...)



There are a lot of things to like about Hylics. The randomly generated dialog text both exposes the emptiness of most RPG NPC dialog while simultaneously showing how much better and more poetic it can be. But maybe the art style is the most obvious thing to love, a bold mix of dithered stopmotion that feels soft but crunchy. Much like how the most superficial observation you can make about Stephen Lavelle's masterpiece Slave of God is that it's like drugs or something, the most superficial observation you can make about Hylics is that it's surreal or "trippy."

What impresses me about this look is the way it still establishes visual hierarchy and has very readable character / world design, it is some very superbly structured messiness. "Ambient" character are given a 1-bit black and white sprite treatment, while talkable NPCs get color, and hostile NPCs get jittery animation.


Oh my god, the animation! This is where Hylics really shines. Stop motion styled photo stuff is so often about playing with time, but because Hylics is digital, it's much more interested in playing with the material.

So many things melt and disintegrate in Hylics, from the first time you "accidentally crush" a trash can, to the way you unwrap a warm burrito during battle -- one of the most beautiful RPG animations of all time. In fact, just about every battle animation here makes Final Fantasy summons smell like dad.


Cacti plunge into the ground and "ambulatory skulls" disintegrate at your touch. Clay sigils pulse out of televisions, your body and face melt upon (fairly frequent) death, and in the last dungeon you're basically just plowing through all this meat and making a mess on the floor. It makes you realize how "gibs" in games are usually so dry, rigid, and motionless.

Hylics is a world of flesh, a game that congeals and melts in your hand. And it is stunning.

"That One Time I Repeatedly Gave Birth to Fully Grown Wolves, and Other Gay Sex Games That We Deserve" at GX3, 12 December 2015 in San Jose, CA

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Hello! My "Boss of Honor" keynote talk at upcoming gay game convention GX3 is called "That One Time I Repeatedly Gave Birth to Fully Grown Wolves, and Other Gay Sex Games That We Deserve" -- in it, I will be talking about my gay sex games (hopefully I'll be done with 2 more by December) and connecting it with a rich history of other gay sex games.

The implication is that we shouldn't beg for crumbs from the AAA industry in hopes that they'll allow "us" the occasional cutscene or NPC or crumb of representation... the games we want to see already exist, and they are made by queer artists that the community needs to support.

If you're interested in hearing about this stuff, come see me in San Jose on the Saturday of GX3.

(And if you're interested in repeatedly giving birth to fully grown wolves, play Eva Problems' excellent "Sabbat.")

"Bodies, I Have In Mind" at ZEAL

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My piece for Aevee Bee's micro-games-e-zine ZEAL is out. It's called "Bodies, I Have In Mind", and it's about my body, other people's bodies, video game bodies, gay marriage, physics, and a bit of Ovid quotation for good measure.

It actually took a pretty long time to write, because when I write about games I usually maintain some distance and don't include too much of my personal life, so it was challenging (but fun) for me to try to change my usual mode. I hope it's not too terrible of a read.

If you like my writing for ZEAL, and want to support more work like it by diverse authors, then please consider donating to the ZEAL Patreon, which commissions this work.

Massive Chalice as pre-apocalyptic existential game industry dread

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(SPOILER WARNING: this post has some not-really-that-important spoilers for Massive Chalice.)

Massive Chalice is a pretty OK game -- it's an XCOM with a much better base-building / squad-management component, where you can also convert squad members into resources -- collective XP buffs, faster upgrade times, bigger numbers. The same song and dance as any strategy game, but it also tries much more new stuff than the average strategy game. It's an ideal commercial indie project, 50% old and 50% new.

So it's jarring to me that it averaged 6/10s from games press (and probably not super-great sales) considering how much it tries to do and with relative success at it, but I can also understand why gamers would look at this and think "it looks cheap." Here are all the checkboxes that Massive Chalice refuses to tick:


LOTS OF "INTERESTING CHOICES" AND MEANINGLESS DEPTH. It has only 3 core character classes (there are actually 3 more extra classes, but they boil down to 2 more archers and another grenadier class) and each core class has 2 special weapons with special abilities. The tactical battles basically exist only to justify your bloodline management choices, not the other way around. Battles are very minimalist, with very simple concepts of cover, and no overwatch function. I'm not sure if it "works", but at least they had the courage to wonder, "do we all have to do it like XCOM?"

GIANT FANTASY LORE CODEX. This game, refreshingly, doesn't give a shit about its fantasy lore, which makes it impossible to wiki and impossible to cosplay. How can you perform obsession about a game that isn't obsessed with itself?

