Game Designer

Credit: Sheri Graner Ray

Just for the record, my parents don’t think I fingerpaint all day. They know my job involves a computer.

Edit: If there were room for one more, it would be “What some players think I do”. An evil genius would sit in a dark room, steepled fingertips, cackling evilly while contemplating how best to nerf the entire system, just to screw with one player’s individual skills, favorite inventory items, and particular playstyle, and make sure they can’t have any fun at all. Mwahahaha!

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Unclaimed Flowers

“While I was away from my desk, a dozen roses arrived with no delivery name, card just just reads Love, Jeff. If anyone has a significant other named Jeff please contact him to see if he sent you flowers.”

–Mass email from the office receptionist

This is a fairly large building. It’s quite possible that more than one boyfriend or husband called Jeff is about to encounter some Valentine’s awkwardness.

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Herpetology

I’m on the phone with Eric and I ask him to tell Kristine, his sister and my old roommate, that I made use of some of her herpetology background while in Florida.

“Oh?” Eric said, jumping to the immediate Hoffmann conclusion. “Did you bring home a new pet?”

“Close. We passed a big mud puddle, and so I talked to Harold about vernal pools for the next mile and a half!”

“Did he drive faster to make our lecture go by faster?”

“No, we were walking. Turns out, I learned quite a lot about vernal pools from Kristine.”

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ORL to JFK

Our flight was mysteriously delayed for two hours, but we noticed another JetBlue flight flying into JFK a couple hours earlier, and asked the employees if maybe there were two seats on the earlier flight. (Oh, and internet? Harold would like you to know that we were at the airport early enough to make that switch because of he got us to the airport successfully several hours before our original flight. This is because he plans ahead.) It was a bafflingly pleasant interaction at the JetBlue counter. After several opportunities for the staff to tell us we were out of luck or charge us fees, they did nothing of the sort. They reorganized our flight back, maintained our upgrades to legroom seats, and sent us on our way in a glow of cheerful efficiency.

Harold and I left the counter in a daze.

“What just happened?” I asked him, “Was that even real?”

“Why would they let us do that?” Harold asked.

“Anyone confronted with how miserable you are in airports would do anything to make it go away.”

“Really? It’s that awful to travel with me?”

“Of course not! Sorry, it’s my snark tourettes. I guess maybe they were just nice people who didn’t want us to sit all Sunday in the airport?”

“Nice people don’t work in the airport! That’s a logical fallacy! Are you sure I’m not really awful to travel with?”

We were back in Brooklyn in a few hours. Don’t worry, we hadn’t slipped into an alternate dimension, everyone at JFK was tired and in a hurry.

Ah, home.

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Shopping At Hogsmeade

Harold was in Orlando for work, and I went down to join him for a couple days. My trip was thrown together in my typical impulsive way, which is not usually how staid, organized Harold likes to do things. So I sent him last-minute flight confirmation, and he sent back, almost instantly, an email with two tickets to Harry Potter World, and an understated request to print the attached. (Guess who did not actually print and bring said tickets? Could anyone have seen that coming?)

“What? Really?” I wrote back, “Will you even like it? Isn’t my copy of Sorcerer’s Stone still unopened and now dust-covered in your room? Have you even seen any of the movies?”

“Of course I’ll enjoy it! You really love it, and I’d enjoy going with you.” Harold responded. “And I like that magic Henry Porter kid!”

(Harold is pretty awesome.)

IMAG0865I had an amazing day — Harry Potter World is actually a section of the Universal park. There’s also a Marvel superheroes section, and an Old Time Comic Strips That Used To Run In The Sunday Paper, Back When There Was a Sunday Paper section, and  a Jurassic Park section. It was definitely the off-season at the park, with short lines for rides, marked with 10 Minutes advertised on a sign with space for wait times of several hours.

Hogsmeade is an amazingly detailed recreation. The titles on the spines in the bookshop are referenced in the stories, and it felt a bit like a Renn fair, with many visitors in wizarding robes or house colors.  There was also a club of about forty high-schoolers, who went into the Three Broomstick and seated themselves according to house tables. (I sort of wanted to hug all of them.)

Later, we went into one of the shops in Hogsmeade.

Harold: What do you think of this shirt?

