How to complain to a developer
As Vlambeer, the studio I work at, has gotten bigger and our community has grown beyond our biggest fans, I’ve…
Rami Ismail is the Business & Development Guy at Vlambeer, a Dutch independent game studio known best for Nuclear Throne, Ridiculous Fishing, Super Crate Box, LUFTRAUSERS, GUN GODZ, Serious Sam: The Random Encounter & Radical Fishing.
Through his work at Vlambeer, Rami has come to realize that the marketing & business facets of many independent game developers could use some help. As such, he created the free presskit-creation tool presskit() and is working on releasing its first add-on, release().
Believing sharing knowledge openly is the cornerstone of independent development, Rami has spoken on a variety of subjects at dozens of game events around the world, ranging from the Game Developers Conference to Fantastic Arcade & from University seminars to incubator mentorship.
He is a avid opponent of game cloning after Vlambeers Radical Fishing got cloned. He is also a proponent of searching for new, beautiful things in places no-one is looking for them and thus organized Fuck This Jam, a gamejam focused around making a game in a genre you hate. Rami also works closely with the Indie MEGABOOTH team to enable indie studios to showcase at the larger game conventions.
Rami exclusively drinks cane sugar Coca Cola.
As Vlambeer, the studio I work at, has gotten bigger and our community has grown beyond our biggest fans, I’ve…
I’m a bit upset at 10 million euro subsidy for game dev in the Netherlands and no mentions of a…
I’ve been receiving an increasing number of requests about “Game a Week”, something I mentioned in one of the answers…
I’ve been receiving an increasing number of requests about “Game a Week”, something I mentioned in one of the answers I gave at my ask.fm profile in the last month. “Game a Week” sits somewhere between the amazing #1GAM that inspired it, and game jams that tend to last 48 hours.
People have been making games in shorter periods of time for a long time now. In fact, my Vlambeer co-founder Jan Willem Nijman started most of his career at the Poppenkast, a community that would often push itself to make games with three hours or so without proper warning. Someone would just post a message with a theme and a deadline, and dozens of little experimental games would pop up.
When I’m recounting Vlambeers’ history at events, I’ve often been heard saying that most of the hundreds of games Jan Willem would make were terrible. It’s true. Of Jan Willem’s impressively prolific history (which includes pre-Vlambeer titles like COPTRA, 10800 Zombies, Pro Killer Man, The Gutter and Atomic Super Boss), most of the games he made are failures only seen by a few, often only by himself. He carried that process with him into Vlambeer, where we’ll often glance through a folder with hundreds of prototypes we made discussing what to focus on next.
One of the most common requests for help I get is people asking me how to deal with their ‘dream game’ failing. Jan Willem’s approach seems best to me, a giant folder full of failed little prototypes, a folder in the back of another folder with interesting prototypes. It’s a repository of knowledge, one level deeper into his mind, of what doesn’t work and what does work, but needs to be fleshed out.
Jan Willem’s superpower is a solid understanding of interaction, impact and values. When we just started, he would simply blurt out a magic number to fill in for a certain parameter when I’d ask. Being a programmer, I’d program a slider to play around with the value, and without fail end up exactly at the value I was told in the first place. I thought of it as a ‘superpower’ at first, until I realised this wasn’t some magical understanding of numbers – it was hundreds of projects’ worth of experience.
That’s when i realised that design experience isn’t in the size of your games, or even in the scope of it – it’s in the number of projects you’ve been through.
That sounds like a ridiculous claim to some, but let’s run through the mental stages of developing a game the way I see them: conceptualisation, identification, development, polish and release. Everybody has a different expression of these stages, but everybody goes through them for each released project.
The first moment of any creative project is a spark of inspiration – a thought, an interesting thing you’ve seen or heard, a system you thought of, a story you want to tell or a world you want to create. It can be anything, in any context – you might be at a game jam or staring out of a window on the train (or both). Either way, there’s an idea.
