Wednesday
May152013

Spots

I was walking through Times Square on a breezy, sunny spring day when my doctor called to tell me I had cancer.

Finding out you have cancer seems like it should be a dramatic, life-altering moment, but the reality of it brought absolutely no sense of drama. "Superficial," she said, and "non-life-threatening." No chemo nor radiation for me; the entire course of my treatment would be a scrape-and-burn procedure in her office. The two-minute cancer cure. Bam.

I've always known I'd eventually get skin cancer. There's nary a risk factor I don't have: The family history, the light eyes, the fair skin and hundreds of freckles, the bad childhood sunburns, the weekends spent clinging to the edge of a pool. In the Philippine Islands. All year round. And so I've been visiting dermatologists for all my adult life; I had my first biopsy at twenty years old.*

But even knowing that this was destined to happen, I'm yet having a very complex and difficult reaction to the manifest reality. We all know we're going to die one day, too, but that doesn't make it something to look forward to, not exactly.

Cancer sounds terrifying. It is terrifying. Typically in the face of peril, I arm myself with knowledge that helps me triage risk and prevention strategies. But there is no strategy for getting rid of your skin and growing an all-new one. Sunscreen and shade are all I have, and it's unclear whether even that's too little, too late. So I'm trying very hard not to read much about recurrence rates and additional primary cancers. Knowing the odds does not change them. It just gives my anxiety-prone brain more to gnaw.

I tell stories, and so it's natural that I slip into telling myself the story in which I am a cancer patient. Against my better judgement, I find myself worrying about how my family could manage without me. I make sure my husband knows important passwords and lock codes. I worry about whether the girls would get enough calcium and vegetables. I contemplate whether I would feel moved to keep writing if I knew how fast my clock was ticking, and what I would be moved to write.

And yet: superficial, non-life-threatening. A non-event. I am not a terminal cancer patient; you could argue that I'm not a cancer patient at all, except by the barest technicality. This is all not a big deal, and as far as anyone knows I still have another forty years on the clock. But I don't have a narrative structure for cancer that is the yapping chihuahua and not the angry lion with a taste for human flesh. I'm telling myself the wrong story, the story that ends with me dying at a tragically young age, because it's the only story I know.

Then again, given personal history, it's extremely unlikely that this will be the only time I have skin cancer. So maybe, I think, I'm just practicing. Maybe I'm bracing myself for the inevitable worst. I don't know that it's the wrong story, not for sure.

The spot that turned out to be cancer was a freckle that had been there for as long as I could remember. It hadn't grown enormous or turned red and blue or transformed into an open sore, none of the showy signs you're supposed to look for. It was just like it had always been. Unremarkable compared to all of my other dozens of spots. Except it itched. In my case, having cancer is a lot like having a mosquito bite that just won't go away. 

The biopsy that turned up cancer was the third I'd had in my life. On Monday they took five more out of an abundance of caution; I have medical photographs proving they hadn't changed at all in ten years, but now we've moved on to "just in case." After all, the one that turned out to be cancer looked the same in photographs ten years ago, too.

Even now, as I wait and worry for more results -- results that are almost certainly going to be "nothing to see here" -- I find myself staring at my spots, the ones that are still there and the holes where some used to be, wondering which ones will be the treacherous ones. Wondering if they'll all turn out to be superficial and non-life-threatening, or whether they'll do me the courtesy of itching when they develop that hankering for human flesh. 

And then I feel ridiculous, because I didn't even have the dangerous kind of cancer. I don't have a right to all of these scared and morbid feelings I am feeling. And yet: There they are.

*Fun fact: That first biopsy was from my, ah, upper buttock. It was a "crescent-cell nevus," completely benign, but apparently unusual enough that my dermatologist used the slide at a conference. So yeah, my butt has been of scientific interest. No joke. 

Wednesday
May082013

Social Media for Old People

Oh, old people. We love you, really we do. You're so wise and loving and experienced, and we would not be here today without you. But we have to talk about the way you use the internet. It's... it's just... you're doing it wrong.

You're embarrassing us.

You're embarrassing yourselves.

