That title is a random musical reference, by the way, because random musical references make everything better.
I still haven’t finished Misery Stone. 3-5 hours my arse. It reminds me of those gorgeous Fantasy Flight games that claim they take 2-4 hours to play when the reality of it is more like 6-8. Not that I’m complaining, of course. Oh noes! This fun is going on longer than advertised! Something must be done! Also the Party of Fail seems to have its got its act together, which is something of a relief. I think I’ve just got the hang of dual-wielding bards. Yeah baby. And Lexi is still all sparkly, which keeps me going.
I really ought to get round to actually writing about my own module, or actually working on the damn but I’ve gone down with a bit nasty cold which is making me feel about as creative as a squashed hedgehog. So it’s not happening. I’ll see what gives tonight. Because spending Friday night with whiskey + lemsip + the NWN2 toolset is totally going to make me feel better. Actually, it conceivably might.
But to get back to the title of this post, one of the things that I find most challenging about trying to make a computer game, even in a toolset, is the insane extensiveness of the skillset required. Obviously I know that normally these things are done by massive companies which is why it isn’t a problem, but although some of the more polished modules (like Misery Stone) have been put out by small “studios” of people, there are still plenty of extremely impressive creations built by lone individuals, modding in their spare time around their dayjobs and their family lives. (Although truthfully it’s a bit disconcerting how many modders seem to be separating from their partners just at the moment – not that I’m necessarily trying to claim a connection).
But, yes, in order to create even a vaguely functional mod you have to be:
1. A writer
2. A scripter
3. A designer
4. An artist
Like … ouch? I reckon most of us are lucky if we can even hit one of those squarely. And, of course, you can work very effectively within your own limitations by choosing always to play to your strengths but in some ways that also stifles your ambitions. I mean, the best way to learn is try to do something you’re not sure you can do, and then fuck it up repeatedly. Okay, that was meant to sound optimistic. The thing is, when I’m playing a module usually the exceptional elements carry the mediocre ones. So if you encounter characters who sparkle (hello Lexi) or areas that wow you, or encounter that challenge you in interesting ways you tend to let it compensate for whatever else was lacking: be it pedestrian writing or uninspiring level design. At least, I hope that’s the case. Maybe other people are more critical than I am and you have to hit all the boxes.
To do a bit of self-analysis, it rather annoys me that thing I would put my gold star next to is the wishy washy, self-indulgent useless one i.e. writing. The thing is, I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody who didn’t think they were good at writing. But at least having, at some stages in my life, earned a living through a facility with the wordifications, I can feel reasonably confident that this is something I can really do. Of course that leads you immediately down the Path of Twatdom because suddenly this game you’re making for other people to, y’know, play and have fun with has become your personal magnificent octopus, showcasing little beyond your conceit.
The other stuff, sadly, is where I’m lacking. The scripting, however, at least is learnable. I don’t think I’m ever going to have flair with it but I can usually cobble together something that does what I want it to do without too many comprises. And game design is just a matter of sitting down and looking at the thing for the opposite perspective, and trying to steer clear of things that annoy the fuck out of me as a player should hopefully serve me moderately well.
But, oh, oh, I am no artist. I have all the artistic creativity of a squashed hedgehog and you can tell. My areas are banal at best, noticeably bad at worst. My people blend uninspiringly into each other. Everywhere, everything and everyone looks the same. I’ve tried to actually weave the dullness of things into the fabric of the world (yes, I know, the last resort) but I am ashamed. And I need to get my head down and, somehow, get better. Probably by practicing. Except, of course, I have an insecurity and ineptitude related mental block. I have self-defined for so long as someone who is not artistic that trying to improve myself feels rather like trying to improve a donkey with no legs by giving it rollerskates.