RESOLUTION-DEPENDENT GRAPHICS. Massive Chalice has a fairly novel vector-y art style, with lots of flat swaths of color and very little surface detail. This requires you to actually make an aesthetic judgment about the visual style, rather than quantifying it as a metric of fidelity. How else will gamers know whether this has "better graphics" than XCOM?


All three of these design choices basically run counter to Massive Chalice's competition -- XCOM, Shadowrun, Shadowrun Electric Boogaloo, etc.. These choices were also the right choices, choices that are well-executed and thoughtful and "advance the medium" or whatever.

But as interesting and clean as it is, I don't think anyone really "loves" Massive Chalice. I suspect Massive Chalice doesn't really want you to love it. It's about inhuman time scales, how the labor of countless generations can still feel ultimately futile and pointless.

It's clearly a metaphor for game development. The metaphor didn't really strike me until the ending credits...

Imagine you've just beaten Massive Chalice on Normal difficulty. The past dozen or more hours or so have seen countless people live and die, generations and dynasties start and thrive and perish. You have probably seen at least 200+ different character names in your playthrough... and then the last 95% of the game credits look like this:


It's thousands upon thousands of names, specifically all the Kickstarter backers. What's particularly stunning about this sequence is that it uses the same timeline interface as the main game, so we can selectively pause and scrub back and forth, etc.

The ending cutscene "twist" is fairly predictable and foregone -- the monsters can never be truly defeated, and the price of beating them and securing a few centuries of peace is utter destruction and sacrifice, yadda yadda yadda...

But if this idea of countless names and generations of collective human labor is supposed to mime the crowd funding campaign and agonizing development of the game, then this ending takes on a much darker tone. That means the monsters in Massive Chalice aren't a metaphor for aging and time, but rather they're a metaphor for precarious survival when working in video game market capitalism.

Double Fine is one of the very rare indie studios that consistently makes pretty good conceptually-rich games that also sell enough for it to survive. It maintains (expensive) offices in San Francisco, pays a lot of staff, and does community outreach. It seems like they have "the life" that so many indie game developers dream about, a respectable commercial and critical sustainability.



But what if they didn't have that "holy grail" of security? What if Massive Chalice totally flops, or giving away Broken Age part 2 doesn't lead to a bump in sales? What happens when Spacebase DF-9 does poorly, a pre-production project gets canceled, and there are heavy layoffs? What do those thousands of Kickstarter backers add up to, exactly?

If you watch the Double Fine documentary, you get to see a lot of that game developer anxiety play out over a long period of time. In the last episode of the series, with principal work on Broken Age completed, some very tired people wonder what their "legacy" will be, and contractors wonder when their next gig will be and how lucky they were to even score this one. In commercial game development, the end of a project is traditionally the time when your adrenaline drops, and then launch sales numbers and reviews come in and decide whether you'll get to eat or not. There's never any real relief.

In this sense, Massive Chalice is one of the darkest games I've ever played. It's a game about how we're all doomed to drown.

"Pillow Talk" keynote with Naomi Clark and Nina Freeman, at Indiecade 2015, October 22-25 in Culver City, CA

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Me and fellow designers Naomi Clark and Nina Freeman will be running a keynote session at Indiecade 2015 tentatively called "Pillow Talk" -- in it, we'll be discussing relationships and intimacy in games. (Press release is here.) If you'll be around, come over and say hey, even if I'll mostly be busy stuffing as many free burgers as possible into my pockets at the Sony party.

Game Development Studies reading list, Fall 2015

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In the vein of "Platform Studies" or "Code Studies", we might consider a "Game Development Studies" ("Console Studies?") -- a field of research investigating the technical and material aspects of video games, from early prototypes to production code to distribution. How have various processes of game development changed over time? How does that influence what games are, or how they are perceived?

Here are six books that, I think, do much of that work:

10PRINT (Nick Montfort, Patsy Baudoin, et al) focuses on the generative capabilities of the Commodore 64, while Racing the Beam (Ian Bogost, Nick Montfort) focuses on the technological context of the Atari 2600. These are great and important texts that have established a lot of the methodology in this field, but they are also about really early consoles, and it's really difficult for younger people (e.g. me) to appreciate the throughline from that era to today.

So maybe what we need is a little more timeliness. I AM ERROR (Nathan Altice) uses the same types of analysis to investigate the classic NES console, but also has the benefit of supplementing it with cultural analysis about translating between Japanese and US contexts. This is also where Dreamcast Worlds (Zoya Street) is at its most powerful, exploring the complex interplay between Sega Japan, Sega of America, and Sega Europe, and how these different cultures influenced development resources and engineering decisions.

