What's your pet hate about bad video game writing?

One-note characters, bad exposition and boring choices -- Naomi Alderman and David Varela give their

In September, the Arvon foundation is running a week-long course, aiming to teach students about the unique challenges of writing for video games. I recently spoke to its tutors, Naomi Alderman and David Varela, about creating characters, worlds and dialogue for this fast-growing art form.

Both have experience writing for games and other, more traditional media -- Naomi is a novelist (her latest book, The Lessons, is published this month) and David has written for TV, radio and theatre.

What is the biggest challenge in writing a computer game?

David Varela: It's really allowing the player to feel that they are exploring and finding things out in a way that is organic; that they are not being all fed lots of expositions at key moments; that they are finding things out on their own. So giving them a sense of freedom when, actually, you are manipulating them.

What's your pet hate about bad game writing?

DV: It probably is too much explanation. Show, don't tell. You can build up a lot of information piece by piece through a well-thought-out environment; you don't need to literally shout out to people like you do in Call of Duty.

Naomi Alderman: I often feel there's a lack of understanding of character. Characters often just have an assigned role . . . In any game, once you've played it for a while in a particular way, your choices ought not to be the same as they were at the start. So three-quarters of the way through that game, if you've always been helping out the people who ask you for help at the side of the road, you shouldn't have an option to go on a shooting spree. That is where the character starts feeling hollow . . . if they will always do what you tell them.

Take an example from Monkey Island. There's a bit where Guybrush Threepwood is confronted by his beloved Elaine: you get to choose, "I love you so much" or "You're the only one for me"; but whatever you pick, what he says is "Bleugh bleugh bleugh".

It's a beautiful moment because he is a character -- he's not you. You can't make him do anything. At some point, you have to understand that he's a bit of a shmuck. Heavy Rain's very good at that -- there's that bit where you try to make Ethan walk across a crowded subway station and he can't do it. That's what character resides in.

DV: Heavy Rain is a really interesting example because, at a point at the start, it felt like a single-parent simulator, where you are having to tend to this child. It builds an interesting relationship between you and the child, where you feel a duty of care and, at the same time, you feel slightly irritated. You create a relationship through the gameplay and when your child goes missing, it feels like you have bonded already.

It's very frustrating when you lose Jason [your character's son] in a shopping mall and you assume that if you play well enough, you can find him -- whereas the game is designed not to let you catch up with him.

NA: As games mature as a form, I think we'll have many more games where you cannot win, in that quite narrow sense of winning. Silent Hill 2 is a real classic. There's a man who gets a letter from his dead wife, saying, "Come to meet me at Silent Hill," which is the place where they first met. And, obviously, there's a handful of ghosts and horrors -- and he's just a bloke and not very strong -- and can't fight very well.

By the end of the game, it seems like the whole thing is a kind of hideous hallucination of his and he's trapped into doing the one thing that the whole way through the game he doesn't want to do. It's brilliant. The point at which characters are limited in what they do -- that's when they start to become real, rather than being menus.

Do you think most developers or publishers are now seeing writing as important -- or is it an afterthought?

DV: I think it is rising in terms of priority. It is going to be an on-going battle and I expect it will take a while.

But it is definitely on a lot more people's mind now when they are first coming up with proposals. They are thinking of the creation of worlds, rather than the creation of games: so they do start thinking early on about the atmosphere of the piece, what is the story, what is the background story, where do the characters come from?

Naomi, you mentioned character. Did the ending of Red Dead Redemption irritate you -- when you go from Clint Eastwood-style badass to doing chores for your wife and ungrateful teenage son?

NA: Yes, there's no emotional arc: [John Marston] is forced to hunt down and kill all his old friends, he's betrayed by his government, he's kept away from his wife. If this were a movie, at the end he would be a very different character to the character he was at the start. When I played, I killed 734 people in that game -- you would think that would change a person.

The [lack of arc] was more obvious, maybe, because RDR is drawing on those tropes of westerns -- a big story about a man who becomes disillusioned with the life that once enthralled him and who comes to realise that all the deaths were for nothing. That's quite a typical story in a western. But there's no change in him . . .

What about the binary choices -- very good or very evil -- that pervade games?

NA: In Bioshock, it's save the girl, kill the girl -- not a very nuanced moral choice. In fact, it's so un-nuanced that it reminds you that you're playing a game and it's not happening.

Are there any games that push beyond that?

NA: I can name one for you: Dragon Age: Origins. You're a wizard at wizard school and one of your friends comes to you in a dreadful state and says "They're going to take away my powers" -- mentally castrate him -- "You have to help me escape."

Asking around, you find out that it's because the people who run the school know he's been dabbling in blood magic; [they say] if we let him out of the building with magical abilities, he'll be taken over by a demon and he'll become a threat.

So you don't know what to do. Obviously, it's a more melodramatic choice than most of us have to make in our lives but, at the same time, you sit there thinking, "Either I help him -- he is my friend, after all, and maybe he's right that the people who run this school are corrupt -- or I don't help him, because maybe they're right that he's a danger."

You just pick one and then you have to live with the consequences of your actions. In either case, the consequences are quite nasty.

What, for you, is the game with the best writing that's available at the moment?

DV: There's a beautiful game that came out probably 18 months ago called Flower, which is lovely. Elegant game, tells the story without a single word of dialogue, without a single word on the screen. It's quite an emotionally led story; quite impressionistic but it's very powerful; it makes you very happy.

