Rrrreal quick rundown before I get going: If you like the look of, or want to play Invisible Sun, great, go knock yourself out, they have a kickstarter and everything. This isn’t for or about you, you don’t need to stress about it. I’m not mad at you for having money. I’m not mad at you for liking a thing. Go forth, be blessed, be joyous, have good time. And now, into the mud.
Invisible Sun (a game by Monte Cook Games (a company named after Monte Cook (a man who helped to develop tabletop products during its biggest period of recovery and growth and has been working nonstop in the gaming industry since 1992, who helped spearhead two editions of D&D (possibly the biggest tabletop gaming franchise in English Language history as far as single-brand entities go)))), launched its kickstarter recently and it’s a doozy. I don’t know much about the product and nor do I care to because the kickstarter’s starting point for rewards is $200. You can give less than that and receive nothing more and nothing less than the warm fuzzy that you helped contribute to the creation of a piece of art or media you want to exist in the world. Which is fine, that’s what kickstarting does.
I was pretty content to shrug, move on and give no fucks. I’m not interested in the product and I don’t have the money if I was and if I did have money and did have some interest, I can think of a few things I’d want to do before I spent that money on that product. That’s fine, that’s how markets work, I’m not part of this market and I’m not into this brand. That was the extent of my involvement, and then
Then I saw what effect it was having on designers.
Look, I make games with free art assets and Go-Lo props and no-frills aesthetics because I can’t afford to make better. I avoid crowdfunding my games because, to me, the alchemy that converts attention to audience to action gives off a toxic fume that renders the mind slightly numb. I know damn well if I put a crowdfunder up there tomorrow for a game like Witch’s Draught or Stray and price my labour like minimum wage for its production, and the enthusiasm my friends have for the concept fails to turn into the money required for me to make it happen, the thing that takes that hit is me. It’s not just ‘this product won’t get made’ it’s ‘I will have to reconsider why I bother.’ I get that.
So take this exhortation, my small press friends, the people I know and the people who know the people I know:
You Aren’t Playing That Game
There are a tiny number of people I know who might be in that position. There are a few people I know who have a massive cachet of public awareness, an established history, a fanbase, a forum, a following who can look at Invisible Sun’s kickstarter success (???) and say oh shit, that could have been me. But almost certainly, you’re not.
Markets and gaming spheres are ecosystems. The one thing that blows me out whenever I go to a convention is when my games – which I price and design for people like me, people who maybe have ten bucks to blow on something as a treat – get the attention of someone who has, for whatever reasons, Better Resources than I do. At a convention recently, someone sat down, asked me to step through all my games, and bought copies of almost everything and doubles of some other. I was left in a fucking daze after that moment, but – what do you say? I saw someone across the alley from me buy a copy of Pandemic Legacy and say to their friend ‘well, maybe we’ll never get to play it, whatever.’
We are moving in interconnected systems of systems, and one of the components of this system is that there are going to be highly visible, highly marketable people who can address a small audience that’s willing to open their wallest and turn to them. Some of these products will get a lot of attention. Some of it will be gross and awful (pretend I name your least-favourite big-box brand here). But that’s not you. A dollar spent on that was almost certainly not going to be spent on you. You’re a few steps over, a few links away. You are part of the ecosystem, sure, but you’re not that person’s competitor. Not those big, loud, messy, and usually aggressively average types of games.
If you’re in the business side of things and you see MCG pulling this shit, that’s perhaps heartbreaking, but try and remember, with a few exceptions, they woke up earlier than you. They’re monetising their market. And almost universally, that has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with them – the them being the people in that market.
One thesis I’ve been holding onto for a while here is that, assuming certain basics (‘it doesn’t burst into flames,’ ‘it doesn’t have vile immorality as an actual game mechanic’), every game is a good game for someone. The trick is almost always not making your game, but connecting your game with the people who will like it, or love it. The people who will find what you’ve made and find it great. While game dev starts with realising you can make games, the next big step is realising you have to help people find it.
I don’t want to be MCG. I don’t want to make their games. I want to make my weird little games for weird little people. I saw a girl trace her finger along a box of Senpai Notice Me and look to her friend with wistful eyes before she snapped the game up. I heard a stranger say ‘Oh my god it me,’ when they learned that Middleware had an agender programmer struggling with health insurance. I want to wake up to find Aevee Bee has picked up one of my games and is making jokes about the name on twitter. I want to hear about the ten year old girl who made an Unauthorised Young Lady’s Duelling Club.
Making $200 a box games might be nice – but I’m just not playing that game. Maybe one day I will, when I have twenty-five years of non-stop dev at the biggest names in town under my belt. But your work is valuable because of the people who love it – and I hope, I hope that you can remember you are one of those people.