pseudesign and the fear of the spectacular flaw

Yet another tag for my slowly growing salmonella tags: pseudesign. Unlike my occasional salmonella scraps which randomly showcased work and its inconsequential ripples around life (or so I claim), pseudesign will primarily discuss thoughts or, rather, droppings from an amateur game designer's point of view. No, I will never, ever discuss things like "5 things every Game Designer should Practice," and whatever knowledge I may impart to the half-dozen readers of TSW. Which is why I call this tag pseudesign. Beware.

Anyway, on to the first entry.


Early today I experienced a designer's take on near-death experience: the threat of a spectacular design flaw due to impaired foresight. The problem (or the question) was brought up by a colleague, a programmer specifically, and they usually ask about the smallest of details, regarding a certain game feature that even I wasn't even sure of. Even before we "finalized" the design document, this particular feature has morphed from one thing to another, then to another, then another, until we refined and simplified and settled on what was approved by the client from across the pond. Thinking that the early jitters was just caused by my inexperience (or lack of interest) on the subject, the client-approved feature was quickly put through its paces by the progs. A couple of weeks have passed in silence, and my mind was put to rest--I'm probably overthinking things.

Until this morning came and the universe suddenly realised that now is the time to ask the question. The question was simple, even innocent, but it was enough to jolt my sleepy noodle awake. After a millisecond of stunned silence, I quickly scanned through my mental copy of our GDD, thinking if I missed something along the way. Yeah, maybe there is! No, there isn't, you're better than this! Hey, he's giving us a hard time, let's throw him out the window! But his question makes sense, you can't throw sensible questions out the window, besides it's plexiglas. Oh, yes I can, millions of sensible questions die every second, and not many people know this, but I can break through plexiglas, though on second thought, is this really plexiglas? Shut up, I'm thinking here!

What followed was an awkward scene of me grasping at straws, the colleague waiting for an answer, and the project's art director anticipating any unfortunate changes that could befall on their lovingly created art. Of course, as always, as stated by the virtual governing bodies of game development, as shared by Miyamoto, Molyneux and other gods of the craft, any changes in the design will inevitably change everything--which is why I feared this question the most. Even though the feature doesn't involve the main core gameplay feature, the effort itself to make it work the first time would be put to waste if I make a quick 180-degree turn. The threat of wasting everybody's time is enough to make me break through the window and throw myself out. Which is overly dramatic and satisfyingly cinematic, to say the least.

Then suddenly, as if the universe and the hungry catastrophe decided that they'd rather watch reruns of Friends, everything fell into place once again. Nothing has changed. We all realized that the question, red-hot in anticipation of its impending triumph, can still be dismissed because the current design still works. Disaster averted. All is well. For now.