“People are willing to pay for magic.”

That’s what my friend Brian replied when I told him that no one in Microsoft’s target audience would purchase an Xbox plus Kinect for a minimum price of $300 when they either A) own a Wii already, or, B) can purchase a Wii (with MotionPlus, Wii Sports and Wii Sports Resort) for just $200. Brian, as I frequently must admit, is a perceptive fellow.

People are indeed very willing to pay for magic. They have lined up around the block to pay $500 minimum for a slice of magical iGoodness from Apple. They lined up to watch Avatar in 3D (multiple times.) And they — that is, we — will continue to line up for the products and services that dazzle us, recession or no.

So, if you want to know who “won” E3, perhaps one way to figure that out is to apply a magic test to the products that were unveiled there.

Sony’s Move

By essentially copying the Wiimote’s nunchuck, Sony forfeited one of the few ways it might have differentiated the Move from the Wiimote w/ MotionPlus. Furthermore, the Move games I played exhibited noticeable lag, despite frequent assertions from booth attendees that the Move is lag-free. Lastly, there was nothing in the Move 1st party content portfolio that particularly stood out for me (Ubisoft’s Child of Eden was thoroughly intriguing… but also multi-platform.)

Verdict: magic tricks lose their luster after we’ve seen them too many times. This trick is getting old.

Microsoft’s Kinect

I’ve been waiting a long time for someone to make camera-based games that actually work. And there’s no question that controlling your media center with your voice and a wave of the hand is a magical experience, in theory. (How many people spend a small fortune on a universal remote? Now imagine that, minus the remote, plus a system that recognizes you on sight, and you’re starting to appreciate the possibilities.) Interestingly, pre-orders have made Kinect the #1 best-seller in the video game category on Amazon.com for the past six days; a clear signal that many people have bought into the initial hype. And finally, I will personally attest to having witnessed many people (usually women) positively cooing with pleasure while watching Kinect demos at E3. (Mostly Ubisoft’s fitness offering and Harmonix’s delightful Dance Central.)

That might or might not be enough. Nobody wants a universal remote that doesn’t work when you’re sitting. Being a Jedi loses some of its appeal when you’re paralyzed from the waist down. Noticeable lag isn’t a deal-breaker, but it certainly reduces the total potential number of magical experiences. And it’s still unclear how a party game works when anyone who walks into the party room can accidentally break the experience.

Verdict: very possibly magical… as long as you’re not sitting down, not in a crowded room, and not hardcore.

Nintendo’s 3DS

You turn it on and play games in 3D. No glasses. No excuses. It just works. Today, you get Kid Icarus dodging lasers in 3D. Tomorrow, it’s a safe bet you’ll get Mario hopping into your face.

Now that’s unadulterated magic.

The Magic Test, in summary

If you’ve seen it before, it’s probably not magic. If it doesn’t work the way you feel that it should (or doesn’t work in “normal circumstances”) then it’s probably not magic. But if it’s novel, fun, and just works, then you just might have magic on your hands. This test can be applied to game development, not just hardware development.

Don’t take my word for it. Just think about any performance given by the world’s greatest magician.

No, not Houdini. Steve Jobs, of course!

What I find interesting about this commercial (aside from the cheesiness) is how pure it is. Unlike its predecessor, Super Mario Bros 2 was a game about defeating your enemies by throwing stuff at them as opposed to jumping on them. So Nintendo focused their commercial almost exclusively on that aspect of the game.

If the first Super Mario game was all about “amazing jumping” (as Miyamoto has supposedly said), then the sequel added and focused on “amazing throwing.” The developers got it. The marketers got it. And not surprisingly, the rest of us got it, too.

What’s the essence of your game? Can you say it in a few words? Can everyone else you’re working with say it in a few words?

If not, why not?

Observation #3: A polished game stands out from the crowd.

Some of the games that I played could really have used a few additional rounds of playtesting and design iteration before they were submitted to the IGF. The developers of those games would probably have been better off holding back their games until next year’s competition.

I know this can be tough to swallow. Perhaps you’ve worked long and hard on your game, and you really want some recognition for your effort. You might be counting on that recognition to help boost your marketing or business development efforts. I can imagine many an indie developer thinking, “My game isn’t perfect, but it shows a hint of something great, so I’m going for it!” And to be clear, that’s a fine attitude — if you wait until your game is “perfect,” you’ll probably never finish it! But unfortunately, some developers jump the gun and submit their games before they are truly fun, much less “perfect.”