But look, we know it's hard to pick up subtle social mores through observation once you're out of your teen years. And there are plenty of amazing things you know that we never will! Like the proper etiquette for a sock hop, or how to darn socks, or even how to find your way to a place that Google Maps doesn't think exists. You're amazing! We get it.

But we want to help you be your very best, modern, social media-savvy selves. And we know you don't mean to be... you know, kind of off. You just can't help it. So let's try to fix that, OK? Here, just for you, is a rundown of how to use various internet sites now called "social media."

Ready? I promise it won't hurt.

Tumblr

This is not for you. Do not use it.

Facebook/Google+

You probably are already on Facebook! This is great! If you're not familiar, Google+ is like Facebook except with fewer people and fewer ads, and I'm only including it here for completeness because you don't need to be on it. Pretend I never said anything.

These two sites are mostly for sharing things that you agree with, and stuff like baby and vacation pictures. And picking fights about religion and politics, if you like that kind of thing.

It is OK to friend your younger relatives and other loved ones to see what they are up to! But you should know that every time you post a comment on something they say, you are probably speaking to an audience including their other relatives, boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse, close friends, boss, coworkers, classmates, and everyone else they have ever wanted to impress.

It is not the right place for "We are so proud of you!" or "How did the doctor visit go?!" UNLESS you see other, younger people not related to them say those kinds of things first in comments before you. Repeated for emphasis: Everyone they have ever wanted to impress is watching.

If you do not understand something, do not comment on it, because they probably are not talking to you. If you are not quite sure if you understand something or not, do not comment on it.

Do not post on someone else's wall. NOT EVER.

Do not try to have a detailed catch-up with someone else and their life on Facebook. If it's not a conversation you should have at top volume on a bus filled with everyone you have ever wanted to impress, it is not a conversation you should have on Facebook, either.

Also, do not comment on someone else's post about something completely different from what they were just talking about. It is like barging into the middle of a conversation and changing the subject, and it is very rude! If you want to talk about something else, post it yourself on your own profile, and type in +THEIR NAME to catch their attention. That plus sign turns their name into a TAG, and it means they will be sure to see the comment. They'll get a notification about it! Awesome!

Instagram

This is not for you. I'm not even kidding. Just don't.

Twitter

Remember how I said that talking to someone on Facebook is like talking to everyone they've ever wanted to impress all at once? Twitter is like attending a party where all of those people are hanging out, and also the whole world, too. It is even archived in the Library of Congress! Twitter is for keeps, yo, and so you need to be really careful about how you use it.

Twitter is not a way to talk to one specific person and catch up. It's a public conversation. Even when you use an @reply on Twitter, other people can see it!

That includes information you may not even realize you're giving away, like where someone works, the names of their friends and relatives, when family birthdays are, and other stuff that could potentially help a bad person perform identity theft. Be cool, OK?

Private Communication

But if you can't catch up with people on Facebook and Twitter, you demand, where IS it OK? Didn't you think the purpose of all of these newfangled tools was being able to keep up with their lives?!

Yes and no. It's to keep tabs on things that people are sharing on purpose -- NOT to ask questions about things they have not chosen to share online. Asking questions and talking about personal stuff is OK... as long as you do it in private!

Fortunately there are a lot of ways to contact someone privately.

On Facebook there are "Messages." They are only readable by the person you send them to!

On Twitter there is such a thing as a "direct message." That's a private message to only one person! A DIRECT MESSAGE IS NOT THE SAME AS A REGULAR TWITTER MESSAGE STARTING WITH @theirname. Twitter can make it very hard to find direct messages; they are located on the "Your profile" area, accessible through a button with an envelope on it.

Of course there is the classic: email! Email is a fantastic way to keep in touch with people privately!

And of course there are the reigning methods of private conversation these days: The text message, or instant messaging (either through your phone, or a service like AIM, ICQ, Google Talk, etc.) If you're using text messages or instant messaging, be sure to keep them short and to the point. It's a conversation, so say one or two sentences and then wait for a response. Don't get offended if someone doesn't reply right away (or at all.) You never know what they might be busy in the middle of! 

Oh, and... signing "Love, Your dad" is sweet and all, but you don't need to sign a text or an instant message. It's not a letter.

