There are those who make a compelling argument that much of what we do in games relates directly to key human drivers, such as the hunter/gatherer instinct. Certainly there’s reason to consider this seriously when you think how much fun games are when you are hunting and fighting or gathering items ranging from magic potions to powerful treasures. The fun of the hunt—whether it involves hunting something to fight or kill or finding some items that you value highly—is integral to a significant majority of games. In fact, in many Real-Time Strategy games, players must literally hunt and gather for hours on end.

A second possible link to our evolutionary past is the human activity of taming and nurturing creatures to work for us and supply our food or even protect us. We have domesticated and trained dogs, cats, cattle, pigs, horses, falcons, and even elephants, dolphins, and seals. In some games, we raise, train, and breed creatures—and such activities can be fun in themselves. Nintendogs (released in the summer of 2005) is a great example. But to stretch the point a little further, consider role-playing characters. Granted, a part of what compels us is identification with the player character—he/she is you in the fictional world of the game. But, in addition, perhaps something of that instinct to raise and nurture creatures comes into play as we raise a character’s stats (attributes) and watch him grow stronger and more powerful. Perhaps we are also following some instinct when we do that, however obscure the connection may seem. No matter what, it’s an investment of your time and resources, and, ultimately, the more time and resources you spend, the more protective you may get.

Another instinct or human trait that is somewhat connected to hunter/gatherer instincts is the concept of collecting. This goes far beyond collecting all of U2’s albums or all Harry Potter books or Disney videos. When there’s clearly a collection available, people are often inspired to buy something just to complete the collection. Does this same urge work in the video game world? Absolutely! Pokemon (as one of its many features) has lived off this concept for years.

The collecting urge can also become a completing urge, meaning if you hear there were 11 possible quests available and you only did 10, you might go out of your way to find and complete that last quest...all that work just to complete the set. Maybe we’re just talking about the more anal gamers there, but maybe not. But one thing this does suggest is that it’s a good idea to let players know how they’re progressing and what there still is to do. When you provide this kind of progress indicator—however you choose to do it (see also Chapter 30, “Ways to Communicate with the Player”)—many players will use that information to inspire them to explore further, and many won’t be happy until the game is truly 100-percent defeated.

Preparation for life is a natural aspect of the development of most mammals. There are many theories of why we play, but one that is often mentioned can be seen in the animal world. Almost all young mammals rehearse their adult roles in playful activities. Historically, young boys and girls have also played games that specifically prepared them for the activities of adulthood. Today, it is often more difficult to see the connection between the real-world games young people play and the survival skills they are learning. However, in games we play to explore new ideas and new locations, to learn things, and to face new challenges. We play to pit ourselves against some sort of opposition, which may come in the form of the game’s designer, other players, or a set of rules that limits and governs our options. And while the connection between modern play and real life may seem tenuous at best, many people have postulated that video game play is, in fact, true preparation for a future that will involve digital media and input methods far beyond joysticks and keyboards. The future may also involve working with tools that feature a considerable abstraction from flesh-and-blood reality (where we might someday work and play together virtually).

I used to think this kind of stuff was only for the movies and science-fiction writers, but not too long ago, I saw a demonstration of a technology that watches your brain activity and can reverse-engineer tracked signals, knowing what command you are thinking. It can tell when you blink and, amazingly, how your body is moving. Let’s call that version 1.0 in 2006. When version 5 of that technology mixes with a next-generation high-definition stereo VR helmet with 10.2 surround sound, I immediately become jealous of the people who are just getting into game development! When I started, everything was just black-and-white blobs. Designers of the future will be challenged far beyond what we can imagine today, but I predict that many of the elements that drive us to play games today will still work in your virtual future.