There’s a giant overvaluation of ideas in those that aren’t creative. People tend to say “it’s about the idea”, or somebody “stumbled upon” a great idea. Ideas are worthless in and of themselves. They’re thoughts, fragments – raw and fleeting – but more importantly, undefined. You can test this really easily: think of any idea and write it down in a few lines. Let somebody else read your idea and explain to you what they think it means. Chances are your ideas couldn’t be further apart (this is also relevant to learning how to pitch, but that’s for another day). The word ‘sun’ is associated with holidays by one person, and with astronomy by another, so imagine how much unspoken disagreement there is about a sentence, or a paragraph.
If I say ‘a shooter game in which you have to avoid airstrikes’, you might nod along and think ‘that’s cool’, but it’s already hard to decide whether I’m talking about a topdown game, a side scrolling game, an isometric game, a first- or third person game. Games are infinitely complex, and a ‘game idea’ can’t be caught with words. It’s like sheet music – you can catch a shell of what it has to be, but it takes the execution of the piece – the experience of the conductor and the orchestra bring it to life. Two orchestras performing the exact same piece can give really different interpretations of the same work. Games are no different.
That’s why it is important to put your game into a playable state as soon as possible. Work on the core interactions, the things people will be doing most. Make sure you can communicate that by letting people interact with it, rather than explaining it.
If you don’t know how to make games, download something like Game Maker, Unity, Stencyl or Construct. The PixelProspector repository has an amazing website with amongst others, a list of game development tools.
It takes making a whole lot of those little prototype to get better at the second ‘milestone’ of development: identifying a game with potential. There’s no real way to explain in words what the thing is you should be searching for – it’s a sense of wonder or intrigue or just enthusiasm for a game. It’s experience that’ll make you better at this stage, though. It’s the constant failure of games based on a certain feeling, and the relative success of those based on another feeling. At some point, you start to recognise which responses are valuable and which are less so.
This is the stage in which you decide which prototypes become projects to work on, but this process also takes place on a smaller level with design decisions. While a lot of major design decisions should be conscious, informed decisions, a lot of micro-decisions you make on a project tend to be more automatic. They’re based on experience, rather than theoretical knowledge and argument.
It’s the thing Jan Willem got really good at when it comes to values, and the thing I focus on when selecting projects for Vlambeer to focus on. Identifying what is worth investing your valuable time in is extremely important, and getting better at that means you have to spend a lot of time in conceptualisation. It also means you have to take enough projects through this phase to see how they pan out.
During this phase, your eyes shouldn’t be “on the ball” – you should not be headed for a destination, but wandering aimlessly until you find a direction you enjoy. Toy around with ideas, take the game in interesting directions, don’t be too set on what you’re making yet. That’ll come later.
At Vlambeer, we spend about two weeks in this stage for our large projects, and less than four hours for game jams in general. If by the end of that period, we’re not still having fun creating the game, we drop it. If we can’t keep ourselves motivated for just two weeks, we’re not dedicating months of our lives to it. We’ll just be miserable if we do that, and we’d rather be happy.
There’s a golden rule in development that you can only learn through practice. The rule is that every given task take two weeks. However, if you subdivide those tasks that take two weeks into smaller tasks, those smaller tasks will also cost two weeks each.
Development has an interesting progression. At first, the project is new and exciting – everything you add has a significant and notable effect on the game. You’ve created a blank world, and you’re defining things as you go. This doesn’t feel like work to most people. It’s also the phase in which a lot of projects waste a lot of time. A lot of a projects ‘scope’ is organically defined in this phase, and this is where you slowly start progressing from ‘wandering’ to ‘moving towards a destination’.
After that, the production phase of development occurs. Production is hard work, but the good news is that hard work is easy. You simply sit down and do it. This is where motivation and discipline become extremely important. When you started this project, you had something that caught your attention. That might’ve changed, or evolved, but you’re still moving forward. Keep moving. Don’t lose sight of the end of the tunnel, even if you can’t see it yet. Keep moving. Start cutting things that don’t work, or that contradict the message of the game. Keep. Moving. Don’t forget to take care of yourself, to find little distractions if your mind gets filled up and upset with the monotony of what you’re doing, to keep learning and to stay happy. Stay happy and keep moving. Don’t crunch, don’t exhaust yourself, but keep moving.
