And progress came there none...

My as-yet-unnamed game is still ticking along, although I've yet to actually write any text. I'm settled on the basic structure, though. The PCs are all residents or visitors to a small seaside town that appears perfectly normal on the surface, but hides strange secrets within. There'll be a matrix of townsfolk into which the players will plug weird rumours. There'll be a set of basic plots which are then weirded up by the players.

Checking out the zeitgeist

Glancing at some of the other blogs, it looks like the two leading styles of game are 'nautical adventure with an emphasis on charts' and 'Dune-esque space intrigue.' Neat.

Small seaside towns and weirdness

While wandering around New Zealand in 2006, we visited this strange little town called Foxton. It was full of bizarre museums and curiosities, like a house of dolls and a replica Dutch windmill. We wondered what sort of people lived there. What's life like in a town with as many museums of lace doilies as general stores? Local weirdness; strange little towns; the bizarre beneath the utterly mundane.

So, here's the gimmick. The game's set in a small seaside town. At first glance, it all looks utterly mundane and boring. There's a map of town, and a list of townsfolk. As part of character generation, the players all come up with rumours about the town and its inhabitants. The game presents a framework that the players then hang weirdness on.

How does this relate to the ingredients? It covers Intrigue easily enough. Seabird fits in nicely too. The name of the town will be Fleur-de-Lis. Dividers and Star I could probably squeeze in, too. Significant inspirations would be everything from Pushing Daisies to Mythago Wood to The Shadow Over Innsmouth. What happens when you're on holiday in Kingsport?

Mechanically, the game would be quite simple. The main problem is bringing player creativity in without handing over story control, which I don't want to do. One option is to do some sort of grid that gets filled out over the course of play.

I'm not sold on this idea yet, although it is nicely low-key and I seem to be in a low-key mood. I'm attracted by the idea of a setting framework that appears extremely restrictive at first glance, but is actually almost totally open-ended. One version of Fleur de Lis might be filled with smugglers and aliens; another might be overrun with zombies and Cthulhu cultists, depending on the rumours that the players put forward.

I might chicken out and go for the Earthsea/Yokohama Shopping Trip idea, but I'll give 'Weird Small Seaside Town' a day or two of thought.

Initial Thoughts & Comments

The rules of Game Chef this year are so vague and fluffy that calling them rules, or guidelines, or even suggestions is lending them a steely consistency that really isn't there. We shall call them, instead, the tentative aspirations of Game Chef '09.

1) Submission Deadlines: You get a medal if your game is submitted in a week, in two weeks, in a month, or in a year.

There's no way I'm going to have a game together in a week, not when I'm supposed to be kicking High Programmer into shape this month. (Ah, High Programmer. Six weeks to write a 200-page book from scratch that redefines the nature of PARANOIA is... [message redacted]). A month for an initial draft seems plausible. So, initial idea in a week, vague structure in two, draft in a month. Deadly.

2) Ingredients: Intrigue, Fleur de Lis, Dividers, Seabird, Star

You don't have to use any of the ingredients, although you're supposed to aim to include at least two or three. Intrigue isn't appealing to me right now, not with most of my head in PARANOIA. Fleur de Lis is too specific. Dividers is interesting, but drags me to either Masonry or navigation at sea. Star is a step on a road that leads to rewriting Polaris or something equally undesirable.

Seabird is very evocative. I'm wondering about an Earthsea-esque game, possibly with shades of Yohohama Shopping Trip. At the same time, do I want to write a game where "sitting around on boats feeling the peaceful transience of life" is the orc and the pie?

3) Special Distinctions. Get a medal for

• Game playable via internet or cellphone
• Game submitted as audio or visual file
• Game is less than 4 pages
• Game is for three players
• Game is the prettiest
• Game requires a custom object
• Game reimagines an older game chef design
• Game about sports
• Game is a board game
• Co-write a game
• Game is set in 2001
• Game involves zombies

Ironically, I'd have been all over some of these in other moods. Half my games are board games at heart anyway, three players is a lovely number, and hey, zombies. I think I'll skip most of these achievements, though, at least initially.

Basically, so far my thoughts are 'seabirds are nice.'

Actually, my thought is of a drowned world. Fishermen sail over the ruins of ancient cities, and sometimes draw up strange things in their nets, but there is no meaning left here, only the cry of the gulls. And I don't know what that means.

A place to stand

Or, some principles I want to keep in mind.

1) My heart is not with the story kids. I appreciate 'story now', and narrativism, and clever tricks, but the fundamental act of roleplaying for me is entering into a cohesive shared-world. The more a game forces me to use abstract story-manipulation tools instead of concrete world-manipulation tools - or, more correctly, rules - the less I enjoy it.

Resolution: Write what I want to play, instead of subconsciously trying to fit in with the cool gang. If that means writing initiative mechanics and combat rules, so be it.

2) Given a free hand, I over-mechanise. I try to be both GM and rules designer, covering every eventuality and corner-case in the rules. Worse, I write these rules in the full knowledge that if I were actually running the game, I'd dump three-quarters of them and run it on the fly.

Resolution: Write only the rules that are needed. Parsimonious rule design is a must.

3) This is not a commercial endeavour. Working in what we laughably call 'the industry' means I approach too many ideas from a marketing perspective, asking 'how can this game sell' before it's even played.

Resolution: I will not consciously consider monetising any game chef ideas. I won't rule out the possibility of publishing the game, but that will not be a short or medium-term goal. This is game design as a creative exercise, not on spec design.

Game Chef, Attempt #3

My diamond shoes are too tight, and my wallet won't fit in my jeans anymore.

Or, to put it another way, I'm a writer complaining about being paid to write all day. My day job is as a staff writer for Mongoose Publishing. I get to sit around all day writing roleplaying games. This should be a thing of joy, and sometimes it is. Other times, not so much. You see, the Mongoose system (tm) means that most of the Big Decisions - what books to write next, what systems to concentrate on - are taken by the Great and Secret Masters over in Swindon. Once the Decision is made, it's handed over to the staff writer, who churns out the book. When the Decision and the staff writer's interests are in accord, it works well. Other times, not so much, but that's a rant for another blog.

The point is that I get to write roleplaying material all day, but I don't get to choose the nature of that material (or the deadlines). That's why I want to try Game Chef again.

I've entered twice in the past.

In 2007, I semi-completed Poking the Emperor (which ironically is part of the inspiration for my current day-job project, High Programmer for PARANOIA).

In 2008, I started, but then flew to Japan. Fantastic from a falling-in-love-and-getting-engaged perspective, but a rather poor decision in terms of actually finishing a game design.

This year, it's a way to refocus myself and get out of this damnable creative doldrums.