The Telephone

I am confident you know how to use the telephone already, being old and all. Probably you are a MASTER of the phone compared to young people today!

Just one thing, all right? DO NOT EVER CALL a young person because of something you just saw posted online. Likewise, don't ask a question on Twitter about something you saw on Facebook. This is called context-switching and it is rude.

I'll give you a pass for very major life events, such as "I am getting married," "I am pregnant," or "I have been sentenced to twenty years." If something of that magnitude occurs, then yes, do call.

And of course you're free to call your younger people just because you love them and like to hear their voices! We all expect this from our old people.

Tumblr

Seriously, just stay off Tumblr. It will only confuse you.

MySpace/AOL/Friendster

Oh, you sweet, adorable thing. If you're still on any of these platforms, you can do whatever the heck you want. Nobody else is paying attention anymore. Just have fun and stay safe, you crazy kids.

LinkedIn

LinkedIn is basically just an online resume and not really important unless you are looking for a new job. If you are retired, you can safely ignore it entirely. If you're not retired and somebody sent you this post, um, maybe you should stay away. You know, to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of a potential 24-year-old boss. Just sayin'.

One Final Warning

I have a terrible thing to tell you. It's... well, there's no sugar-coating this, brace yourself. Many things on the internet are lies.

It's horrible, I know, but... look, if something seems too good to be true, like you won a foreign lottery or a company is donating absurd amounts of money to charity if you forward an email, it probably is. And if this is proof that your worst enemies are doing evil perfectly calculated to blow your brittle arteries apart... be skeptical. Or if someone is helpfully warning about a danger but you don't personally know anyone who died that way, don't believe it.

Remember, anyone can type something that looks like a press release. Anyone can say that they checked with their cousin the chief of police, or their brother-in-law who works at the company, or their second cousin who's a lobbyist on Capitol Hill. That does not mean it's 100% true. People lie! A lot! So just... check before you share, OK? And check before you answer. A lot of bad people are trying to get your money. Don't let them win.

There's this site, Snopes.com. It collects common rumors and scams that go around on the internet and tells you if they're true or not. Use it. Live it. Love it. If you're not sure how to use it yourself, ask for help. Just about anyone will be happy to help you sort it out.

Fellow Youngsters

In order to make this a better and more useful resource for the old people in our lives... what am I missing? What elements of the new social contract might need spelling out? What habits would you like the gentle opportunity to break? And old people... is there a way to call your attention to these small matters of etiquette without hurting your feelings?

Do weigh in in the comments. We're all friends here.

Monday
May062013

WTF is Transmedia? (2013)

It's become fashionable to hate the word 'transmedia' in some circles. 

The T-word has been very good to me. It's netted me any number of speaking engagements and website hits and sold me a book, among other things, so I feel a certain loyalty to it. I don't think I'd be enjoying the same degree of professional success if I hadn't very consciously embraced That Word back in 2010 or so. 

But I will admit that we have a problem with the T-word. Or maybe not the word itself -- maybe the problem is how we're trying to use it.

Rehashing the Past

If you're looking for historical context on where I'm coming from, you may be interested in these earlier posts, though some are missing their pretty charts now: WTF is an ARG? (from 2009)WTF is Transmedia? (from 2010)WTF is Transmedia? (from 2011)

In a nutshell, though: I come from the community of alternate reality games, and for several years, I tied myself in knots trying to view every innovative piece of online or pervasive or physical narrative through that lens: Gameplay + Story + Community. The problem was that a lot of the projects I was enjoying (and even making myself!) didn't fit into that Venn diagram. Not at the center; maybe not at all. 

We speculated that 'alternate reality game' was just a subset, then, of something bigger and potentially more exciting. And then our little games niche intersected with the Henry Jenkins and Jeff Gomez crowd, and bam! We finally had our umbrella term: transmedia storytelling.

The Definition

In A Creator's Guide and elsewhere, I've become comfortable using what is more or less the Prof. Henry Jenkins definition of transmedia: the art of telling one story over multiple media, where each medium is making a unique contribution to the whole.