Games provide challenges, and successfully completing these challenges provides a sense of mastery. This is a highly satisfying experience, and the way that games repeatedly present challenges and opportunities for mastery makes them particularly rewarding. (The basics of how games do this can be found in Chapter 23, “Goals,” and Chapter 24, “Rewards, Bonuses, and Penalties.”) Commonly, we use the “evolve or die” technique, where as the game continues, you are expected to continue to evolve if you have any hope of survival. For those who are able to dominate a game more effectively than others, there are ranking systems and multiplayer games built specifically to enable them to compete with and to learn from each other. The concept of challenge and mastery is key because it can turn a game from a normal 10-hour experience into hundreds of hours when people set their intentions toward being great at the game instead of just playing it. Valve’s Counter-Strike is a good example of this phenomenon.

I used to say that washing the dishes is boring, so nobody would ever want to buy a “washing the dishes” game. I felt really safe stating this. Imagine a really great ironing-board game! (I don’t think that could sell either!) I then normally went on to say that games are fantasies for sale. People love to be able to experience things they’ll have little chance of ever doing, such as flying a stealth fighter, winning four consecutive NASCAR championships, or riding into battle leading 10,000 warriors willing to die for them. That’s not a normal day for most people, and that’s when fulfilling certain fantasies can lead to hit games. So it’s easy, right? Just make games that make good fantasies! I would have said yes to this, but we are now seeing casual games that experiment with many unsafe concepts—some insanely boring, such as mastering the times tables (Nintendo has managed to make this fun in Brain Age) or waiting tables in Diner Dash. So now I have to admit that perhaps no subject is really off the table; it’s just up to you to make it fun by applying certain systems or techniques (many of which appear later in this book).

Along with challenge and mastery comes secondary rewards, such as learning and improving new skills (even virtual ones) and experiencing positive feedback loops (in which performing something correctly rewards us and also empowers us to continue performing well). Game scores used to be a good example of a secondary reward, meaning they’re just numbers, but they really matter. However, if you don’t take the calculation of the score number seriously, you can end up with irate gamers—for example, if they find out that the values don’t equate properly to difficulty.

Praise and encouragement used to be a major factor we tested in the past, too. People love a pat on the back, and games are well equipped to provide that feedback. Surprisingly, over the years, this concept of really timely feedback has diminished, but don’t underestimate its power. Some games (from the old days) would literally end with a brass band and fireworks celebrating your victory. Wouldn’t you prefer that than just a lame end video and a bunch of credits?

If anything, I see this as one of the major areas for which designers in the coming years will evolve new techniques—to really deliver emotional bang for the buck. Rewards will take a lot of interesting information into consideration before deciding how (or how not) to reward the player—for instance, situational information, such as what you just did, who else is present, what their relationship or past history is with you, what they’ve heard about you, what they think you did versus what you really did, and so on. They might cheer when you win a battle, even when you know the guy fell on his own sword and died, and when they cheer, overtly praising you, you have an entirely different experience. But what if they start attacking you, complaining, or catcalling? It’s a different experience, a different message, and a different gameplay opportunity.

Emotional complexity and emotion in games is something we will cover in this book (especially in Chapter 9, “Storytelling Techniques,” Chapter 12, “Character Design,” and to some extent Chapter 20, “Music and Sound”), but know that there’s much room for development around emotion in games, including what rewards are, what they are not, what they are perceived to be, and what others perceive them to be. (See also Chapter 24, “Rewards, Bonuses, and Penalties.”)

Some theorists have suggested that mammals require a certain level of stimulation in their lives, which they call the optimal arousal level, and when that stimulation is missing (which we might call a state of boredom), then we start seeking other activities. These activities do not necessarily have to be directly related to survival, and they may include an element of the unknown. And some of these activities might be thought of as play.

I like to think of experimentation as being a key part of this theory. In a world of complete boredom, even just having a bunch of keys in your hand can offer momentary escape as you play around with them. If you are in a game and it seems boring—for example, you’re in a room where everything is drawn in, meaning there’s nothing real to interact with—it can quickly become very boring. Any element of control, experimentation, and flexibility that you can offer will immediately attract the gamer like a moth to a flame.

Boredom quickly leads to frustration (the designer’s nightmare), and frustration leads to the game being turned off (and possibly some swearing, too). Frustration can easily be tracked by “watching” what players do. We see them repeat cycles, such as trying to open a locked door, not finding a key, then trying to open the same locked door over and over, or endlessly pacing around a certain area. Managing frustration immediately therefore becomes one of the designer’s key roles.

