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teams of programmers, who wrote the software. (If it seems “Dilbert”-y, it is.)

      Fortunately, game development can be a lot more democratic, in the sense that managing the entire team (which is done by producers or project managers, not a director) relies a lot more on consensus building—and horse trading—than orders dictated through a megaphone by an auteur in a canvas chair. There is often a “blue sky” period very early on in the conception phase. No good (or bad) idea goes unexpressed.

      Blue sky is the honeymoon period of creativity. Anything is possible. Creators meet, brainstorm, spitball. They might be producers, designers, and writers who work from this mantra: If we can have anything in the world in our game, what might it be? Blue sky starts the collaborative process and differs greatly from the screenplay-driven, authorial process of Hollywood. Sure, the creative producer of the game will reject most ideas—but the ideas will be heard.

      There are, of course, a few video game auteurs who work like, and have fans like, film directors: Hideo Kojima (Metal Gear Solid), Sid Meier (Civilization), Will Wright (SimCity, The Sims), Tim Schafer (Grim Fandango), and Ken Levine (BioShock), among a few others. But they remain the exception rather than the rule.

WHERE DO GAME IDEAS COME FROM?

      When Bob was working as a game tester at Mattel, he thought he had a great idea for a game: Mattel should resurrect its then moribund “Masters of the Universe” IP and make a hardcore action game aimed at the then 20- and 30-year-olds who grew up playing with He-Man and Skeletor. Because it was aimed at a mature audience, Bob envisioned the game as a gritty, noir take on He-Man. Skeletor had years ago conquered Castle Greyskull. He-Man had been stripped of his Sword of Power and had been banished to hard labor in a forgotten astro-mine. Bob pulled together an ad hoc group of artists and producers (who often doubled as gameplay designers) from the studio and pitched them his idea over lunch.

      “We open up with three of He-Man’s buddies huddled around a campfire. They’re leaderless, oppressed, and homeless. One starts to sing …” and then Bob launched into a song he’d written that would cover the action in the first cut scene.

      “Wait a minute,” a producer said. “Is this a game you’re pitching? What do I get to do?”

      “Well, fight your way out of the mines and re-take Castle Greyskull.”

      “Fine, that’s the story—but what do I get to do?”

      Bob had figured that details like gameplay could be sorted later. He was wrong.

      His experience was typical for screen and fiction writers who move into game writing. It’s a very sobering realization that you, the writer(s), are never the prime creator of a game. Fledgling game writers get told almost daily, “we can’t do that,” by producers or programmers. A simple idea like “let’s make our hero swim!” can have a huge impact on the schedule and budget of a game, because implementing that suggestion would require the time and money involved to create entirely unanticipated models, textures, and animation trees. The sad irony is that for an interactive medium, it is often very difficult in video game development to adapt on the fly in the middle of a project.

      That’s the bad news. And it is also looking in the rear-view mirror. The good news is that more than ever, developers at every level need good writers to compete in the marketplace as the medium—and the audience—grows more sophisticated and discriminating. We are just beginning to unlock the potential of video games as a form of artistic self-expression.

      Although game concepts traditionally have been driven by technology and game mechanics, this is changing. The idea for The Last of Us did not come from the mechanics. It came from the mind of the writer/co-director Neil Druckmann. He wanted to develop a game version of the iconic zombie movie Night of the Living Dead. Unable to get the rights, he came up with his own—a mash-up of Night of the Living Dead and the classic PlayStation 2 game Ico.¹⁶ Druckmann made the idea his own, blending story and game mechanics in a way that resulted in a game-changing game.

THE NARRATIVE DESIGNER

      The process of video game production suffers when a writer is brought in late to the project to assemble all the assets and make something that is cohesive. A narrative designer might be brought into the project early. On his blog The Narrative Design Explorer, “transmedia story designer and interactive design evangelist” Stephen Dinehart¹⁷ put together one of the best job descriptions we’ve seen of the role and responsibilities of a narrative designer. He wrote that:

      The Narrative Designer will focus on ensuring that the key elements of the player experience associated with story and storytelling devices, script and speech are dynamic, exciting and compelling.

      A job title has emerged recently that’s often junior to narrative designer: content designer. But whatever it’s called, we hope that you will one day soon be working for (running, perhaps?) the game developer of your choice.

      But let’s learn to crawl before we fly. Let’s break things down all the way to their fundamentals.

      Let’s talk about story. See you in the next chapter.

DRAGON EXERCISES 01

      Making A Game

       1 WRITE YOUR OWN GAME

      In this exercise, gameplay will be locked, and it’s up to you to make the game as interesting as possible using only the tools of storytelling. The game is a simple dice race:

      1. Two players

      2. One six-sided die

      3. Both players start on the same space (#1). Taking turns, each player rolls the die and moves their token one to six spaces around the board.

      4. The first player to reach the end space (#32) wins!

      As you’ve already figured out, this is the most boring gameplay possible. It’s up to you and your imagination to bring the game to life by deciding what world the game takes place in, who the two players are, and what happens in each “scene” (space) as the players move toward the end of the game (and the story).

      Don’t leave any space blank!

      The simplest method is to complete a matrix like this one:

SPACE	STORY CONTENT
1.
2.
3.
4.
etc.

      We have done this in class many times. We want storytellers to begin to use board games as a way of telling their stories. One student did an “extreme sports survival” game about a trip to climb Mount Everest. Five players climbed a mountain with gear and rations and were caught in a snowstorm and trapped. Will they make it? Play the game and find out. Each space brought you deeper into the world. The language and tone immersed the player in the world of extreme mountain climbing. It was complex but simple. You want to have a clear goal.

      Remember, don’t change the rules, or redesign the game board. You’re writing on top of a game that has already been designed (professional game writers have to do this all the time). Save your urge to design gameplay for the next exercise.

       2 TURN YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE INTO A BOARD GAME

      This exercise is the opposite of the first one. Now you will focus on creating gameplay to reflect an existing story. Try it with your favorite classic movie. Why classic? Because chances are that your favorite recent movie is already a board game (and no fair turning Battleship or Clue back into board games).

      Choose a classic film that falls outside the action/adventure genre: Citizen Kane, Silence of the Lambs, When Harry Met Sally, Animal House, Dr. Strangelove, Dirty Dancing, The Breakfast Club … How

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