It's a simple definition, an elegant one, and it's big enough to cover all manner of creative works in its leafy shade: alternate reality games like Perplex City and ilovebees, entertainment franchises like Star Wars and Pokemon, hybrid works like Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Cathy's Book, How I Met Your Mother.

Complaints against the T-word vary. It doesn't mean anything, it's too vague. It's nothing new, it's just media, everything will be transmedia. We need a different word. We don't need a word at all. 

And of course years of heartache have poured into arguments that amount to, "If what I'm making is transmedia then what you're making isn't," which grew particularly heated when bodies like Sundance, the PGA, and Tribeca began various new media/transmedia/emerging media efforts to try to spotlight, accredit, or foster new forms.

But if "transmedia" adequately describes an enormous swath of new and old forms of narrative... it yet elegantly and entirely misses the heart of what many of us get so excited about when we talk about transmedia. That standard-op definition for transmedia is lacking key words like emergent, collaborative, adaptive, pervasive, interactive, tangible, collective. 

And this is exactly correct by our definition: for something to be transmedia, it can be all of these things, but it doesn't have to be. ...So then what's the word for the stuff that is?

Redeeming 'Transmedia'

Let me go out on a limb here and suggest that the conversation about the word isn't really about the word at all. 

The controversy is the result of people wanting to have meaningful conversations about their art and finding that they cannot, because there isn't enough shared, precise language. And what shared language exists often means different things to different people, adding to the post-Babel frustration. A 'producer' in film parlance is a pivotal creative force; a 'producer' in games is primarily a project manager.

These are the inevitable growing pains of an emerging form. By and large, nobody argues much about what a "book" is; if we see a collection of bound-together leaves of paper, we're pretty comfortably sure it's a book. But you can't say anything true and compelling about "books" when you mean "alt-history paranormal romance." Someone who thinks "book" means "DB2 manual" will probably disagree with everything you say, and for good reason.

And yet even with as established a form as the book, similar debates still burn on in the emerging edges where art is born, like stars fusing into being. New genres are invented, flame bright, and die. Science fiction becomes speculative fiction explodes into a splintered mass of terms like New Weird, biopunk, post-colonial fantasy.

Each of us wants a word to describe exactly the things that we're making. "Transmedia" simply isn't precise enough, through no fault of its own.

It doesn't make it a bad word, nor even an unnecessary one. It's just that ARG found its umbrella term, and now we need names for all of our cousins, too.

Toward a Taxonomy of Transmedia Forms

Part of the free-wheeling joy of transmedia storytelling is that the structure itself is a part of the creative expression. Nailing down any particular structure and saying transmedia is exactly that necessarily excludes other things, things so amazing we can't even picture them yet. So we've been resistant to naming structures. I get that.

But for approaching fifteen years now, we've more or less ignored the fact that there are certain family resemblances to some structures that get used again and again. Naming them might facilitate a better quality of discussion, though, and even help us fumble our way toward still more new forms. And so I'd like to propose a fledgling taxonomy for specific forms of transmedia narrative. 

Alternate Reality Game: What's old becomes new. A story played out through media embedded in the real world as though the fictional events were really occurring. Often meant to be played by communities rather than individuals; often incorporating gamelike challenges like puzzles. (Perplex City, Why So Serious?)

Franchise Storyworld: A series of standalone pieces of traditional media (such as books, comics, films, games, TV shows) that each tell an individual story, but that tell a larger, inter-related narrative when taken as a whole. (Star Wars, Pokemon.)

Tangible Narrative: A story making heavy use of physical (and sometimes digital) story artifacts in service of another more traditional single-medium narrative. (Sleep No More, Cathy's Book, Laser Lace Letters.)

Web Series++ (or Film++, or Novel++): A single-medium narrative that makes light use of supplementary social media, video, etc. to add non-critical flavor and depth to the main work. (Lizzie Bennet Diaries, Dirty Work, How I Met Your Mother.)

Expanded Documentary: A nonfiction project that incorporates multiple vectors for propagating information about the topic, often in service of raising money or awareness for a specific cause. (Half the Sky, Bear 71.)

You'll note that none of this is exactly brand-new terminology. But I think it would help a lot for us to take that single step toward precision when we talk about transmedia, to qualify whether we're talking about transmedia as a whole (like one might talk about "books" or "video games") or a specific kind of transmedia narrative (like one might talk about "travelogues" or "hidden object games.")