Choices and options are the solution to killing off your worst enemies (boredom and frustration). The trick is for you (the designer) to look at the room and imagine that you are stuck in there. What would you try? Forget what you can and can’t do—focus on what you would try if this was a game you had just bought. Some of the best gaming experiences I’ve had have come when it’s clear that the things I’m experimenting with are actually working, when the designer has remained one step ahead of me, and especially when I think I’m being clever at figuring something out, only to realize that the designer had anticipated my cleverness.

That rarely happens by accident!

Games also allow us to focus intensely on an activity. When presented well, this activity and focus combination becomes highly immersive, which generally makes time seem to go by very quickly and allows us to be absorbed in our experience to an extent that is often missing in daily life. This experience is common among creative artists and craftspeople who become very absorbed in what they are doing creatively, and the same holds true for musicians and gamblers. You know this is happening when you find yourself starting a game at 8:00 P.M., then glancing down at your watch and realizing that it’s 2:00 A.M. What the heck?! Six hours in what seemed like 90 minutes!

Time shifting is generally caused by the game keeping interruptions to an absolute minimum, because when the game is interrupted you are forced back into reality, noticing clocks and so on. Stacking goals is also a good way to keep people immersed. Think of Civilization, which is famous for the “just one more move” phenomenon. You simply have to play just one more move to see what happens.

Time-shifting focus is further enhanced by providing players with mechanisms for tracking their progress (no matter how small). When they see they are getting to where they want to be, they’ll find it harder to get up and walk away. If they lose track or don’t know where the heck they are in relation to their goal, they stop being able to convince themselves to press on; instead, they tend to think, “I’ll get back to this later.”

I think the art of sustained immersion is one of the most incredible game design techniques to understand, and I’m sure you can think of games where this has happened to you. Sadly, it’s not the norm, so really take this topic seriously as you consider interruptions in your game and how you will provide momentary feedback that urges the gamer that his goal is his for the taking. When the gamer achieves that goal (or before), immediately reveal a higher goal or something that’s even more attractive. In short, make the goals attractive, provide progress indicators, and stack or effectively sequence compelling goals.

Like good literature or films, games can involve us in stories with characters and plots that keep us interested. They also excel at creating identification between the player and the character the player is controlling. This identification with the player character helps to trigger some very genuine emotions and a deep immersion in the game’s fantasy world. The problem is allowing players to express themselves through the actions of the character they are playing. That’s where the disconnect can happen—when players experience that the game character is not up to par with their aspirations, when they need more and want to do more. They can quickly disassociate and simply lose interest.

Games are about entertainment, so characters need to entertain the gamer. Don’t just focus on the gameplay or goals; focus on what this character is doing, who he is, what he can do, how he reacts, what his attitude is, how his attitude changes, and so on.

Good homework for this is watching movies. Note that the characters in movies don’t have a small set of moves (running, jumping, falling, landing, and so on). They and their actions evolve based on the emotional elements of the situation. This situational response requires new perspectives and “moves” from your animations—instead of “firing gun,” we now need “firing aggressively,” “firing with concern,” “firing confidently,” and so on. The more the character emotes what you (the player) are feeling or at least a greater range of probable character responses, the more you will connect—and to some extent, the more the game can lead your feelings.

Some of the hunting games actually used to do this quite well. In the game, someone nearby would whisper, “I think I hear something.” Your character would immediately stop and listen. Perhaps you’d hear something, too—you’d certainly be straining your ears. And often (completing the loop) there would actually be something there, so the whisper was correct. So the long-term dream is that the character is not just a robotic projection of you—it’s a living, breathing, emotionally complex, intelligent character that is actually kind of cool to be! (For more along these lines, see Chapter 9, “Storytelling Techniques,” and Chapter 12, “Character Design.”)

