Cat Rambo Interviews Joe R. Lansdale

The second-most interesting thing about writing for video games is that odds are, the bulk of the writing that you’ll be doing will have very little to do with the “main” plot and its showier expressions. Yes, there is dialog to write and there are cut scenes to script and they are shiny and sexy and cool, but the thing is, a player’s only going to run across those lines and those scenes once as they advance through a game’s storyline. On the other hand, if they’re playing, say, a first person shooter, they’re going to encounter the so-called systemic dialog about shooting (and getting shot, and needing to reload, and needing to get the hell out of the way of an incoming grenade) rather more frequently than that. And, that in turn, means that you’re going to be spending a lot of time working on those lines, and generating a lot of them. You’re also going to be writing things like story documents, and character writeups, and team documents, and a dozen other things that aren’t the sexy bits with explosions that everyone thinks of when they think of game writing.

And that’s perfectly cool. Because those aspects of the gig require just as much craft and care as the more obvious ones, which means developing a whole new set of tools to make sure you get them right. Don’t believe me? Then go play a game where the systemic stuff didn’t get that tender loving care – where they didn’t produce enough variants so you hear the same lines coming from dozens of different enemies who probably shouldn’t be comparing notes with one another – and see if that starts getting annoying after a while. Better yet, find a game with one jarringly out of place systemic line and see if that doesn’t turn into the equivalent of nails on a chalkboard long before you’ve picked up all of the game’s achievements. (Trust me. I was kind of responsible for one of those.)

So, yes. There’s an awful lot of game writing that most people don’t really think about that’s necessary and intricate and hard work, and if you’re good at that you’re worth your weight in gold.

But that’s the second-most interesting thing. The first is that you’re not actually writing the story. Your protagonist is not the hero. And your version of how things are going to happen is going to crumble in the face of an irresistible force: the player.

Because in games, the player is the hero. It’s the player who makes every decision so that their particular journey through the game is unique to them. Even the little stuff – deciding when to reload or change garments or duck instead of sprinting – personalizes their experience in a way that defies the cast-in-stone progression of other narrative forms. Which means that as a game writer, you’re writing the stuff that the player turns into the story through their interaction with it. The wittiest dialog, the coolest cut scene, the most interesting plot twist – they all sit there, inert, until activated by the player’s interaction with them. Then and only then do they become part of that player’s story, a story that inevitably starts with the word “I” (and not “Lara Croft or “Sam Fisher” or “Pac-Man”) when it is told to friends later.

That’s a hard thing to grasp sometimes. The urge is to want to tell our stories, to tweak the timing and hone the experience so that everything’s sparkling and perfect and immutable. But that doesn’t work in a space where players are the reason the whole shebang exists, and while you may want your narrative elements to draw them forward, forcing them to do the same is liable to get some pushback.

And make no mistake, game players do love their story. Look at the uproar over the ending of Mass Effect 3 – that was about player investment in game characters and story,. Look at the love for games as wildly diverse as Gone Home and The Last of Us and Kentucky Route Zero and the utterly insane but brilliant DLC Gearbox put out for Borderlands 2. The writing in all of these games is something players want to experience; they just want to experience it in a way that makes it theirs, something they did instead of something they read or heard or watched.

And this is so much of what makes writing for games fun. It’s seeing that moment when the player inhabits your words, picks them up and makes them their own, that makes the crunches and the meetings and the endless, endless iterations of “Arrgh, he shot me” more than worthwhile.

Which reminds me, there’s a third really interesting thing about writing for video games. But that’s another story entirely.

Bio: Writer, game designer and cad, Richard Dansky was named one of the Top 20 videogame writers in the world in 2009 by Gamasutra. His work includes bestselling games such as Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell: Conviction, Far Cry, Tom Clancy’s Rainbow Six 3, Outland, and Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell: Blacklist. He has published six novels and the short fiction collection Snowbird Gothic, and is currently hard at work as the developer for the 20th Anniversary Edition of classic tabletop RPG Wraith: The Oblivion. Richard lives in North Carolina with his wife, statistician and blogger Melinda Thielbar, and their amorphously large collections of books and single malt whiskys.

Enjoy this writing advice and want more content like it? Check out the classes Cat gives via the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers, which offers both on-demand and live online writing classes for fantasy and science fiction writers from Cat and other authors, including Ann Leckie, Seanan McGuire, Fran Wilde and other talents! All classes include three free slots.

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Note from Cat: I’m so pleased to see Be The Sea out in print. I read an early version and it’s a lovely book. Please pick it up or request it through your local library!

A Yule log cake features prominently in my new novel, Be the Sea. While preparing it, four characters share bits of their history involving kitchens and cooking.

Kai, an outgoing enby poly pansexual from Hawai’i says, “Where I grew up, I loved everyone’s kitchen except mine.”

Aljon, a quiet ace sailor turned ship’s cook from the Philippines responds, “I felt safe in our kitchen and extended that to others.”

They’re both vegan, and Matt, who loves to feed people and is simultaneously making his second and third cakes for Yule, is Pagan. So the cake they make together is vegan, filled with pistachio cream spiraled inside chocolate cake. It’s frosted with whipped chocolate, applied in thick swoops with a knife, then textured using the tines of a fork to resemble bark. Powdered sugar is dusted on top as if there’s been a light winter snow; after all, this is a Yule log cake.