Take this whole thing as provisional and imprecise. These particular terms definitely overlap -- you could potentially create a single work with elements of all of these in it. Still, I'm hoping that this can move the conversation toward better conversations about craft. Not just "How do I get funding for my transmedia project?" but on to "How do you help an audience to navigate a tangible narrative?" or "How much additional content becomes burdensome or overwhelming for a Web Series++?" or "How do I channel the traffic from my expanded documentary into direct action?"

It may even be my categories are thrown out in favor of something else. And I'm cool with that. I'm hoping that others will take this ball and run with it. Maybe by this time next year we'll have so many named forms that we hardly ever need to talk about 'transmedia' at all.

Language can shed light, and it can obscure. The fault never lies in the words themselves; it's all in how we use them.

Wednesday
Apr032013

Games and Romance: Made For Each Other

It's no secret that I have an enormous crush on Alistair from Dragon Age. Enormous. 

I've also developed a few secondary crushes on some of the characters in the Mass Effect series in recent months. Now that I've about run out of single-player Bioware games, though, I find myself longing for more: more banter, more awkward or urgent or heartfelt moments. More obstacles to overcome together, more emotional drama. More romance.

Unfortunately, the state of romance in games is pretty dreadful. The closest you get as a standalone genre are dating sims, some of which are more like sex sims. (The latter are almost invariably designed only for male players.) But whether you're talking about the mild Princess Debut or the explicit Ganguro Girl, both types of game follow a similar pattern: the player makes choices about how to spend time and money in order to develop a romantic or sexual relationship.

If there is any element of effort to these games, it is in solving the puzzle of what words or objects might be necessary to begin (or consummate) a relationship with the would-be object of your virtual affection. Mechanical elements of the game typically require minimal skill or knowledge. They're meant to be wish-fulfilment and not challenges.

On the surface, these love sims look like they're adequate at modeling how relationships are formed. You meet, you try your best to make a good impression, find out how to please your would-be love, finally bust a move, happiness. There's just one thing missing. But it's a pretty big thing: feelings.

Games and the Emotional Journey

As an art form, video games have the corner on an incredible and under-rated market. In the discussion about are-video-games-art (and peace be with you, Mr. Ebert), we talk about whether games can make you cry as if that were some unassailable and objective benchmark for quality. But that's selling short games and what they're best at. Games can do something books and film can't: evoke emotions of agency. These are feelings you only feel when you've had a hand in causing a situation.

Books, movies, plays, TV shows can make you laugh and cry. (Well, the good ones can.) But a game can -- and probably has -- made you feel frustrated or proud. Games can also make you feel guilty (Shadow of the Colossus.) Or betrayed (Dragon Age 2.) That's because you're the one calling the shots. You're the star, the protagonist, the hero. When there is a difficult decision to make about how to treat Little Sisters or which squad member to send to death or which suspect to finger for the crime... the one making it is you, and the one who has to live with the consequences? Also you.

When well-written -- and without a doubt Bioware sports some of the best writers in the business right now -- that also means that interactions with a character feel like an actual relationship is forming between the character and you, the player. You become teammates. Allies. Friends. And maybe... maybe more.

Romance Novels Aren't As Good

Don't get me wrong. I loves me a good trashy romance novel. Even a mediocre one, if I'm honest. My Kindle is full of 'em. There's something primal about the story of one human being making a connection with another, falling in love, making it work despite the odds. That story speaks to a desire in all of us to not be alone, the hope that no obstacle is insurmountable.

But video game romance is way, way better.

In a game, one projects the self into the avatar being controlled. You're more likely to say "I died," or "Hey, watch me get that guy. BAM!" than to say "Lara died," or "Hey awesome, Chelle knocked down that turret." For the duration of the game, you're not playing the game so much as living it.

And by extension, when a character tells you not to die because they love you and can't live without you... the one they're speaking to, the one feeling that poignant brew of resolve and regret, is you. Novels? Hah. No romance novel in the world has ever -- could ever -- make me feel like I'm the one embroiled in the love story.