In a world where we may feel unempowered, games can give us a sense of control over our environment. After all, games are created for us to win, so it is in the nature of a game to offer players a measure of control over what happens. In real life, it is not always so clear that we can control what is happening. Games can give us a sense of power and satisfaction, however temporary and illusory.

Therefore, adding an element of certainty can actually be very attractive to gamers. When I fire this gun, this happens, and this kind of person will be terminated without question. That feels good. If you fire and have no idea whether that bullet or the next five bullets will kill the enemy, it’s much less empowering. Perhaps even more importantly, when you fire this gun and use the skills you have developed by practicing your shooting ability, you will succeed because you have improved, and the game rewards your efforts.

People love to understand and use their knowledge to grow and dominate, so help them do that. Teach them, reward them, penalize them for mistakes (they understand that), but give them confidence that by doing it the right way, they will succeed. If “right” is not a clear concept, you may leave them feeling weak and possibly out of control of their destiny. Even if there is more than one “right” way, it should be clear to the player (by the way the game is laid out or by positive feedback loops or explicit rules) that there is an effective way to succeed. Without that kind of clarity, frustration can quickly overcome the player’s interest.

Probably the worst game design mistake dealing with empowerment is when a game has some rules that just make no sense to the gamer. When I started making games, I once made a game where the boss was impossible to beat. It made sense to me because I didn’t have time to add anything after the boss. Now, I knew why I left it that way, but the gamers didn’t. They had never faced a problem like this before, so they kept fighting and fighting and fighting, trying all the tricks they had learned. All they had learned before suddenly didn’t make sense; all their skills were useless. I soon understood that I had hit upon a great way to guarantee frustration—a pissed-off gamer and a turned-off game!

Bottom line: Empowerment is a powerful tool if used well. Extended periods of uncertainty are a nightmare.

Games are often played with other human players. In this way, games allow for some level of contact with other people, although the depth and type of contact varies from game to game and from player to player. Games are also a form of popular media that is shared by gamers from modern generations. As such, they offer a common experience and language. In other words, there’s a “meta game” in which we talk about the games and share our experiences, offer our opinions, and derive satisfaction from that sharing.

I think the designers on steroids are the ones actually imagining the two gamers sitting side by side on a sofa (playing a game, probably trash-talking or collaborating), thinking how to stir that conversation up: “Did you see that?!” “What the hell was that?!” Ideally, these designers succeed in making sure that the players experience fun events/challenges together and that the shared experience will remain with them even after the game is turned off.

A designer I really respect is Will Wright (designer of The Sims and many other games). In an MTV E3 2006 interview, he noted that pride is something games can offer over and above movies and books. Do you remember the last time you felt proud as you sat in a movie theater or as you read a book? Games have the ability to make you feel very proud. Recently I’ve been consulting with some different companies, and in looking at their games, I’m amazed by how much this concept is ignored. In some cases the player does something really amazing (such as knowing he had a five-percent chance of winning a battle, but risking it all and going for it...and winning an epic battle!), and the game just continues.

The history of games has taught us to pat gamers on the head, with the music lifting, showing us the scores, showing reactions to the player’s success, special effects, and so on. Somehow that’s not so trendy now—scores don’t matter as much, and the pat on the back happens less often. In some games, it’s just a loading screen as you go to the next level. So listen to Will—the man is dead on! We have an advantage over books and Hollywood, so go out of your way to use it! Pride is an extremely strong human emotion, and it’s there for the taking. Make sure to add it to your games!

So what is a game? Many things. There are many reasons to play, but it’s ultimately about fun! There are a lot of theories about why we play, and we can even analyze the subject scientifically, but the bottom line is that we play because it’s fun. And let’s face it: Fun is fun. Ask yourself this: How long do you continue to play a game that isn’t fun?

Let’s start with what a game is. A game design should have the following six elements:

Note

Goals can be stated within the game—capture the flag, save the princess, and so on—or created on the fly by the player, as in games such as SimCity, Chess, or The Sims. Goals can also be incremental and ongoing—as in old arcade games, Tetris, or online multiplayer games such as EverQuest or Dark Age of Camelot.