But those stories are about corporate intrigue in what we might call the triple-A game industry, which doesn't really feel contemporary with the current (but waning?) "Indie Moment" in games right now. So it's also important to talk about early proto-indie developers who clustered around ZZT (Anna Anthropy), a very moddable game engine by a then-nascent Epic Games -- or the avant-garde commercial indie sensibilities and material contexts that led to Jagged Alliance 2 (Darius Kazemi) and its commentary on US-Canada geopolitics.

I distinguish this type of research from work like the classic Masters of Doom (David Kushner), which is less interested in the technical-material and more in the "great men" of Carmack and Romero, or Myst and Riven (Mark J. P. Wolf) which, to me, reads like a meticulous wiki and isn't really critical of what those games are, or how they were made and what that means.

By being critical, I don't mean taking a hate-play shit on a game. It's OK to love something, that love is usually what enables a writer to commit so deeply to thinking about something.

However, this love also needs rigor, it needs to be a tough love that you challenge and deconstruct. 10PRINT argues that Commodore 64 had a lot of engineered limitations, Dreamcast Worlds argues that Sega corporate culture was dysfunctional, and Jagged Alliance 2 is about why we can't make games like that ever again.

Many of these kinds of books are about the "losers" of today -- Atari and Sega are now essentially zombies that exist to accrue royalties, Jagged Alliance 2's double-A publisher-developer Sir-tech collapsed against its better-funded competitors, id Software has hemorrhaged Carmack amidst the debatable failure of Rage and other idTech4 games, and Cyan Worlds has struggled ever since Riven. In a way, maybe we can only construct history when that given history is over.

And if it feels kind of sad, maybe it's because that's what game development (and/or history) is.

On "The Loch" and anti-busybody small open world games

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The Loch is a 2013 Scottish fishing RPG by Mitch Alexander. In it, you "fight" fish in turn-based JRPG battles symbolizing the experience of fishing. There's a variety of biomes to explore, each with different species of fish to catch, and it all takes place over a series of days with variable weather / variable NPC behaviors based on the weather.

It's pretty rough around the edges, partly due to short development time constraints (it was originally made for a 7 day Fishing Game jam) and partly due to the limitations of reskinning RPG Maker. There's very little tutorializing, and many core interactions don't feel very intuitive. No one really tells you you're supposed to go all the way south to advance to the next day and heal up, or that you have to equip X and then use skill Y to do Z... in this way, it departs a great deal from typical JRPG or RPGMaker game conventions.

But that departure from convention is also refreshing. Though "open world" carries connotations of large expensive 3D worlds, I'd like to expand the bounds of that genre and discuss The Loch as a "small open world" game. What marks an open world game is the repeated traversal of a space, and reflecting on how that space (or the player) changes over time. In this case, the world is a small Scottish lakeside village where everyone speaks in charming accents and encourages you to kick back and slow down.


Unlike most big commercial open worlds (Skyrim, Grand Theft Auto, Far Cry, Assassin's Creed, Saint's Row), The Loch offers a small open world without clear mandated goals. Should I be grinding for money to buy something? Is my goal to catch a diverse set of fish, and if so, why does no one care if I do? Am I trying to be the best highest level fisherwoman ever, to defeat a super boss fish? Is there some deeper mystery about the Lochness that I'm supposed to uncover, and if so, how do I go about it? It's never clear which goals are important, or what the rewards and consequences for achieving that goal are.

I often felt like I was wandering around trying to figure out what to do with my life (too real???) and I was grateful that the game was allowing me this space without shoving an objectives list or icon-laden minimap in my face. (Fortunately, those things are also not easy to do in RPGMaker!)

In that respect, The Loch is contemporary with "small worlds" like Animal Crossing, but also its fellow temperate Northern Hemisphere wander-em-ups like Proteus, Eidolon, or The Path, which all de-emphasize authored goal / mission systems in favor of wandering. For some reason, no one has ever made a similarly goal-less open world game set in a city? Perhaps there's an implicit argument here that goals are like a form of technology, artificial constructs that exist for people, and disappear in the absence of humans. Encountering goals in these worlds is an unwelcome imposition on the world, like witnessing a discarded beer can drifting in a river.

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived..." (Walden, Henry David Thoreau)
These pastoral open-nature games tend to hide or de-emphasize goals, but what if an open world game hated its goals?

Such an open world game might turn its bevy of goals against the player. Make the player feel the noose of human society and techno-social obligation closing in around their neck, and encourage the player to close their quest log and minimize their minimap -- to leave it all behind, and live deliberately.

