Here’s the skinny. I have a cute idea for a game, and I’m going to try and blog my design process. The reason for this is two-fold: 1) I’ve been wanting to blog more about game design, as I think it might help me get my thoughts straight. 2) I’ve been looking for an excuse to generate more blog content (like more than one post/week), and this is it.

So, here we go.

Concept 1: create a “sequel” to Thumb War (you know, “one two three four, I declare a thumb war”), adding more complex mechanics and strategy into the simple backseat-boredom game.

or…

Concept 2: create a paper-and-dice version of Thumb War, converting the game of thumb dexterity into a slick little strategy game which can be played in minutes and with a minimal toolset.

Although the first concept sounds more worthwhile (I always lose to Bonnie at Thumb War, even when I sneak-attack), I’ve decided to work on #2 first, since I have some pretty new dice which I can play with.

I’m a little O.C.D. about naming things, so I’ve already made some decisions on possible titles. Right now, it’s between “War Thumbs” and “ThumbCraft” (I like ThumbCraft slightly more, I believe). If I end up designing both concepts, I’ll most likely name the pen-and-paper version “ThumbCraft,” and the thumb-based version “War Thumbs,” so I’ll use those names in referring to the two tiny projects. I’ve already googled both names, and have found that they are not widely used by any other games (at least none popular enough to register in the first page or so). I told you I was weird about names.

The next step will be sketching out some rough mechanics for playtesting. Tomorrow, maybe?

» I challenge you to a thumb war! from tifotter on Flickr. Thanks!

It’s true. I’ve become one of those people that has a del.icio.us account and incorporates it into their blog. I’m one them, now.

I have to say that, apart from any gripes to be had with the complexity of the URL (“del, icio, us” is how I remember it), del.icio.us is one the most useful pieces of web tech that I’ve ever used, which is most likely why it’s so famous and stuff.

If you’re unaccquainted with the site, allow me to give a brief rundown. del.icio.us is one of several “social bookmarking” sites, or what I call “aggregate” sites. Aggregate sites cull their content entirely from their users, making them 100% dependent on community. If an aggregate site does not have a community of users publishing, then it has no content, and therefore no readership. In order to quickly overcome this hurdle, Netscape.com — old site, new aggregate — decided to pay top bookmarkers from other sites to begin bookmarking for Netscape instead. Other sites, such as Digg, Reddit, and my buddy del.icio.us, have relied on word-of-mouth to build wide-reaching communities of “social bookmarkers.”

Though the aesthetic and implementation may differ, the basic idea of social bookmarking is always the same. Users submit websites, articles, or basically any URL of interest to them, often associating it with a number of categories, or “tags.” The more users that link to a specific URL, the more likely it is that that specific URL will appear on the aggregate’s main site. In this way, featured news is determined by popularity. Sites with hierarchical membership (read: older, or well-respected users are better than newer ones) often rely more heavily on high-level users (like Netscape’s “Navigators”) to determine what stories will appear on the front page.

The term “social bookmarking” suggests that aggregate sites are a community-based evolution of the browser-based bookmarks, which is accurate. Now, instead of adding an interesting link I found to a pile of bookmarks that I’ll never look at again, I tag it and throw it on my del.icio.us site. Tagging allows me to organize the list of links by a number of topics (games, gamedev, gamedesign, play, bunnies, etc.). Because it’s online and public, my bookmarks can easily be seen by my friends and family (and anyone else who happens upon my site). At the same time, it preserves a list of topics of interest to me, allowing me to go back to them over time. Kevin Slavin refers to his del.icio.us account as “his virtual brain,” and at this point I’m inclined to agree.

If you’re a fan of aggregating (or you think newspaper clippings are cool but outdated), you should look into setting up a del.icio.us account. It’s free, and is surprisingly fun. And be sure to check out my del.icio.us links in the left sidebar and on my del.icio.us site.

There. That is the last I will mention of it.

Olde English started as a comedy troupe at my college, and continues to rock out on the internet and NYC to this day (you know, a few years later). I enjoy their antics because they always remind me of Bard, and because, well, they’re also just so darn funny and clever.

A recent example of this is their live show Olde English: Rules!, which was built around the premise that each sketch presented at the show was created by following a strict set of guidelines imposed by one of the group’s members. Example:

I’m going to play a song for you. The sketch must contain at least two minutes of the song I’m going to play, and it must be played at an audible level. The song must be played three separate times. All characters must lip-synch while the song is playing. When the song is not playing, all lights must be off.

These rules coalesce to form Supersonic, which certainly might not be considered a crazy success, but sure does follow those rules good!

In contrast, Adam dictates his own rules to Raizin:

Two mathematical constants are on a bllind date, but one of the them has a chilling secret. And no physical objects may be portrayed in this sketch.

From this, Raizin makes Blind Date, which is far and away one of my favorite sketches.

I was thinking about using this as a springboard to talk about rulesets, and the potential created when constraints are applied, but I think I just managed to say it all, so… favorite sketches!

Newer: Raizin and Adam Live Together, Pokemon Day, The First Date (which is different than Blind Date, so don’t be fooled), and Balloon Bangers.

Older: General Procrastination, Adam’s Orange Stand, Funny Face, and Video Will.

Warning: These have cusses in ‘em. Enjoy!

40 from Splurge on Flickr. Thanks!

I was working on a tiny little analog game this past week when I realized that I wasn’t getting the same satisfaction that I had when working digitally. It was still satisfying, to be sure, but it was different. Why?

So I asked myself what I enjoyed about designing something. And I reasoned that my favorite part of the process was knowing that I was creating something worthy of interaction, and I wanted that interaction to be satisfying to the player.

I know that this is largely born out of my own desire to be satisfied with interactivity. As a player, I desire reaction. Even if my action is meaningless, I want there to be confirmation of it.

This goes beyond game design. This is a general principle of interface design, and a very, very important one. Let’s call it “call and response,” not only because they’re the first words that popped into my head, but because, as it turns out, they have a real and utterly parallel meaning.

According to Wikipedia (you know, right now), Call and reponse is “spontaneous verbal and non-verbal interaction between speaker and listener in which all of the statements (‘calls’) are punctuated by expressions (‘responses’) from the listener”. Apparently this plays a large role in West African culture, and emphasizes the importance of communication as a dialogue (however obvious that sounds). With call and response, a statement does not pass without affirmation of its reception, regardless of how the listener regards it.

In terms of interface, “call and response” means a button should tell me when I click on it, before a system performs any consequential tasks. This response could be visual (the button depresses), aural (the button makes a clicking noise), or a combination thereof.

This isn’t masters level geek speak; this is common, antiquated knowledge. Kids are taught from an early age to expect reaction from their interaction. My 7-month-old niece has several toys that are designed solely to react. When she rolls her giant fuzzy cube to the side with the cow, it moos. When she presses a button on her pretend phone, it plays music. These are toys, just as much as a game is. And what I’ve learned is that entirely separate from the design of a digital game — and just as important — is the design of its interface. A player needs to know the game is listening. A player wants reaction.

After figuring this out, I realized that satisfaction in an analog game was a very different beast than the satisfaction in a digital one, because the digital medium is able to respond to interaction in a way that a board game, or a card game, can’t.

I suppose this is important to reconcile because I’m looking for a particular satisfaction out of designing analog games that I’m never going to get. Players are parsing their own data in an analog environment, and as such, must be their own listeners. I’ll figure out what this means later.

» big red button from anatomist on Flickr. Thanks!