It gives you structure without saying a single word. Writing is about more than just dialogue; it's about creating a journey.

Why don't the artistic aspects of video game writing get taken seriously in the mainstream media?

NA: Basically, you need to sit down and put in 50 hours learning how to use a console in the same way that you would sit and bloody learn enough about opera in order to be able to understand an opera.

There's also the fact that games are becoming increasingly cinematic.

NA: I sat and played Heavy Rain with a friend of mine, Josh Appignanesi, the film director [he directed The Infidel]. He was very interesting on the way that Heavy Rain is actually directed. Cut scenes are usually filmed from one angle -- two talking heads -- there isn't anyone thinking about conveying mood in that way . . . The use of that artistry is very interesting.

What do you hope to teach on the course?

DV: It's about getting people out of the mindset that writing is all about words. Writing a game is not all about the dialogue any more than writing a screenplay is just about the dialogue.

NA: Professionalism. Writing for games involves a lot of writing and isn't as much fun as sitting down and playing your favourite game. The best teaching involves asking really interesting questions and then allowing students to figure things out. I don't think games writing now is as good as it will be. It's a young medium -- it's OK to be a young medium -- but we have to keep pushing forward.

I'll be posting more from Naomi and David tomorrow. For details of the Arvon course in September, click here.

Helen Lewis is deputy editor of the New Statesman. She has presented BBC Radio 4’s Week in Westminster and is a regular panellist on BBC1’s Sunday Politics.

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Marching against climate change in the age of Donald Trump

The People’s Climate Movement is as much about politics as science. That's its strength.

Saying goodbye is never easy. But the present generation are facing an awful lot of farewells: to the melting arctic, the dying Barrier Reef, and the general resilience of ecosystems around the world. As Margaret Atwood described it in her essay of the same name: “It’s not climate change, it’s everything change”.

The problem with “everything-change” is that it can be overwhelming. How do you even decide where to start?

The People’s Climate Movement want to begin by making visible the extent of concern out there. This weekend, a coalition of organisations have planned a protest march on the American capital. Between 50,000 -100,000 people are expected to attend, including eco-celebrities Leonardo Di Caprio, Al Gore and Richard Branson.

In London, a group called Campaign Against Climate Change, are co-ordinating a UK-based solidarity event. Protestors will meet at 11.30am in Old Palace yard opposite Parliament, then move to Westminster Bridge, where they will spell out a message to Theresa May: “Trump and May: Climate Disaster”.

For UK campaigners, this is a vital opportunity to raise awareness of the many ways in which action on climate change is under threat. Claire James from CACC outlines the sense of frustration and injustice that many feel with regard to recent government policy: “There have been 12,000 jobs lost last year in the solar industry alone and installation numbers have plummeted. Meanwhile fracking, hugely unpopular, is given determined backing.”

Ahead of the June election, campaigners are using the event to call for specific, cross-party commitments. One, fast-tracking the UK’s delayed Climate Change Plan. Two, ruling out new trade deals that compromise environmental, worker or consumer rights. And three, implementing a fair deal for UK solar and wind industry. “Our action on Saturday is about saying to the government – and to anyone who wants to form the next government – do your policies measure up?” says James.

These concrete political aims are an important way in which the movement differs from last weekend’s March For Science. That protest, inspired by the popularity of the Women’s March earlier this year, kept its message intentionally wide. As one of the London event’s organisers told DeSmog, it placed its emphasis on a generalised “celebration of science”. But this lack of specificity drew criticism from some quarters – for presenting a confusing message about politics' relationship to science.

Generalisation can also risk putting people off joining marches at all. Over the last few months, numerous friends have said they feel uncomfortable joining protests where they’re not sure that the person marching next to them is doing so for the same reasons. They’d feel much happier signing a petition, with a more specific and limited aim, they tell me.

This weekend’s climate marches risk drawing some of the same concerns. “Climate-change has become a synecdoche, a surrogate, for many causes in today’s world – social justice, the protection of nature, the rights of future generations, the defence of science,” says Professor Mike Hulme from King's College London. “Marches such as this give political voice to anti-establishment protest, but they don’t stop the climate changing.”

In addition, not all who want to see climate change prioritised by governments may agree over the exact course of action – with outright opposition to fracking, for instance, or to a third runway at Heathrow.

But this weekend’s movement also appears to have taken these lessons on board. First, they are putting their political aims up front. According the US event’s website, whereas the March for Science strove to be non-political, this movement “believes strongly in the need to call out the politicians.”

The link to the Paris Climate Treaty is helpful in this respect. The People’s Climate Movement traces its birth back to September 21 2014, the eve of the UN climate summit, when 400,000 people marched through New York demanding action on the climate crisis. This gives the movement a clear piece of legislation to both celebrate and defend.

And the London-based event is also attempting to re-think and expand what street-protests can achieve. “We’re doing a smaller action rather than a big march,” explains Claire James, “but we’re trying to have a real focus with the speakers on ‘what next’”. After the protest in Westminster, attendees are invited to join an afternoon of free food, activities and music, hosted by the food waste campaign Feedback. Here there will be even further opportunity to learn about the many ways – from divestment campaigns to local renewable energy groups – in which people can help press for change.

In this respect, public action against the climate crisis promises not to end when the walking does. And while protests won't stop climate change in themselves, joining a march can be a powerful reminder that we are not in this crisis alone.

India Bourke is an environment writer and editorial assistant at the New Statesman.

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