If you’re creating a new gameplay mechanic (or an interesting twist on an old mechanic), make sure that you have implemented at least one very polished, very entertaining instance of that mechanic. A single, excellent level is better than five mediocre levels, in my opinion. Per observation #2, other developers are making me trudge through hours of tedious gameplay, so I’m going to be especially appreciative of a developer who wows me with ten short minutes of brilliance.

Of course, “very polished” doesn’t necessarily mean “short and sweet.” But many independent developers don’t have the time or resources to produce several hours of very polished gameplay, so all I’m saying is that if you can’t, you might as well err on the side of short and sweet. I’m fairly certain that you’ll be better off!

PS. Don’t forget to frequently playtest your game on other people. It doesn’t take long to lose your sense of perspective when immersed in a project; a pair of fresh eyes will significantly increase your odds of ultimately developing a polished gameplay experience. Also, for an example of a relatively simple indie game that is extremely polished, check out geoDefense (or its sequel, geoDefense Swarm) on the iPhone.

Observation #2: if at all possible, it’s best to entertain a judge from the very first minute — just like a potential customer.

Several of the games I evaluated simply weren’t very fun to start with. Some even came with explicit caveats which I will collectively paraphrase as follows: Dear judge, you must play this game for several hours before you understand why it is special.

Who wants to slog through an endless tutorial that isn’t inherently fun before actually getting to enjoy themselves? Who wants to trudge through hours of uninspired gameplay before the “magic” of the game’s design reveals itself? As a judge, I’m willing to do it because I feel obligated, but which game do you think I’ll probably give the higher score: the game that entertained me for three consecutive hours, or the game that entertained me for only the final hour out of three hours, total? With rare exception, it will be the former. And you can bet that most consumers will vote the same way with their wallets. In summary:

• Long-winded, boring tutorials are bad (seems like this should be self-evident, right?)
• Conversely, dumping people into a game without any explanation of how to play is also bad, unless the initial gameplay experience is very intuitive. For an example of a game that does a good job of introducing the player to the core mechanics of the game, see Braid.
• Games that don’t become very interesting (or don’t reveal their “special sauce”) until the player has invested lots of time into them are not inherently “bad”, but unfortunately such games are often doomed to smaller audiences. Most people simply aren’t willing to give a game the benefit of the doubt if it doesn’t entertain them relatively immediately. Long story short, developers should think carefully about finding ways to expose their game’s “special sauce” right away.

PS. On a tangent, my old post on crafting a good game demo might be interesting to some of you.

Anyone developing an original IP for XBLA, PSN or Wiiware should take note of LucasArts’ Lucidity. Why should you take note? Because Lucidity is a truly delightful game that unfortunately showcases two of the most common “big mistakes” made by developers and publishers on XBLA. If the leaderboards are any indication, Lucidity’s sales are suffering as a result.

First, it’s worth recognizing how many things Lucidity gets right. It is beautiful, distinctive, and offers an original gameplay mechanic that actually works. Many game developers will never manage to create something that meets all three of those criteria in their entire careers. And many developers, with such a game on their hands, might assume that their success is all but assured.

There’s just two problems. If you’ve been reading this blog for any significant period of time, you already know one of those problems: insufficient marketing. Lucidity was unveiled mere weeks before it was released. No time to build consumer awareness. No time to woo the press. Nothin’.

The other problem is the game’s unforgiving design. (I won’t say the game’s “difficulty”, as something can be difficult without being unforgiving.) Lucidity lacks a checkpoint system, and that combined with a few other design issues causes the game to quickly become a punishing experience. This is apparent to players even in the demo.

It’s no accident that most modern platformers are more forgiving than their ancestors. While many XBLA and PSN users enjoy a stiff challenge, their patience is ultimately limited. Don’t let the success of a few insanely challenging retro titles fool you — those games have generally succeeded because of nostalgia, not because today’s gamer longs for the relentless butt-whooping of old.

1) Come up with a meaningful value proposition for your game. 2) Craft a gameplay experience that emphasizes that value proposition and that accommodates as many players in your target demo as possible. The latter can almost always be accomplished without noticeably diluting the gameplay experience. 3) *Repeatedly* communicate the value proposition far in advance of your game’s launch. –> These are the fundamental tricks of our trade.

PS. A year ago I wrote an article on game difficulty that is relevant to this post. The comments on that post were solid, too.

A couple of months ago, Eve and I played The Maw together, and I’ve been mulling a related post ever since. The Maw, for those of you who haven’t played it, is one of the more approachable titles on XBLA. It has relatively simple controls — for a modern 3D platformer, anyway — and a cute style and theme. I’m quite fond of it. Anyway, watching Eve grapple with The Maw was enlightening, to say the least.