But... that's not so different from a dating sim, right...? Is is just a matter of better writing and clever relationship-status algorithms? No, no, a thousand times no. The reason the Bioware romances work so well is a function of excellent writing, to be sure, but also the fact that the games aren't fundamentally about the romances at all

The straightforward arc of a successful romance is somewhat dull and small. That's why every romance novel printed has some other plot going -- stories of espionage, engagements to the wrong person, opponents in the courtroom, enemies by circumstance or culture or tradition. Conflict is the engine of drama, and a dating sim doesn't generally have much conflict beyond "how do I make this person like me?" 

But because Bioware's romances are just the B-plot, the emotional dynamic winds up feeling deeper and truer than any shallow dating sim can. You're not just hanging out with the object of your affection on dates or at parties. You're risking your lives together in fighting for a common purpose. You're sharing horrors and triumphs. You're bonding through shared experience, the way human beings are wont to do.

Thus the quality of romantic drama on offer by Bioware winds up feeling richer, more complex, and truer than games that are supposed to be about love through and through. The relationships have more complexity and texture to them because the characters are all bigger than the love story. They have a place in the world that doesn't revolve around how much you want to date them.

It feels more genuine, more really real. It feels more sweeping and epic. Dating sims simply don't create the kind of romantic drama that makes you feel all of those powerful feelings. 

Bringing It Home

There is, alas, a stigma to simulated relationships, both in making them and in desiring them. No doubt some readers are speculating by now that I am a sad, lonesome spinster, probably homely and without prospect, whose only chance at true love lies in pretending. Hah, no, don't shed any tears for me, I'm OK over here.

It's true that I feel a little uncomfortable playing through romantic story beats with my husband in earshot. But regardless of embarrassment, I'd venture that a good romance subplot in a game has a halo effect that benefits him and our own very real and meaningful relationship.

Let's back up. I, at least, consume stories because of the emotional journeys that they allow me to have. I like to feel things, you know? Odds are I'm never going to save the world. I'm not likely to be initiated into an elite society of dragon-hunters, either, or be run through potentially fatal "experiments" by a crazed AI. But in a game I can pretend. I can feel all of those amazing things, those fears and hopes and so much more. I live those lives, and when the game is over, I put the memories safely away and happily carry on with the real business of living. (And I measure the success of a game's narrative based on how well it evoked those feelings... or any feelings, really.)

Romance is the same. I certainly hope I never fall in love again, because I couldn't be more delighted with my life and my marriage. But oh, those feelings when you first fall in love! The excitement, the uncertainty! It's nice to feel that again, for a little while, just to pretend. And later -- the dark moments when you have to make a difficult choice that decides the fate of your digital beloved. I'm just as happy for that to always be pretend, but the act of going on that emotional journey opens me to be more compassionate to the real experiences of others.

Yeah, it's dorky to have a crush on a video game character. But it's also a safe way to experience a dynamic range of emotions that are either unavailable or just a really, really bad idea in real life. This is something video games are uniquely suited to do among all media. Here is where we will earn our merit badge declaring that Games. Are. Art.

When a game is over, the drama ended, I return to my real life and relationship, and I am grateful for all of the feelings the game has let me experience -- and doubly grateful for all the ones I don't have to feel for real, because drama is fun for pretending, but it's a terrible way to live. And back in the real world, with my real and wonderful and safely drama-free husband, I fall in love just a little bit more.
Tuesday
Mar192013

Some Thoughts on Games Addiction

Some weeks ago, the phenomenal Mez Breeze interviewed me on the topic of games addiction. The full article, which ran in The Next Web, is available here, and I hope you'll click through and read it. Some great stuff there.

A lot of her questions were incredibly thought-provoking and I responded at much greater length than she could ever have hoped to use. Rather than let all of those words and thinky thoughts languish in the deeps of our email, I thought it might be interesting to let you have a peek at the full text of the interview. So here goes!

Can you briefly outline your professional background and how/if it relates to the concepts of addiction or gaming?

I'm a writer and game designer, with a particular emphasis on transmedia and alternate reality games. I'm also a lifelong gamer who has engaged in some addictive behaviors in the past.