Eventually, there’ll be light at the end of the tunnel.
At this point you’ve got a game that’s playable. You can sit down and let somebody else take place behind the controls, and if you’ve been doing it right you already know what kind of experience they’ll have with it through playtesting. Regardless, there’s usually a lot to clean up still – remnants of ideas that didn’t work out, terrible UI decisions made early on and never fixed, little confusions and tiny bugs from fixes made right before you shut down one of those days a while ago.
This is where you take your game and make sure people can enjoy it optimally. You created this thing for people to play with, and you owe it to the game to make sure they can. That doesn’t mean to dumb it down, or to ‘add birds to it’ – it means to think about what you’d need yourself to enjoy the game if you had never heard of it. It means to think about who you’d want to play this game and how they need to be instructed (or not) and to make sure things are where they’d look for certain things (or not).
This is where you write your little pitch for on your website, and where you start wrapping up. The main menu gets a last overhaul and you suddenly realise that your pause menu still looks horrible.
You hit the button and the game is out there. That’s it. You’ve poured a lot into it (or you made it really quick) and now people can play it. The way developers react to that varies a lot depending on their personality, their emotional state, the amount of time and emotion they poured into the game and the reception of the game.
Releasing a game is not the end of it. You deal with feedback and criticism, or a complete lack thereof. You end up wondering what you could’ve done differently and you will immediately think of at least a dozen things that you should’ve done better or differently.
If the game is a success, this is where you deal with press and feedback and if it’s commercial, you deal with the finances and legal aspects of making a successful game, and the emotional impact of making something people seem to like. If your game is a failure, this is where you deal with the emotional impact of making something people seem to ignore and in some cases, the financial troubles that come with not earning any money through your work.
Either way, you learn to deal with feedback, and you get better at reflecting and finding ways to improve yourself and your title. Releasing your game to the internet invariably shows you things you’ve missed, things you assumed wrongly and things that fail to communicate – but it also shows you what worked and what didn’t. Take some time to take it all in.
Now, the above applies to every game. It applies to KARATE as much as it does to Ridiculous Fishing, the first of which we made in under one hour and fifty-seven minutes and the other took two years. We learned more from Ridiculous Fishing, obviously, but we had the experience at that point to sit down and make that game. Things changed along the way, goals shifted and our idea of what the game was evolved over time, but we knew we could tackle it if we pushed hard enough.
For people starting out, the amount of experience you need to be able to create a ‘dream game’ is overwhelming – and I believe the best way to gain that experience isn’t to work on your dream game (which is in itself a problematic concept, but that’s also for another time). It is to make a lot of games to learn, and then deciding whether your dream game is worth working on at all.
There’s an anecdote which I can’t for the life of me find a source for, but it is a simple idea and backed by many creatives. An old pottery school asked students to create vases, and the teacher split the group up in two groups. One group was allowed to work on thinking up and creating one perfect vase for each semester, and the other group could only work on a vase for a week at most before destroying it. At the end of the year, they compared the vases created by both groups and found the vases made by the group that made a vase a week much more refined, stable and aesthetically pleasing.
The reasons for that are simple: one has more experience with success, and more experience with failure. Not just on a project level, but also on the level of tiny decisions made, of how long to bake the vase, what type of glass or clay to use and what material doesn’t mesh well with what. Failure is generally not a problem unless you fail to learn from it. It is a problem when you’ve gambled everything on something you don’t actually have any experience for.
That story of people being extremely successful on their first game? That doesn’t exist. Fullbright’s Gone Home is a debut game, but it is the debut game of people that have been working in AAA for a while. Hyper Light Drifter is a debut game for Heart Machine’s Alex Preston, but he spent years years making little failed prototypes to consolidate his dream game into the highly successful Kickstarter.