Unfinished business

Scripting the Unity Editor to automatically build to Windows / OSX / Linux and packaging the files in ZIP files.

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I'm getting ready to release my next gay sex game, which means a lot of builds and testing. This game, in particular, has a lot of particular framework and infrastructure that involves copying over specific files directly into the built data folder. I don't want to have to copy over the files manually over and over, so I bit the bullet and decided to write an editor script that automatically does all this stuff for me, for all 3 desktop platforms that I'm targeting. This is really nice because it saves me a lot of time when making builds, and it also makes it more the whole process more foolproof since it prevents me from forgetting any files -- Unity is automated to include them for me!

Here are the main snippets + explanations of those parts of the pipeline, with the full script at the end of this post...

1) Use EditorUtility.SaveFolderPanel to get a file path.

string path = EditorUtility.SaveFolderPanel("Build out WINDOWS to...",
    GetProjectFolderPath() + "/Builds/", "");


2) Based on the specified BuildTarget platform, I apply some hardcoded variables, like what to add to the end of the .EXE filename, or where to find the Data folder on that platform. You'll definitely want to modify this part of my script based on how you personally like naming your files, or where you want to put your files for your own game, etc.

case BuildTarget.StandaloneWindows64:
  modifier = "_windows";
  fileExtension = ".exe";
  dataPath = "_Data/";
  break;


3) Switch the active build target so that Unity re-imports / re-converts files.

EditorUserBuildSettings.SwitchActiveBuildTarget(buildTarget);

4) OK, here's when I actually build out the game files now. In the last parameter, I have an inline if() statement which decides whether to "ShowBuiltPlayer" (pop-up an Explorer / Finder window when the build is done) or not. If you're working in OSX, you might watch to switch that to BuildTarget.StandaloneOSXUniversal or something, or maybe even remove it entirely.

BuildPipeline.BuildPlayer(GetScenePaths(), playerPath, buildTarget, buildTarget ==
    BuildTarget.StandaloneWindows ? BuildOptions.ShowBuiltPlayer : BuildOptions.None);


5) Next, I copy over some specific files from my \Assets\ folder to my build data folder. I use Unity's own internal copy function, FileUtil.ReplaceDirectory which also replaces any existing files. Because it's from my Assets folder, the folder copy operation includes all the .meta files. I delete the .meta files after copying over all the files. There's probably a nicer way to do this, but I didn't do that.

FileUtil.ReplaceDirectory(Application.dataPath + "/" + assetsFolderPath, fullDataPath + assetsFolderPath ); // copy over languages

// delete all meta files
if (deleteMetaFiles) {
var metaFiles = Directory.GetFiles ( fullDataPath + assetsFolderPath, "*.meta", SearchOption.AllDirectories);
  foreach ( var meta in metaFiles ) {
    FileUtil.DeleteFileOrDirectory( meta );
  }
}


6) At the end, I compress the whole build into a .ZIP file using DotNetZip. I use this particular fork of DotNetZip that's stripped down for Unity. There's also a bug in DotNetZip that corrupts DLL binary files, which means it usually breaks UnityEngine.DLL -- a pretty important file. Make sure you include the "ParallelDeflateThreshold" fix or else all your zipped builds will be corrupted!

using (ZipFile zip = new ZipFile()) {
  // DotNetZip bugfix that corrupts DLLs / binaries
     http://stackoverflow.com/questions/15337186/dotnetzip-badreadexception-on-extract
  zip.ParallelDeflateThreshold = -1; 

  zip.AddDirectory (directory);
  zip.Save(zipFileOutputPath);
}




... And that's it. A Gist of my full script is embedded below. Make sure you put it inside an "Editor" folder, or else Unity will attempt to include it inside your game and the build process will fail.


Attend the 2015 Queerness And Games Conference at UC Berkeley, October 17-18

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QGCon 2015 at UC Berkeley has just put up their list of speakers and sessions. If you'll be around the Bay Area that weekend (in about a month!) then I highly recommend attending, it's a compelling mix of game developers and academic theorists, and there's no other games conference quite like it. Here's some interesting-sounding sessions:
  • “Soft-Skinned, Hard-Coded: Straight/White/Washing in Video Games”
  • “Witches and Wardrobes: Femme Play in Games and the Development of Be Witching”
  • “Games of Death: Playing Bruce Lee”
  • “Sex Appeal, Shirtless Men, and Social Justice: Diversity in Desire and Fanservice in Games”
  • “Queer Avatar Construction Leads to Homonormative Play”
  • “Affection Games in a World That Needs Them”
  • “Masculinity in Late Final Fantasy”
  • “Infinite Play in Games of Love, Sex and Romance”
  • “Degamification”
  • “Writing and Selling Queer Bots: Sext Adventure Design Post Mortem”
  • (... and so many more!)
Registration is free and open to the public, and they also accept donations in the form of "sponsor tickets" -- please support the communities and institutions you want to see in games!

