Storytellersunplugged

I’m currently awash in writers. Game writers, that is – published game writers, new game writers, people who want to be game writers, you name it. It’s the first Game Writers’ Conference (the location of the apostrophe is still apparently a matter of some debate), an adjunct conference to the Austin Games Conference and I’m smack-dab in the middle of this.

Big deal, I hear you saying. A bunch of writers getting together is no surprise; the only question is which bar they’re landing in at the end of the day. Ah, but not so fast. This is a big deal, at least to those of us toiling in the virtual trenches, the first time there’s been a conference devoted to the trials, tribulations, techniques and torments of game writing. Game writing has always gotten the poor relation treatment at other conferences – a few panels here and there at granddaddy Game Developers Conference – a reflection of the role it is often perceived as playing in the development process itself.  To have a conference dedicated to the discipline is a sign that things are changing, that there’s a slow emergence toward understanding and respect and, God forbid, recognition that the words are important for things other than telling you how many hit points you have left.

It’s always scary the first time out. Nobody knew how many writers would show up; nobody knew how many people we’d draw from the neighboring conferences. After all, this was a gamble that the show’s sponsors were taking, a bet that there was enough professional interest in game writing to support conference fees and airline tickets and hotel rooms. In other words, that it mattered enough for people to put down cold hard cash for it.

A lot of us were worrying, heading into the first session. Those of us who’d been in on brainstorming or “What if” sessions, who’d kicked around conference stuff on the IGDA’s Writers’ Group mailing list, had that fear that, well, we’d know everyone who was in attendance. That it would be a face-to-face version of the mailing list, only with an hour and a half for lunch each day.

And lo and behold, the first session was standing room only. Marc Laidlaw kicked things off with a superb talk documenting his migration into games and illustrating useful techniques. The veritable ball was rolling, and it rolled right through Flint Dille bringing down the house with his closing address.

It’s going to keep rolling now, I think. There’s a need to address game writing on a professional level, to network and talk techniques and theory and professional etiquette. As Hal Barwood suggested in his talk, there’s a need to develop the language of game writing, something that’s happening only in fits and starts. (Don’t believe me? Ask folks from three different companies what the word “script” means. It’ll take a while.) More importantly, though, there was a recognition that we’re out there. Lots of us. We’re not alone, not isolated, and most likely not the first ones to deal with whatever slice of tsuris is being slung our way. Look down the hallways and you’d see writers talking, swapping war stories and comparing projects. You’d see students who wanted to be game writers – little do they know what they’re in for – asking advice and throwing out suggestions that us old crusty types had never thought of because, well, we’d always done it the other way. There’s a critical mass for a professional community here, something that’s in its infancy but has the potential to grow up into something special.

It’s a little frightening to be standing here at the beginning of that, to have a vision of where this is going to go and how I might be a part of it. We’re already talking about next year, of course. It’s going to be something else. I’m sure of it.

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Richard E. Dansky
Writer, Game Designer, and Cad
(Not necessarily in that order)