When I found myself – five or six years ago – being a programmer with a reasonable amount of theoretical design knowledge, but without a lot of practical design knowledge, I sat down I drafted a simple challenge for myself. For a period of time, I would make a little game every week next to my normal work. If there’s a reason I can hold myself in a design argument nowadays, it’s because of a combination of reading books, attending talks, listening to smarter people talk and making thirty-some games that were terrible.
I’ve been recommending people asking me how to get into making games to do the exact same thing, with a single update for the social media age. The longer you maintain the challenge, the more experience you have.
Game A Week is a challenge that forces aspiring developers to create a high volume of games. That is not the only valid way to gain experience, and it is definitely not reflective of the only type of games you can make. Regardless of what you want to make, going through the full development cycle frequently will make you better at making games
As soon as you feel your games are interesting, try and find people to work with on these tiny games. There are a variety of interesting forums and communities that will help you out creating little games if your work is good enough. Don’t be disappointed when people don’t want to help out: see it as a solid piece of feedback indicating that you still have a way to go.
If you want to be a game developer, start making a lot of games. Make awful games, make games that disappoint you, make games that make you doubt your ability, clone games that you like within a week and even fail at that. There’s one difference between people that want to make games and game developers. It has nothing to do with failure or success, good games or bad games. The only difference is that game developers are making games.
One game a week. Good luck.
I’m a bit upset at 10 million euro subsidy for game dev in the Netherlands and no mentions of a plan for supporting independent development. This whole rant is based on a reading of a VentureBeat article and the original plan for the GameOn fund in the Netherlands that I read.
The weirdest thing is that in the article promoting the program, Vlambeer and myself get mentioned over and over as examples of what’s right about the Dutch development scene, but then discarded as non-scalable when the question arises why not to invest in independent games.
Non-scalable? We have an average ROI of over 500%, we’ve never made a game that earned less than the previous one by a margin of at least 150%, we’ve been stable, we’re visible and we’re a respected, award-winning company. Hell, we can sit down and do nothing for the next dozen years and still have a comfortable salary, but instead we’re making more games that’ll earn more money. That wasn’t “a single hit game”, that was incremental revenue building. Every game we made added a tiny slice of money to our monthly revenue, and we were already way in the green when Ridiculous Fishing launched.
Vlambeer *can* scale, we just opt not to. Our impact on the national and international industry, however, has scaled exponentially over the years. WhatsApp had about 50 employees when it was bought by Facebook for 19 billion. 37signals, which creates the industry-wide Basecamp, was under 50 employees until just recently. In technology, the size of a company generally doesn’t matter that much until the company becomes a success.
In Dutch games, Game Oven made an IGF nominated game and is now working on one of the most interesting physical games I’ve seen in a long time with Bounden. Ronimo Games have long been the Netherlands largest independent studio, working on titles with the reach and continuous revenue of Awesomenauts. Abbey Games is four students that made millions on their first game with just the Dutch Game Garden and the local scene as support.
Yesterday, I attended the International Press Academy’s Satellite Awards, one of the more prestigious Hollywood awards. Courtney Love, amongst others, presented the award for best Mobile Game. We were nominated for our Apple Inc. Game of the Year winning title Ridiculous Fishing, and Finnish independent premium title Badland won.
Studios like those listed above are exactly the people that would not be able to benefit from this fund when starting out. People like the guys at Guerrilla Games, Game Oven, Abbey Games and Ronimo Games – some of the best known and stable game companies in the country – are glanced over in favour of a still not perfectly understood business model and attracting foreign companies to drain resources that could be used to support our local industry.
Instead, the fund focuses on a model that is still not proven to be sustainable. Mobile free-to-play is undergoing scrutiny in the European Union and has the same amount of problems that premium has with becoming sustainable – but while we have dozens of small studios making rapid headway in the industry in premium, we barely have any good examples of small, lean studios making succesful games like that. It’s nice to use Rovio, Zynga and Supercell as examples, but you’re glancing over the thousands of hopeful investors that fall under that 2012 figure with a 94% industry mean income of less than $1,200 a year.