Rinse and Repeat as cup runneth over

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This is a post detailing my process and intent in making Rinse and Repeat. It discusses in detail how some of the game systems work and what happens in the end, and IT SPOILS THE GAME. You are heavily encouraged to play the game and draw your own conclusions before reading what I think.



(Again, SPOILER WARNING...)

It started with Le1f's music video for "Soda." In it, two hunks spray themselves with gushing fluids, suggestively shooting up from the bottom of the frame.

The scene begins as a sort of aggressive competition of machismo and staring down each other, but then one hunk can't help but submit and opens his mouth to try to swallow some of the frothy fluid. I think what makes this "funny-sexy" is how the soda gets everywhere and how messy it seems. It's pretty brilliant and got me thinking about how sexy a fluid dynamics simulation can be, and how I could put such technology to use.


Fluids in games are usually engineered for very specialized contexts. Most games usually treat water as a flat plane that slices through the world, while some games actually implement water as trigger volumes that you can swim inside... and that covers 99% of water implementations in games. So if you're going to go to the trouble of actually adding any sort of a fluid dynamic model to your game, you usually need a really good reason, like basing your entire game around dynamic flooding or deformable terrain. Most games usually just fake it with some particles and scrolling textures, which is mostly what Rinse and Repeat does.

I started by using the Unity plugin Fluvio, which was free in the Asset Store at the time, but then I noticed it was just using the built-in particle Shuriken collisions system anyway, so I just deleted everything except their refracting particle shader.

I built my own (fairly basic) particle attractor system that "pulls" particles if they enter a certain radius, but ignores it if the particle's Y position is below the attractor. This led to a lot of annoying frustrating placement and tuning of particle attractors, and I'm still not really happy with it, but oh well.


I wanted to use fluids and their interactions with surfaces to emphasize the dude's body and its shape. The way fluids follow the contour of his shoulders, for example, mirror the way your hands follow the contour of his ass. "If only I could be that water."

In this way, I imagine it as a sort of sequel to my spanking game Hurt Me Plenty, where I wasn't satisfied with how I did the aftercare and I got a lot of requests to let the player play as a submissive. So this game is about caring for someone, but on their own terms: the game will only let you care for it at certain times, and it's up to you to make time for it.

Like, I wanted players to literally make time for this game. To achieve that, Rinse and Repeat operates on a schedule, seeded by the first time you run the game.


The gym's bulletin boards hint that showers get busy after gym classes. All the gym classes have silly procedurally generated names like "Tactical Zumba" or "Blood Pilates" which riff on this mindless gunmetal masculinization of fitness. (And it's called "Midas Gym" because this gunmetal / brand of masculinity is sort of like the new gold.) I wanted the class names to be memorable but also relatively unique for different players.

The proc gen seed is the gym number listed at the top of the board, which feeds into a Szudzik pairing function. My original idea was to have it tie into a "midasgym.com" website with Google Calendar and .ICS export integration, but when I cut those features it made the website seem redundant, and the whole system was now pretty overengineered. Oops.

All the system really needs is a seed day (0-6) and seed hour (0-23) to generate a schedule. The first gym class will always be at the initial startup of the game, and the second class is always the next day and a few hours later, etc. After a given class, there is a 1 hour window where the player can boot-up the game and shower with a hunk. If they arrive an hour late, they instead get a "you were late" scene and are still refused the opportunity to play. But maybe waiting means more than that.


Some no doubt bristle at the triumph of waiting mechanics in games, and would refuse to classify it as a mechanic since it is essentially non-interactivity that exists as interactivity. But I'd argue that waiting is the quintessential easy-to-pick-up hard-to-master kind of skill that is massively accessible to most of society. It's brilliant and it happened underneath everyones' noses, probably because we were turning our noses up and sneering.

With a focus on waiting, I also wish to honor the more artistic tradition of waiting in games, as in Pippin Barr's The Artist is Present which takes place in a virtual MoMA that opens and closes according to the real world time at MoMA in New York City, and in Michael Brough's VESPER.5 which lets players make only one move per day. The masocore Half-Life 1 mod Half-Quake Amen had a "sapience" level where players had to wait in a room for 20 real minutes. In a way, Rinse and Repeat attempts to build on all three of those -- an articulated schedule that operates once a day and by the minute. This stringency makes it one of the most hardcore waiting games on the market today.