Do you think contemporary game production companies are deliberately producing computer and Internet-based games that are geared towards compulsive or unhealthy game play?

Yes, at least some game developers are intentionally trying to induce addictive behaviors, without question. It's common for a game design spec to talk about making a game "more addictive" in positive terms, as shorthand for "highly engaging and fun to play." There's also rampant and intentional use of the compulsion loop, which is a term ultimately derived from Skinnerian psychology: You train a rat that something nice will happen when it presses the lever, in order to get it to keep pushing that lever again and again.


But as terrible as this sounds when you put it this way, there is a core moral dilemma for a game designer. Even if you don't want to be predatory, you want to produce the best, most fun, most engaging game that you can, right? So let's say you make an amazing game, purely as an exercise in art. People love it, they play for hours a day, they don't shower, they skip meals, they stay up all night. They fail tests, they get divorced and fired. Surely there is a point where you can't be held culpable for the behaviors of your players, who are, after all, responsible for their own lives. But at the same time you're not clearly NOT responsible, either, because you left the loaded gun lying around, so to speak.

It's a quagmire with no path through. No side of this debate about gaming and addiction is entirely right or entirely wrong. The solution can't and shouldn't be "stop making fun games," though.


In your opinion, are certain gaming platforms more addictive than others? What types of computer, console or device-based games are the worst offenders? Eg. First Person Shooters, App-oriented Social Games (such as those produced by companies like Zynga), MMORPGs (Massive Multiplayer Online Role-Playing Games), Strategy Games, or Transmedia/Alternate Reality Games.

All of these are offenders, but the problematic behaviors each are likely to provoke can manifest differently. FPSes and MMORPGs tend to maximize length of play session; whereas Zynga-style social and casual games maximize number of sessions -- returning to the game as often as possible.


I do find the Zynga-style social, mobile games more evil, if you will, just because many of these games are very close to compulsion loops and nothing else. Not a meaningful sense of community or competition, not a narrative, not a sense of exploration. I'm playing a game right now called Jetpack Joyride (not a Zynga game!). In this game, you do the exact same thing every time: You ride a flying jetpack down a hall and avoid traps like lasers and missiles. The game keeps you playing by offering minor variations in the mechanic. After you play enough times, you can upgrade to gadgets that will make it easier to avoid some of the traps, or collect more coins along the way. And if you don't feel like playing that many times to get the next gadget you want, why, they're happy to take your money instead of your time. And the game is constantly giving you missions to fulfill to "level up": having close calls, going a certain distance with a particular vehicle, and so on.

But really, every single time you play it's the same exact thing: One or two minutes of the same randomly-generated hallways. There's nothing there but the loop.

Still, even games with nothing resembling an overt loop can produce compulsive behaviors. The Beast, an alternate reality game meant to market the film A.I., was my first step into transmedia gaming. And at the time, for all that I played and loved that game so much that it changed the path of my career, I wrote an essay lamenting how all-consuming it was. 

Playing that game was essentially an unpaid part-time job for me. The amount of content created for it was overwhelming -- but I don't think anything since has produced quite the same volume, and so as a result the perceived intensity declined, as well. These kinds of games tend to have limited active lives now, usually not more than a few months, and usually only a few hours a week (at most!) of new material to engage with. That's probably because it's expensive and difficult to make content at that pace, and not because of any moral superiority, but it's interesting to see that trend toward requiring a lower commitment from your players.


Do you view the immersive nature of computer games as similar to that encountered when gambling? If yes, what are the similarities?

The core appeal of gambling is the compulsion loop, too. And indeed, when B.F. Skinner was studying how to reinforce behaviors -- such as pressing the lever on a slot machine -- he found that a variable reward schedule resulted in much more compulsive behavior than a predictable schedule. So if you won every other time you played the slots, it wouldn't be as much "fun," and you'd be less compelled to keep playing.


It's that tension of knowing you might get the treat, but not knowing exactly when, that keeps you playing. The player develops an unshakeable faith, after a while, that THIS will be the time I hit it big. THIS is the time it will all pay off, no matter how many times it hasn't so far. Just one more turn. One more minute. But it's really never just one more.


From a game developer/game theorist perspective, what do you consider factors that contribute to compulsive or addictive game play?