A bit of background for newer readers: Eve is a perfectly capable smarty-pants, but she didn’t grow up with video games and is often frustrated by the few console titles that I have introduced her to. I knew that she would have trouble with camera management in a 3D space; that’s a skill that simply needs to be learned over time. And I knew that she’d have difficulty remembering which Xbox controller buttons mapped to which in-game behaviors, even though The Maw has relatively few mappings; that’s partially an experience issue as well, and partially a consequence of the Xbox 360 controller’s near-magical ability to terrify and stupify casual gamers.

X marks the spot. Sometimes.

What I didn’t expect was for Eve to have trouble with the obvious (and theoretically helpful) indicators/hints that Twisted Pixel, developer of The Maw, had sprinkled throughout the game. Just one example: at various moments during play you will encounter huge, red “X” marks which are intended to communicate the fact that you cannot proceed through a passageway — you must first solve some puzzle. When I first encountered these red X marks they seemed terribly redundant; the game offered more than enough clues without them (for example, one passageway was barred by a giant, snapping, angry plant. Clue enough for most readers of this blog, I’d wager.) Eve, on the other hand, was very grateful for the tip… with one minor problem. As it turns out, she interpreted the big red X to mean “X marks the spot – go here” instead of “X means stay away!” And so, perversely, the X marks caused Eve to waste several minutes wandering around aimlessly as she tried to figure out how to proceed. I finally gave into frustration and told her what the X’s meant.

It isn’t a question of “too easy” — it’s a question of “what defines easy?”

What’s the moral of this story? If you’re worried about whether or not your game is “easy enough” for a casual audience, you might be asking yourself the wrong question. An experienced console gamer’s definition of “easy” can be misleading. Inexperienced console gamers require a complete rethink of what it means for a game to be accessible. A big-ass carnivorous plant and giant red X mark combined were still insufficient to convey “stay away” to my summa cum laude, scholarship-winning wife. An explicit hint as to what she should have been doing or where she should have been going — as opposed to what she should not be doing — would probably have been more helpful and more appreciated. (Credit where credit is due: The Maw is often quite good about this; Eve really appreciated the goal-centric thought-bubbles that would occasionally appear above the Maw’s head.)

Don’t try to guess what works for casual gamers; test it

By definition, the people creating or publishing a video game are often incapable of imagining what it would take to make that game accessible to someone who has rarely played console games. The best (in fact, I’d say only) way to figure that out is to frequently test the game on a diverse group of casual users and to solicit their feedback. Twisted Pixel received plenty of advice from casual game experts at Microsoft. No disrespect to my former colleagues — many of whom are absolutely brilliant — but some of their advice clearly didn’t help. Not that my advice was so much better… and that’s the point, isn’t it? “Experts” are no substitute for diverse playtesters.

The Maw is a lovely game developed by one of the most inherently talented independent studios that I have ever had the pleasure of working with, so this post should certainly not be taken as a critique of it. Rather, I’d call The Maw an instructive example of how difficult it can be to make a game accessible to truly inexperienced console gamers, even when sincere effort is applied to the task.

One of my biggest gripes about most online social networks that I participate in (Facebook, LIVE, etc) is the absence of functionality that takes into account how “strong” or “open” my friendship is with any given person. Fixing this is a major opportunity — if not a long-term, competitive imperative — for social networks in general, and the video game ecosystems that aspire to be legitimate social networks in specific.

We do not treat all our friends and acquaintances equally in real life, so why should social networks force us to treat our online connections in equal fashion? People need tools that enable them to selectively modify how any given user in their network can view their profile, interact with them, etc. This process of selective modification can be sped up with user-defined “friend types” that can be applied, in a stroke, to many users in a network.

For example, were such a system to be implemented for LIVE or Facebook, I would personally choose to break all my connections into three categories:

• Friend Type 1: People who are my very close friends and family — I am always happy for them to know when I’m online, and always happy to receive direct messages or status updates from them. Communications from people in this category should be marked as special and/or sorted to the top of the list. Also, if I’m in the middle of a conversation or game with somebody, these are the only people who I want to be able to “interrupt” in any way.
• Friend Type 2: People who are friends, co-workers, business partners, neighbors, etc. These people account for the vast majority of my social network connections. I’m generally quite happy to connect with them, and I want to know what is happening in their lives, but I don’t need to see every single photo they’ve commented on and every ticket they’ve received in Parking Wars — it clogs my news feed and annoys me. I’d also like the system to intelligently manage (and by that, I mean condense) status updates and other communications from people in this category who, to put it politely, tend to over-communicate — much as I appreciate minute-by-minute updates on their dog’s diarrhea or baby’s rash, those things clog my news feed and inbox in an unacceptable manner, too.
• Friend Type 3: People who I’d rather not be connected to online, but whose invitation I cannot refuse or ignore for practical reasons. I don’t want these people to know that I am online, and I don’t want to see their broadcast updates. The very best thing a social network can do for me, in this situation, is creatively mask my presence yet still give these “friends” the impression that they are meaningfully connected to me.

For years now, most IM clients have offered rudimentary tools that enable you to segment your friends into the groups I’ve defined above (though they do a poor job of helping you to effortlessly create the “meaningful” connection I describe in Type 3.) Most video game ecosystems and social networks need to offer the same tools — if not something much better. Otherwise, the mere act of logging in will become increasingly painful for our most connected users — the people with the most “connection spam” to deal with, and the very people we most want to keep happy.

Chris Avellone was telling me about a panel on writing that he attended at Comic-con which devolved into an interesting conversation about circumventing writer’s block. That’s a challenge I struggle with all the time, so I asked him for his notes on the panel, and he was kind enough to share them with me. And now I’m sharing them with you. And you can share them with someone else, if you like. Ain’t sharing grand? PS. Many of these tactics seem as applicable to game design as they do to writing.

• Go buy three magazines (games) you don’t normally read (play), then flip through them and free associate.
• Grab a Gideon Bible, open it randomly and then see what it sparks.
• Have three creative projects going at once so you can switch off when you get stuck with one. (For games, they shouldn’t have to be large in scope; how about having a pet flash, XNA, or mod project on the side?)
• Do something else creative that doesn’t involve writing – doodling, sketching, painting, whatever.
• Go workout for 30-40 min with no music and no TV, and then let the endorphins do their work.
• One guy said that “writer’s block happens because you’re writing something you’re not excited about or interested in,” and he suggests that when that happens, take a step back, ask why, then charge into it in a different direction that does excite you.
• Keep a collection of works that excite you. When you hit a block, go back to this library, re-read them, and remember why they excited you.

On a personal note, I’ve identified two things that help me overcome writer’s block (and creative blocks, in general) above and beyond all other tactics:

• Go do something else, and get a good night’s sleep before trying again. (Basically, a simplification of several tactics noted above.)
• Talk to people about what you’re working on, especially: A) people who know a lot about it, and B) people with backgrounds different from your own who know relatively little about it. B is crucial — it’s amazing how quickly I’ll realize that I’ve been taking something for granted or missing something obvious by speaking with someone who doesn’t share all my pre-conceived notions. Not surprisingly, plenty of research on innovation has supported the premise that bringing people of different backgrounds and functional specialties together tends to result in greater innovation. (Sadly, most people in our industry still seem to believe that if you’re not a lifetime gamer with years of game production experience, you have no business getting anywhere near a game development project. And then we all gripe about lack of innovation…)

(I’ve been sitting on a bunch of posts, being too lazy and/or preoccupied to clean them up, insert hyperlinks, and publish them. I finally summoned the will to get them out this morning. Here’s the first.)

If you haven’t already done so, I recommend checking out Kongai, a digital trading card game designed by David Sirlin and publicly released on Kongregate a couple months ago. David, for those of you who don’t know him, is the guy rebalancing Street Fighter for XBLA/PSN (and a very thoughtful designer, in general.)

Kongai is a well-designed card game, but what’s remarkable about Kongai is not necessarily its gameplay, but how Kongai is positioned within the larger context of Kongregate. Kongai cards are awarded the same way LIVE Achievements are – in reward for accomplishing explicit challenges in the various games found across Kongregate. (Actually, Kongai cards are more like Pogo Badges, because Badges are awarded for time-limited challenges, unlike LIVE Achievements, which are hardcoded to a game prior to its release and which never expire.) Having played Kongai for a while now, I can personally testify to the allure of virtual awards that have concrete value in a playable metagame in addition to the “status value” of normal Achievements!

There are quite a few portals and networks claiming to offer “Achievements 2.0″, but Kongai is the first thing I have encountered that feels even remotely advanced enough to merit such a claim. Gamasutra published an article on the design of Kongai, if you’re curious to learn more.