Waiting is an act of submission, but that's not really a bad thing. Delayed gratification is an integral part of pacing that can enrich an experience; you can't feel a drop without a build-up.

In sex, the notion of waiting is very important. Some people wait to have any sex until they are married, some wait to have sex depending on their menstrual cycle; some are tired, some don't feel like it, and some just plain don't want to. Some people perform sex as work, which is often charged at a time-dependent rate. Foreplay and edging are common sexual practices that are about the fun of "development", where the delay of the climax is the whole point. Basically, only virgins don't like my games Basically, sex often takes place at specific times, places, and moods.


... which leads into how this game plays on the "locker room / shower" genre of gay male porn. For the uninitiated, the basic fantasy is this: imagine you're a dude who just finished doing something manly, like Sports or something, and now you're showering with other naked dude(s). Then someone compliments a body or notices "something", one thing leads to another, and then latent man-on-man lust boils over into risky semi-public sex acts.

Older gay men understand this in a tradition of cruising and gay bathhouses, while younger gay men might narrativize it more as a reversal of bullying dynamics in high school gym. Above all, the locker room is understood normally as a place of danger, where you could be discovered or outed or beaten for "looking at someone the wrong way" even if you were just minding your own business -- and there's nowhere to hide, not even in your own clothes.

So as a porn genre, it is basically a fantasy about everyday consent and safety. Not just the consent to have weird exciting uncomfortable sex on a tile floor, but also the consent to be able to shower and use public facilities While Being Gay. What if we actually did what homophobes are so irrationally afraid of us doing?


After scrubbing him in 3 different sessions, being allowed to go a little bit further each time, you reach the ending. What would "actually happen" here, what felt emotionally real? I iterated a lot on the ending, going back and forth and trying new ideas for weeks. I knew I wanted it to end with the hunk feeling uncomfortable with the relationship you two have developed, and backing away / rejecting you, but how do you play that?

I took a lot of showers to try to find the answer. Two weeks passed without much progress. I was so desperate I started staring at water for inspiration. Then one day, while sitting at the fountain in Washington Square Park and watching the ripples, I got an image: his face, immersed in water, with ripples behind him like some sort of halo.

At the end -- after scrubbing his ass, his abs, his nipples -- you finally touch his face. His sunglasses drift off and he closes his eyes. The mouse no longer controls your hands, but rather it controls his head, as you make him nuzzle your hand and luxuriate in your touch. By flipping the controls around, I'm also trying to flip the typical dominant / submissive dynamic, to say that there's also a certain power in submission. (cf. "power bottom")


"Make him believe," croons the background music track. ("Vyvanse" by the Grounders.) Your hands begin multiplying, covering him like water, but there's something really inhuman about being able to touch someone that much. You're using your powers of devotion to make him love you.

... except you can't make him love you. Suddenly water emerges behind him like a wall, and your hands plunge him backward into the wall of water and hold him there. I mixed 3-4 different drowning sounds from FreeSound.org in order to get the violence I wanted -- the violence of your affection, drowning him as his body thrashes around. The water distortion shader fragments his quivering face and bulging eyes. You basically dream about drowning him.

Then we cut back to reality. The dude is alive and well, staring at you, a little bit shocked as if he saw your dream too. His voice is shaky, "dude, I can't do this anymore, sorry." And he walks away, disappearing from your save game file forever.


The player is now left alone with their own body, forever. The game culture term for this is "body awareness", the idea that we need to give first person players some sort of visible concrete body instead of an invisible implied body. Body awareness games usually seek to make the body seem as unobtrusive as possible, but that logic seems to run counter to many of my experiences with bodies, real and virtual. When you look down, you're noticeably much less fit than the man you scrubbed the past few days, and you are also not white. You don't fit this platonic gay male ideal. Who would ever want to scrub you back, really?

I get criticism about my prior sex games (Hurt Me Plenty, Succulent) focusing on muscular white bodies -- I've always argued that this focus was intentional, to foreground the weirdness of a muscley white man as a gay cultural ideal, but I also understand that this will only seem intentional if I also practice the alternative, which is to try to depict a diversity of bodies.

So this is my way of having these two different bodies talk to each other, and also my way of drowning / "killing off" this recurring hunk character that I commissioned from Kris Hammes -- he might make the occasional cameo, but he will never star in my sex games again.

But if I'm killing off this character, what happens to you?