A number of factors all combine, of course. Low perceived effort and high perceived reward are the foundation. At any moment, the ask has to seem fairly modest; just a few minutes, just a few dollars. You don't tend to rationally step back and recognize that the cumulative cost to you in time, money, or energy is much, much higher. Another factor is a steady flow of easily attainable goals; that's why you see missions in Jetpack Joyride, or various kinds of badges and achievements in most other kinds of game. They create the feeling that you can accomplish something if you keep playing that one... more... minute.

Zynga and other Facebook games in particular add on the feeling of opportunity cost. You get so many action points per hour, but you have a cap on how many you can have at once. That means if your action timer completely fills up in four hours but you're spending eight hours at work -- why, you're losing four hours of potential play! So maybe you should check in from work at lunch, just for a minute, just to use up all of your action points... It's one of my least favorite game innovations of the last several years.

This one isn't used as intentionally, but there's also some element of peer pressure. When you're playing a multiplayer game with a bunch of friends online, you dont' want to be the first one to leave to break up the party. And in an MMO, if you play four hours a week but your friends play forty, pretty soon you're not going to be on par with your equipment, ready for the same areas, or looking to accomplish the same things anymore. This was my problem when I played EverQuest, long ago; in order to keep up with my friends, I had to commit an unreasonable amount of my life to playing. In the end I just gave up playing entirely.


Do you see any ways to prevent gaming addiction, or have suggestions as to how to best deal with the consequences of compulsive game play?

In order to check my own problematic behaviors, I really prefer games that you can win, so there's a clear-cut end point to them. That means a lot of narrative-based games, like Dragon Age. I also like shorter and episodic games, like Journey or the Telltale Games list. No matter how much you love a narrative game, they're harder to pick up and fool yourself it'll only be for ten minutes... and eventually the game is over.

For the most part, I steer clear of multiplayer situations, MMOs, and so on because I just can't trust myself. With narrative games with an ending. I know I'll binge-play them, so to avoid the fallout of missed sleep and deadlines, I don't even start a game like that unless I have a good solid week with no serious commitments.

Casual browser and mobile games are easier for me to put down, but probably because I went clean through a very heavy Farmville phase some years ago. Nowadays I play a casual game only really until I feel like I understand it, I've seen all there is to see to it, and then they're no fun anymore. For a game like Angry Birds that might be "seen all the levels." For something like Jetpack Joyride, it's hard to say; I think I have the flavor of it in just playing for a couple of days, and I don't feel like I need to actually buy all the gadgets to feel like I've gotten everything I could out of it. Once you see the naked compulsion loop for what it is, it loses most of its appeal.


Are there any positive ways to harness the potentialities of addictive games?

There have been some interesting efforts in that direction, particularly in the way of fitness games. It's interesting to note that Dance Dance Revolution absolutely incited compulsive behavior in me -- and along the way, I probably became the fittest I'd been in years. Usually, though, the effort involved in actually getting exercise makes the loop harder to invoke. I can play just one more two-minute song on Dance Dance Revolution, but a mission on Zombies, Run! is going to take me at least half an hour. It's engaging, to be sure, but not in the same way.

There are also a number of habit-forming or breaking games out there. Health Month is one, and it aims to create a gamelike shell around things like flossing your teeth and eating less sugar. Again, though, this fails the effort-to-reward ratio to create an active compulsion loop. It would take a lot to make flossing your teeth an addictive behavior for your typical person.

Frameworks like Rock Band could be used to teach real music skills, too, so there are definitely educational applications lying untapped. Skinner himself was looking for educational applications of his research, you know. And the compulsion loop isn't a bad thing in and of itself. It's a fact of human nature, and we use the force of habit and patterns of rewards to do everything from teaching toddlers to use the toilet to studying. Sticker reward charts are a recommended tactic in parenting!

So the underlying issue here isn't "games are bad because they create addictive behavior." It's more like "humans are susceptible to having their behavior shaped by these frameworks of incentives." And now we know games are an effective way of creating those frameworks, whether we mean to or not, and we have to decide what we can do to make sure the lives of our players are left the better for experiencing our games, and not worse.