Meg: But that’s a Hufflepuff shirt! Didn’t I tell you what’s wrong with Hufflepuffs?

Harold: Yeah, I guess you did, but I don’t know about all that. They seem just fine to me.

Passing HP Fan: Can’t really argue with the Sorting Hat, miss.

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Twenty Minutes

“North Carolina’s not so bad!” I think, changing planes in Charlotte on my way to see Harold. “It’s sunny here, and southern politeness is charming. Maybe I should just have a better attitude! It’s probably going to be fine!” I enjoy hearing Southern manners for about ten seconds, before wishing that anyone else in the airport actually had a plane to catch, and could walk at normal speed. Or at least keep to the right for moseying along.

I find myself totally incomprehensible to a cashier, until I sigh and make myself say “Yea-uh. Oooone. Sweeeeet. Taaaaaaay. Yea-uh.”  I’m trying not to be the miserable New Yorker, but I’m kicking myself for using cash as I stand captive while the cashier struggles to make change. I try not to wonder whether she is baffled by the subtraction…

Twenty minutes later, I’ve walked to the other side of the airport, and remembered how much I like being in New York. I wish that didn’t come with the re-realization of how much I hate North Carolina.

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18 to 35

I usually feel pretty good about being a woman working in games. Sure, other feminists protest, and write books, and pass legislation. Women around the world risk injury or prosecution. But my huge move for women’s equality is doing a job I really like, and working in an industry I really like, and being good at it — all without having a penis!

Sometimes, being a woman in the games industry is a bit like my years as a foreigner in China, when every so often characteristics I’m barely even aware of become huge and noteworthy. In Yantai, it was more, That’s a foreigner! Buying apples! Whoa! In games, I’ll be doing something I do all the time, and encounter shock that I am a woman doing that. That’s a girl! Doing game-related math! Whoa!

And, whenever someone visiting our offices mentions the startling fact that we have women working in computer games, I am ready with stats on how 18- to 35-year-old women are the fastest growing market share in games, or how casual games are growing in number and profitability, especially amount women.

This is a difficult codeswitching for me. I want propose game content in terms of how it will be fun for players, but that makes folks in my office laugh at me, and not in the good way. It is a constant effort for me to reframe “my players will love this activity!” as “players engaging this activity will monetize as this rate”.

So, the other day, when I was told again how surprising it is to see women in a game studio, and especially a woman in game design, I was quick to respond with my prepared stats.

“Women from 18 to 35 are a fast-growing market share.” I said “They monetize highly in casual games.”

“They got all that money from the eighteen- to thirty-five-year old men they divorced.” I was told.

I couldn’t force a laugh at this witticism, but that’s okay because it wasn’t intended as a joke. When the speaker registered my reaction to this, he told me it was ok to say because he knows so many wealthy ex-wives.

Of course I’m furious at being confronted with that mentality. I’m annoyed that this person will have a marked effect on the profitability and longevity of my project. I’m also annoyed at how vague I’ve got to be on the identity of the speaker, instead of calling out this person on the extreme level of sexism, because there could be very direct career consequences. (And, in a less direct way, because women who express this sort of indignation are quickly characterized as strident harpies, as tough to work with, and so forth.)

I’d thought I was changing gender expectations by working in games. Turns out, I wasn’t really expected to be working at all.

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Raptr!

Raptr! Conveniently listing my content release in-world time! Oh, man.

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I Don’t Get It

Whenever someone tells a really obvious, off-color joke, Stick will look at them, cock his head to the side, look blank for a moment, and deadpan “I don’t get it.”

He says this a lot. Actually, he says this so much that somehow I’d somehow forgotten that Stick is the only person who says this. And, you might not know this from my blog, but Stick is actually not known by the entire world.

So today a bad-punning coworker made a stupid comment, and I followed it up by telling him I don’t get it.  There was a dead silence for a second, and then riotous laughter from the rest of the office.

Jokes on them all, though. That’s not even my line.

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Occupy The Desk!

IMAG0804

Caitlin was out today, so Financial (Nash) and Creative (me) collaborated to redecorate her desk. We left this for her to find on Monday! (We have it on good authority that Caitlin is moving today and doesn’t have internet access!)

 

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