Let's talk games.

No preamble.
No introductions.
Let's just talk games.

And what I don't want to talk about (at least at the beginning of writing here) is this wrinkle or that little mechanic, or how cool the board art for such and such is.

I mean, let's ask big heavy questions like, "Why do humans play games at all?"

Because there is no doubt in my mind that there exists a gestalt, grand, and sweeping aether surrounding games and game design. There is a long historical meta that has anthro- and sociologically shaped what we do, what we crave, and (most certainly) what we play. Humans play games. Other species play, but we play games. We codify. We label. We transform symbols and sounds to represent objects that exist in the world that surrounds us. Once we got that survival and food surplus thing under control, we got down to business and decided to play some games. Not just dexterity games or athletic competitions, which boil down to the same thing as the mama cat teaching the kittens how to pounce and kill. But games with a second layer of reality.

Mancala. Chess. Go.  We modeled the high courts and marketplaces that helped us evolve out of the muck and separate ourselves from the beasts, on rough hewn boards with small trinkets or stones. These tools , and they are simply tools towards a greater purpose, allowed you to defy reality in some way, and become greater than your station, even for a moment.  You could defeat a king, even as a pauper. You could defend territory, without being conscripted. You could out-swindle the wily trader at the bazaar. Did you believe you were actually doing those things? No. But your imagination was inspired to take flight for that moment of victory and escape reality for a bit.

Games exist for the greater ideal and the bigger picture. They fill a void in our human experience of the world. The downtrodden win at something, at anything. The middle class ascends to earn and spend. The elite conquer all.

Oftentimes, I feel let down when I see transcripts of Q & A's or read theory pieces by other game designers. They seem to have little idea of this pre-existing, bigger, human need for experience. Their answers are woefully short-sighted, or wandering, or just plain off-base. They show no outward recognition, at least, of this glaring need our species has to transform via games and gameplay. The fans of their individual games probably don't notice, and those that attempt to write critically about game design seem to take them to task for small failures, or carelessness with a mechanic or fluff, but not for being unaware (or at least not showing awareness of) these larger modes of hows and whys. And maybe that's why it's easier to just make a game that's hopefully going to sell well, and have that be your design barometer. Maybe when I make a game that sells well, I'll understand.

Games must be, by necessity, greater than the sum of their parts. If four people sitting around a table with a piece(s) of cardboard between them are ever actually cognizant of THAT fact, that they are four people sitting around a table with a piece(s) of cardboard between them, then that game is a failure. That game will not exist in their minds. Nor will it exist on their table for very long.

Games should propel you. Games should elevate you. Our humanity tells us that it's so. So, go and propel and elevate and enlighten. Forget about the minutiae and the details and peer deep inside every genetic and archival part of who you are as a human being... and make that game.

That's what we try to do. And that process is one we will talk about here, among other things.

Onwards!

-Jay