Well, I guess you just stand there alone, in the shower, forever. Where there's intimacy, there's also loneliness.

NO QUARTER, 9 October 2015 in Brooklyn, NY

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this amazing poster is by the incomparable Eleanor Davis
No Quarter is an annual games exhibition in NYC that commissions original works from designers. This year, I am stepping up as curator, and we will be featuring some exciting new games by Nina Freeman, Ramsey Nasser, Loren Schmidt, and Leah Gilliam.

Come join us on October 9th from 7-11 PM in DUMBO, Brooklyn at The Dumbo Loft, 155 Water Street, Brooklyn, NY 11201

If you'll be around New York at that time, please RSVPso I can get NYU to buy us even more beer. Thanks and see you there!

On my games being twice banned by Twitch

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My newest game, Rinse and Repeat, was banned from all broadcast on Twitch about 4 days after it was released. It joins my previous game, Cobra Club, which was banned shortly after its release as well. I am currently one of the most banned developers on Twitch.

On one hand, it is extremely validating as an artist to be acknowledged as "dangerous" -- thanks, Twitch. On the other hand, the Twitch policy about sex and nudity is shitty and I'm going to complain about why I hate it and feel it's unfair, and also really unhealthy for video games as an artform.

Here is Twitch's rule about nudity in games:
Sexually explicit acts or content: Nudity can't be a core focus or feature of the game in question and modded nudity is disallowed in its entirety. Occurrences in game are okay, so long as you do not make them a primary focus of your stream and only spend as much time as needed in the area to progress the game's story.
This is a blanket ban on any game that is popular enough to get Twitch management's attention, and heavily features nudity. It erases the context of the work and ignores how the nudity is presented, instead focusing on a nonsensical formal distinction where "nudity is OK if it's only a fraction of the game."

That means Twitch treats my games exactly the same as the disgusting RapeLay, a game that I won't even bother describing here. This equivocation is offensive to me, when I focus heavily on ideas of consent, boundaries, bodies, and respect in my games.

But what really pisses me off is that my games actually earn their nudity, and cannot function as artistic works without it. Then here comes Twitch, which argues that some blue alien chick boobs in Mass Effect are OK to broadcast because they're obviously there for some bullshit titillation? The totally unnecessary exploitative bullshit of Dead or Alive babes, or Metal Gear Solid's Quiet, is somehow more appropriate than a game about consensually scrubbing a guy's back? (While we're at it, let's add a dash of systemic homophobia into the mix.)

No other major video platform has this nonsensical "as long as it's not important, it's OK" rule. Instead, they usually emphasize context and the ethics of the nudity / sexual content...

Vimeo's policy on nudity and sexual content is probably the model here: (emphasis mine)
Vimeo does not allow videos that contain explicit depictions of nudity or sexual acts (in most cases), nor do we allow videos that seem primarily focused on sexual stimulation. (There are plenty of other websites for that.) Of course, Vimeo respects creative expression above all else. That’s why we allow depictions of nudity and sexuality that serve a clear creative, artistic, aesthetic, or narrative purpose. We also allow non-sexual nudity, including naturalistic and documentary depictions of human bodies.
Even YouTube considers context to be important: (emphasis mine)
A video that contains nudity or other sexual content may be allowed if the primary purpose is educational, documentary, scientific, or artistic, and it isn’t gratuitously graphic. For example, a documentary on breast cancer would be appropriate, but posting clips out of context from the same documentary might not be. Remember that providing context in the title and description will help us and your viewers determine the primary purpose of the video.
Gamers want so desperately for games to function as art, to witness games about the depth of human experience -- and here is Twitch, a crucial platform in games culture that had 44% livestreaming market share in 2014, insisting "NO" -- games should only ever snicker about sex and nudity, like some stoned tweens clutching smuggled Hot Pockets in the back of a movie theater.

The idea that nudity and sex are allowed on Twitch, only when it's tangential and exploitative, is a fucking disgrace rather regrettable policy. It sends conservative messages for what is allowed to be a "real game", and discourages artistic experimentation from developers for fear of being banned from Twitch.

I believe Twitch should revise its policy to account for a game's attitude toward sexuality or nudity. I maintain adamantly that my games do not function as pornography (I actually get complaints from players that my games are too self-conscious and that they're not pornographic enough) so if Twitch wants to exercise some leadership here, and add some nuance to their policy to allow for case-by-case artistic consideration, that'd be great.

Or, you know, Twitch can keep clutching its hot pockets and keep treating my games exactly the same as super gross exploitative rape simulator fantasies.