As a general rule, I choose not to write about individual XBLA games on this blog. But this was a special week for XBLA, and I’d like to acknowledge the primary reason for that:

Last Wednesday, we launched Jonathan Blow’s Braid. As many other commentators have already noted, Braid is now the highest-rated game on XBLA. Its review score puts it in the company of Mass Effect. Rock Band, and Halo 3. It is being compared to Portal, but Portal had a much larger development budget. IMO, Braid is in a class all its own.

That said, I’m not writing this to promote Braid (it doesn’t need the help at this point.) I wanted to share some thoughts on the game itself, and on lessons that we can potentially learn from it.

Indie Vision

Many are hailing Braid as a prime example of what can be accomplished when a publisher enables an indie to fully realize their vision without interference… and that’s 100% valid. But what’s missing from those comments is context. Jon Blow is an extremely talented individual, with a clear, compelling, and distinctive vision for what he wanted to create. And he had the willingness and wherewithal to work, for as long as necessary, to realize that vision.

I’ve been working on XBLA for two years now. In that time, I’ve been pitched a countless stream of concept submissions and prototypes from a wide variety of independent developers. Those pitches rarely inspire the sort of confidence that would lead a publisher to say “here — take my money and go make a great game. We’ll check in with you from time to time and offer our support whenever you need it, but we won’t drive.” What sort of pitch might inspire that kind of response? Again: one that communicates a clear and distinctive vision (i.e., this game is not like every other game), tenacity (i.e., I’ve build a prototype on my own dime, and it’s already fun), and talent (best demonstrated via experience and references, but again, a prototype can go a long way.)

If an independent developer can’t explain why their project is going to be truly special, or can’t convey maturity, responsibility, and talent, why should a publisher trust them to do whatever they want, whenever they want? Because it might, with incredibly tiny probability, result in a Braid? Sorry, no. Indies need to have that distinctive vision, as well as the assets and ability to pitch it effectively. Then maybe someone will trust them to make the next Braid. Lord knows we need more games like it.

Difficulty, Distilled

I’ve written repeatedly about my belief that most console games are too difficult, but no article of mine has ever clarified the difference between “a challenge” and “excessive difficulty” as elegantly as does Braid itself. I find it deliciously ironic that a game people are calling “fiendishly difficult” (due in part to Jon’s very public quest to stop players from using walkthroughs) is, in fact, a lesson on proper difficulty design.

If you’ve played Braid for a while, you’ll understand what I mean. There are no save points; in fact, there’s no forced saving of any kind. Moreso than any game I’ve played in recent memory, playing Braid is like reading a book; stop whenever you want and, at worst, you’ll have to “redo” about 30 seconds worth of effort.

There are (almost) no showstoppers in Braid, at least until the very end of the game. Can’t solve a puzzle? Walk right past it to the next one. The game doesn’t even shame you for doing so — you don’t lose any points, or get a lower letter grade (there are no points or letter grades in Braid!) How many games have you stopped playing before experiencing even half the content in the game because you hit a challenge in the linear progression that you simply could not complete? A boss that was too hard? A platform you weren’t skillful enough to reach?

There are (almost) no “wasted moments” in Braid, thanks to its core conceit of rewinding time whenever you want for as long as you want. Miss a jump halfway through a series of platform challenges? No problem; rewind. I can’t count the number of times I’ve turned off a game in frustration because I repeatedly failed to complete the final step in a series of platform challenges, and was forced to redo it all.

Braid obviously isn’t perfect — most people I know can recount at least one moment during which they felt that the game was not being entirely “fair” — but it’s pretty remarkable that the vast majority of the challenges within the game don’t even require significant manual dexterity… not once you’ve figured out the appropriate solution.

Now, time for a mea culpa: I will fully admit that I was one of several people who recommended to Jon that he add a hint system of some sort to the game. Frankly, it was out of fear…. fear that players would be too frustrated with the difficulty of some puzzles, even though they could be temporarily skipped. I still wonder if that might have hurt the sales of the game had it failed to receive the incredible acclaim and press that it has. But I’m glad that Jon ignored us all. He was totally right — the satisfaction of solving those puzzles is worth more than I’d ever have guessed.

Final Word

There’s much more that I could say about Braid, but this post is long in the tooth, so I’ll wrap up with one final hearty congratulations to Jon. Special thanks is owed to Kevin Hathaway and Justin Swan, Microsoft’s external producer and test manager (respectively) on the project. Kevin and Justin did whatever they could to help Jon realize his vision for Braid (and to keep peoples’ noses out of the game!)

Here’s to the most critically-acclaimed title on XBLA. :-)