Additionally, the fund has set apart part of their money to attract foreign companies to come to the Netherlands. Not only is that a terrible way to foster a local development scene, it also means that the money is directly headed out of the country, creating temporary jobs that will last as long as the money is there, instead of structurally supporting a burgeoning independent scene.
The Netherlands have great entrepreneurial support, but if I want to support independent game dev, I still have to ask foreign companies. The government just threw 10 million dollars into a fund that is spending part of the money out of country, does not have plans to support the part of the Dutch industry that is doing the most for the image of our country, uses Vlambeer as an example, and then discards indie as non-scalable.
None of these things impact Vlambeer, so I’m not arguing this for my own sake. We don’t want to hire, we don’t need external money. We’ve never taken external money, either. But there are many Dutch indies with potential that could use a push in the back without having to adhere to a pre-defined business model that is optimised to take the cultural value out of the game. All this impacts is the ability for new Dutch studios to arise, to join the local scene and make a structural improvement.
I understand the need to grown the industry economically, but there are ways to do that without essentially forgetting about local companies and then creating competition for them from outside of the country. This isn’t how you create ‘creative startups’, this is how you stifle them.
So, here’s to 10 million in one part of the industry, while independent events attracting international talent like Indievelopment 2014 struggle to get funding to be able to organise the event. Here’s to 10 million in one part of the industry, while Ostrich Banditos could’ve easily flown their team out to GDC for their IGF nomination with some financial support. Here’s to 10 million in one part of the industry, while Ragesquid could use a little money to showcase their highly promising debut title at events.
I guess that in a country that spends 10 million on games, I’ll still have to go to the Japanese Sony, the Danish Unity, the American Microsoft or some other foreign corporation to try and get support for our country’s brightest.
Don’t get me wrong: I’m happy that the government is spending money on games, and I’d like to congratulate the people that made this possible on their efforts and hard work. I’m just fundamentally disagreeing with how the entirity of this extremely valuable money seems to be spent, rather than distributing it over potential and obvious growth sectors in our industry – both economically and culturally.
It’s almost a shame that FirePunchd’s Ridiculous Glitching is so full of Candy/Flappy references, as a lot of people might skip over it for that reason. I absolutely adore the glitch aesthetic and had quite some fun playing it.
Last week I spoke at the international Design, Innovate, Communicate and Entertain Summit 2014. It is an event commonly known as the DICE Summit, and it is organised by ‘the Academy’ – which is short for AIAS, or the Academy of Interactive Arts & Sciences. In fact, there are more abbreviations to the event, and in general the name of the event couldn’t be much tougher to remember.
The event itself was a two-day event in the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas, which is one of those cities that might be the furthest removed from my personal preferences. I don’t drink, gamble nor like spending money on superfluous luxury, but here I was in Vegas – In-App Purchase City. It’s a city that shouldn’t exist given it’s location, but was built to sustain an economy that the city itself created. To me, the motto of ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’ sounds pretty awful. If what you do there is so commonly upsetting to the world that you’re not supposed to tell people about it, that doesn’t sound like a place I want to be at. On top of that it’s just really sad to see a legion of desperate people trying to gamble their social security checks back into the Vegas economy.
DICE itself was completely contained within the Hard Rock Hotel. I was surprised to learn that each hotel is a micro-city in itself, sprawling buildings with shops, restaurants, bars and clubs – which isn’t that odd – but the scale of everything is sort of overwhelming. I arrived at the hotel a night early, but could only find the actual event in the conference hall fifteen minutes before my talk. I’ll immediately admit that I was extremely nervous for my talk. All I knew about the audience is that it consisted of more than hundred executives and CEO’s of the larger gaming companies and events, and that there might be tens of thousands of gamers watching through the livestream.
