There weren’t really any dressup doll games in existence that helped us feel at home in our bodies, so we made one of our own! Featuring a huge pile of clothes to rummage through (including an octopus costume that I own in real life and a cat who’s suspiciously amenable to being worn as clothing) and a MIDI version of “Vogue” by Madonna to strike a pose to. Made for Global Game Jam 2019 with Jess Marcotte.
It’s about that time of year when people like to start making year-in-review posts of various kinds, and I have to admit: while I did have a lot going on in 2018, I feel like I have very little to show for it, especially in a game-making sense. So, in the spirit of queer failure, here are some games I started working on in 2018 but didn’t get around to finishing.
Yesterday, I learned that the first game studio I ever worked for shut down.
Admittedly, I’ve been paying little attention to Telltale’s output over the last several years. I stopped buying their games around the time their incredibly mediocre Back to the Future adaptation came out, though I did once get to present a trophy to some of my former co-workers when their critically acclaimed zombie game won awards at GDC.
But back in 2006, as a young computer science student with
an obsession with a special interest in point-and-click adventure games from the nineties, working for Telltale, the new studio where the people who used to work on adventure games at LucasArts all went, was kind of a dream job. So, I cold-emailed asking for an internship, showing off a game I made for fun back in high school, and they were impressed enough with my enthusiasm that they actually hired me.
You are a trans person hurtling through space in a tiny spaceship and listening to a radio. Follow the trail of broadcasts from T.R.A.N.S. (the Trans Radio Artists’ Network in Space) to find them and join them. Made for Global Game Jam 2018 with Jess Marcotte.
Related blog posts:
Jess on GGJ 2018
You don’t really believe it. This has got to be a dream, right? Your game wasn’t THAT good, was it? Oh no, your Twitter’s blowing up. All your friends are congratulating you. You feel momentarily self-important, but the feeling then gets overshadowed by how guilty you feel for your self-importance.
You struggle to figure out who to invite to your VIP table. You have all these seats to fill, given that tables like these are meant for actual games studios with actual teams. In the end, you put out an open call on social media, so as not to hurt anyone’s feelings. The people who take you up on it are grateful, sometimes effusively so. Some of them even bring glowsticks.
You discover firsthand the sensory hell of the expo floor, now that you’re actually forced to be there. You field questions from baffled business dudes who don’t understand how you would monetize something like this. (That is, after they go up to chat with the cis dude friends you asked to help out at your booth, who have to explain to the business dudes that um, actually you, and only you, were the one who made this game, yes, all of it, even the programming.)
You have no idea how long it’s been since you last set foot outside your cramped little apartment. You don’t really talk to anyone. You can’t focus on work. You barely have any appetite to speak of, literally and figuratively. Even casually reading Twitter makes you anxious.
Somehow, you thought moving to a new city would help you meet people you actually like. That you’d find fun activities to do and better opportunities all around. You used to be pretty good at faking your way around being a social butterfly. People actually seemed to like you, and the stuff you made and performed. But now? You can’t even remember being that person.
Maybe you should go outside. Maybe it will help.
Related blog posts:
you used to be someone – design goals
The following is an essay I wrote for a graduate seminar I am currently taking called “Performative Dramaturgies”. I thought it would make for an interesting blog post, so I’m reposting it here.
This year is the 375th anniversary of Montreal — the number alone being an indicator of the centring of white European settler-colonialists rather than the First Nations people who lived on this land for considerably longer — and with it comes a great deal of funding for celebratory installations and performances around the city. Among these are guided walking tours taking place in particular neighbourhoods of Montreal, two of which I have experienced for myself. The first, “Paul à Montréal”, is set in the Plateau-Mont-Royal, and the second, “Cité Mémoire”, is located in Old Montreal.
you used to be someone is a work in progress about my experiences with depression. It entails going for a solitary walk at night in an attempt to alleviate restlessness and agitation, frequenting the kinds of spaces that stay open late: bars, convenience stores, laundromats, fast food restaurants, etc. while at the same time feeling unable to meaningfully interact with others in these spaces.
This game, contrary to my other works, is a first-person 3D game, but one that features a collage art style wherein cut-out pieces of public domain photographs on 2D planes are assembled in 3D space. Combined with the first-person camera, this creates a distorting effect when moving around the space: from certain angles, objects look three-dimensional, but from others, it becomes obvious that they are actually flat. The effect is intended to convey feelings of disorientation and distance, invoking a sense of dreamlike hyperrealism.
Additionally, the use of the first-person camera and controls is a very deliberate choice on my part. As a player, I have found that first-person shooter interfaces in particular are very disorienting — they are likely to make me motion sick, and the frequent experience of looking down and seeing body parts that belong to a white cis man (i.e. what society sees as a “default human”) is also very strange to me. However, as the standard first-person game interface is seen as intuitive for players who are accustomed to the control scheme, I find it important to deviate from it somewhat. In you used to be someone, the camera is only controlled by directional input (WASD or arrow keys) whereas “mouselook” is disabled; instead, the mouse behaves as it would in a 2D point-and-click game. I am additionally interested in experimenting with different control peripherals, such as an arcade joystick and trackball, or completely custom controls, in order to fine-tune a balance between slight disorientation vs. complete inaccessibility. My end goal is to create a user interface that is equally unfamiliar to most players, in the sense of not giving seasoned first-person game players an advantage, but one that is at least navigable for those who don’t normally play games.
As this is a game based on my lived experience, I would consider it autobiographical, but in a more abstract than representational sense. For instance, the architecture of the cramped apartment and city street in this game are not directly modelled after any actual apartment I have lived in or any street through which I have walked, so much as they are designed to represent my feelings in these kinds of spaces. I have dreams in which I am in familiar spaces but the architecture is very different: there are extra rooms, the layouts are all jumbled, and even the building materials and lighting are different. A major depressive episode, in its own way, can be a state of un-reality with dream-like qualities, in that it is different from one’s “normal” state of being.
Finally, I want to stress that you used to be someone is not going to be “a game about depression”, but instead a game about how I, personally, experience depression. Unlike works such as Depression Quest, which aim to generalize the experience of clinical depression, I aim to be very specific. I am interested in eventually comparing and contrasting audience reactions to specificity vs. generality in experience when it comes to autobiographical games, but that may be a forthcoming project for when I have a more established data set to draw from.
Early this month, the Queerness and Games Conference took place at the University of Southern California. This was the fourth time the conference was held, and the third for which I was a co-organizer. Aside from my usual organizer duties, I gave a microtalk and had two games on display in the QGCon Arcade: DomPam2 and The Truly Terrific Traveling Troubleshooter (which my collaborator, Jess, wrote a lot about here).
Here are some scattered thoughts on this year’s incarnation of QGCon:
This was the first year we held the conference in LA instead of Berkeley. It made sense to move it because most of us organizers are no longer based in or near the San Francisco Bay Area. There was a lot I missed in terms of the change in location — USC is not as centrally located to food and other amenities as Berkeley, and we ended up having an unfortunate issue with campus security that made our Saturday night karaoke party less well attended than usual. We’ve been floating around the idea of moving QGCon to different locations every year (I keep rooting for Montreal, of course, and not just because I live here now) but everything’s still up in the air for the moment. Stay tuned, I guess!