Not a manifesto; on game development as cultural work

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So I've made quite a few sex games that have "gone viral" over the past year, and I'd like to talk a little bit about my experiences / practices. I would hesitate to apply these ideas to anyone else's situation, but it's what works for me, so here it goes:

Games are primarily conceptual / performance art; games are culture; it's more important to witness a game than to play it.

Most people haven't played most games. Conversations about games often start with "oh yeah I've heard about it" or "I haven't played that yet." Thinking about the vast intergalactic politics of EVE Online is so much more interesting than trying to play it, and watching high-level Starcraft play is much more interesting than drilling on a specific build yourself.

To "consume" a game, it is no longer necessary to play it. Rather, the most important thing about a game is that it exists, because that means you can think about it. (Or maybe, games don't even have to exist? Consider the endless press previews and unreleased games that engross so many people. These are purely hypothetical games that are often better than playing the actual finished product.)

The concept, and your explanation of that concept, and your audience's understanding of that concept, is your game.

How do other people talk about your game? As designer, you control much of that message and framing. When I make a game, other write-ups often rely on my own write-up; they embed my videos; they link to my screenshots. They are essentially repeating my explanation! And if your explanation sucks then the coverage will probably suck, unless the writer really likes you and will do the extra work of freshly explaining your game in their own terms. Talking about ___ can change what ____ is.

Generally, my games have a 5:1 ratio of page views to downloads, and that is a very conservative estimate that only counts viewers who actually went to the page. For the vast majority of the world, my games live as thought experiments or imagined games, not memories of actual experiences. So I think of my write-ups as artists' statements or commentaries or critical essays, but you could (less charitably) also call it "marketing."

Eventually, your ability to influence "what your game is" will slip out of your control. That's okay! That means other people are actively working on your game too, shaping it and bringing out new aspects of it -- that means your game is a shared culture, not just a product you're pushing around.

Explain the concept to yourself constantly.

I usually start drafting my game's webpage soon after an initial systems prototype, months before the actual release. Then I revise it once a week, and I let it change as the game changes in my mind. That's why it's called game development! Every rewrite or new batch of screenshots is a better way of thinking about your game that will affect how you make your game, and vice versa. Think about what makes for a good story or a screenshot, and that can help you hone what's magical about your project, and give it space.

That's how weird games are -- we make things while barely even knowing what they are. Your goal is to be really good at thinking about your own game, and to do that, you have to put in the work of thinking. Remember that there are many ways of thinking about your game, and writing is just one mode.

Invoke other games or cultural phenomena; your game is a piece of interconnected culture, not a walled garden.

Have you made other games that are similar to this game? Are there any other peoples' games that are similar to your game? Link to them, talk about them, and include them. This is how a "body of work" emerges -- someone has to see the connection and argue the connection, and that someone might as well be you. Things are always stronger together.

But keep in mind that this curation is work! I actively update my itch.io pages to link to my other sex games; I actively find press write-ups of my games and link to them; I actively play other peoples games and write about them, and try to connect them with my own tastes and sensibilities to try to facilitate a conversation.

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We often think of game development as a technical discipline, but so much of a video game has nothing to do with code or technology. You don't have to release a software patch to update a game; all you have to do is to change how people think about it and interact with it. To totally murder this metaphor: your voice is the most powerful auto-update utility ever.

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UPDATE 10/5: certain responses to this post are making me think that maybe I've done a poor job of explaining what I think is fairly obvious and noncontroversial -- that much of our everyday understanding of media is secondhand, and games aren't exempt from this phenomenon, and we should probably learn to be OK with it. I'm not saying "games that privilege firsthand play experience are bad", but rather I'm wondering, what if some games functioned better as cultural hearsay? What if you designed a game TO BE hearsay?

Matthew Burns tells me of the book "How To Talk About Books You Haven't Read" which makes a similar but much better articulated argument about literature and book culture. (I hope / presume Mr. Burns hasn't actually read it.)

I'm not saying people should stop playing games or something; after all, people still learn to play guitar and attend live concerts. Live experiences are great! But still, isn't it nice that we're not all expected to play guitars or attend live concerts? Isn't it nice that you can tell me about a band that I've never heard of, but tell me that they sound like Nirvana meets Beyonce, and I'll imagine that wonderful sound in my head?

This is how countless games already exist to us. When the time is right, maybe you'll seek out that fabled Kurt Cobain / Beyonce mashup -- and if the time is never right, then that's OK, you have millions of other things you could be doing. But if that possibility, that inkling, fascinated you for a hot minute, then let's be grateful for that moment and then move on with our lives, slightly changed if at all. It's what Beyonce would want of us.
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