Of course, seeing this slew of anonymous people before walking onto the TED-like stage didn’t really help, nor did my subject of choice: with some encouragement from Shawn Allen, Davey Wreden and Robin Arnott I decided that an audience like this could probably use a quick introduction to the concept behind technological democratisation and the history of a ‘typical’ indie studio.
I’ll admit that I’ve never been more nervous for a talk. Not only is the DICE stage elevated, it also doesn’t really have a podium to lean against. On top of that, as everybody is used of me by now, I walked into the venue ten minutes before my talk, meaning I literally had no idea of whom my audience existed.
The talk went over really well. For many people at DICE these concepts are still really new. The AAA industry and the indie scene, although they overlap in some places, are still two separate worlds – something that becomes painfully clear when you put someone like me at DICE, or someone from AAA goes indie. It takes time to adapt to this other world – this world where people don’t have Twitter but love LinkedIn. A world where ‘making a game that doesn’t sell well’ means risking 200 mortgages rather than eating noodles for a few months.
Regardless, it turns out that the people leading AAA companies are in many ways similar to the indies of today. I spent a lot of time with Randy and Kristy Pitchford of Gearbox, Joe Kreiner of Epic, Mike Capps, Warren Spector, Mark Cerny and several others – and I had a good time as soon as I realised that what drives these people is the exact same thing that drives me: they care about games. They care about the future of our medium, about the advances that the medium can make, and about making sure the people they work with are happy. Some of them are the indies of the 80s, who just happened to have grown beyond their original scope.
On an intellectual level I understood all of this already, but on an emotional level having these conversations were eye-opening. I truly believe indie games and indie developers push this medium forward in many ways, but AAA games push the technological boundaries within which we can create. My goals of getting as many perspectives and games in the medium do include Call of Duty, Gears, Borderlands and FIFA ’14, and it was reassuring to sit down with some of the people responsible for the companies behind those projects.
Not everything was great: there were some atrocious remarks made during the conference – I feel Trip Hawkins completely missed the mark in many ways in particular, the general audience at DICE could use a few lessons in gender-neutral expressions and a few of the jokes made at the event weren’t quite great. It’s obvious that the event has a long tradition and that a lot of developments outside of the group of common attendees of the event do not reflect within DICE’s audience yet. That doesn’t mean they’re oblivious to change – a lot of the conversations I had reflected interest from the attendees in the mobile and indie gaming space. They seem genuinely excited about all the movements in our industry, and not at all antagonistic regarding them either.
In other words, I left DICE with a really positive feeling. Reminiscing over old programming languages, discussing games education, talking about the art and business of making games – DICE was a small and cozy conference that allows people to really sit down and get to know each other – not unlike Fantastic Arcade or GameCity – but with different people. It’s obviously way more expensive than any conference I’d normally go to, but it allowed me to talk to people I wouldn’t be able to reach at events where they’d already be absolutely swamped with media and fans.
On top of that, I am under the impression that this year featured one of the largest indie contingents at the event. Davey Wreden, Lucas Pope, Steve Gaynor and Karla Zimonja of The Full Bright Company and the people behind Brothers were all nominated for a DICE Award, and Robin Hunicke, Greg Rice, Nathan Vella and a few other indies were in attendance as well. I hope that next year, there will be even more indie developers attending.
It was nice leaving DICE to visit students in Zurich and flying out to IndieCade straight after that. Moving from AAA games to student projects to experimental and artistic games was a nice amount of variation the last week and a half. DICE does get a bit overwhelming, and I could use the 20 hours of flight to order my thoughts a bit.
Beyond being a really positive experience, DICE was also a stark reminder of how happy I am making games with the little two-man studio that is Vlambeer. If anything became really clear to me at DICE beyond the above thoughts, it is that I’m perfectly fine with staying small. Vlambeer is a wonderful little thing.
Cube & Star: An Arbitrary Love is a wonderful weird little game. I have no clue what makes it so appealing to me, but for some reason I can’t stop playing. It just calms me down and makes me feel things. I don’t get how it does that, and maybe that’s for the best. There’s some magic here.
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