In truth, my household makes the same cake fashioned as…a groundhog.

Why? What’s the truth behind my fictional cake?

First, like my story’s point of view character, Wend, I love chocolate but grew up with a single mom who had little interest in or time for cooking, let alone baking. Second, and completely unrelated to my novel, my mom had a peculiar obsession with Groundhog Day (the holiday, not the movie). As she told it, this arose from a chance encounter with a newspaper reporter in San Francisco in the ‘60s who was asking passersby on the street if they knew what day it was. Evidently, the moment in my mom’s life when she felt most seen and affirmed was when she answered correctly that it was February 2nd, Groundhog Day.

I will never know if my mom would have identified as enby or ace (although I have my suspicions) because she passed away in the early ‘90s. What I know is that she made exactly one kind of cake. I don’t make it the same way she did, but once a year, for Groundhog Day, my chosen family chooses from several options for chocolate roll cakes. The tines of a fork pluck at the frosting until it looks like fur. A diagonal slice through the center makes one cake into two, each with a sloped face that can be decorated with nuts for ears and jellybeans for eyes.

In different times and different kitchens, each of us may share our own truths. We will see the same cake in new and different ways. And sometimes, in the eyes of a reporter or a groundhog, we will feel seen.

Choose your own—traditional, vegan, gluten-free, or nut-free—log or critter cake:

1) Cake

Preheat oven to 350 F. Line a 17×20” jelly roll pan with greased parchment (flour top if not gluten-free).

Baking for a traditional or gluten-free party? Jump to 1a.

Let’s make it vegan! Jump to 1b.

1a) Melt 4 oz melted bittersweet chocolate and allow it to cool a bit. In a mixing bowl, beat ¼ cup sugar and 6 egg yolks together for 5 minutes. Beat in chocolate, scrape down sides, blend until consistent.

In a separate mixing bowl, beat 6 egg whites until bubbly, add ¾ tsp cream of tartar, and beat until soft peaks form. Add 2 Tbsp sugar and beat until stiff peaks form. Fold into chocolate mixture a quarter at a time. Pour into prepared pan and bake 15 minutes (or until not shiny and center springs back when touched). Sprinkle with 1 Tbsp unsweetened cocoa and cover with damp towel while it cools. Jump to 2.

1b) Blend in a food processor until finely ground: 4 oz flour, 4 oz sugar, 4 oz unsweetened chocolate, and 2 oz blanched hazelnuts. Place in a sealed container in the freezer for at least an hour.

Mix until stiff peaks form: 12 oz water, 8 oz sugar, ¼ oz Versawhip (modified soy protein), and ¼ tsp xanthan gum. Refrigerate for at least an hour. Rewhip and quickly fold in chocolate mixture from freezer. Pour into a prepared pan and bake for 20 minutes (or until center springs back when touched). Sprinkle with 1 Tbsp unsweetened cocoa and cover with damp towel while it cools. Jump to 2.

2) Filling

Pull out yet another mixing bowl.

Stay nut-free with a traditional whipped cream filling! Jump to 2a.

Choose your favorite nuts (pistachio, walnut, cashew…) and stay vegan. Jump to 2b.

2a) Whip until soft peaks form: 1½ cup extra heavy whipping cream, 1½ Tbsp sugar, and ½ tsp vanilla (may use gelatin, agar agar, or Cobasan to stabilize if desired). Jump to 3.

2b) Blend 4 cups nuts, ½ cup maple syrup, seeds from 1 vanilla bean, and ½ cup water in a food processor until fluffy. Chill. (If using hard nuts like pistachios or cashews, it helps to soak them for 4 hours ahead of time with the vanilla bean slit open in the same water.) Jump to 3.

3) Frosting

Craving a classic creamy chocolate? Jump to 3a.

For intense vegan chocolate frosting that requires almost nothing beyond chocolate and finesse: Jump to 3b.

3a) Run 12 oz of your favorite bittersweet chocolate in a food processor until very fine. Keep that running as you pour 1½ cups of nearly boiling heavy whipping cream in a steady stream. (Adding ¼ cup more cream will make it fudgier. Adding ¼ cup of room temperature butter at the end will make it fluffier.) Cool completely once smooth. Jump to 4.

3b) Whip 9 oz of very hot water into 12 oz of melted bittersweet chocolate. Place in ice bath and whip until spreadable. (May be best to prepare this option after you roll the cake and spread immediately.) Jump to 4.

4) Bakers Assemble!

Spread the filling evenly onto the cake. Use the parchment to lift one long edge and roll, pulling back the parchment as you go. Refrigerate for one hour before slicing center diagonally (if desired for face or other decoration).

Spread with frosting, texture with a fork, and add candy or nut features to create the final—jump off the page to your own creativity!

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Author bio:

Clara Ward lives in Silicon Valley on the border between reality and speculative fiction. Their latest novel, Be the Sea, features a near-future ocean voyage, chosen family, and sea creature perspectives, while delving into our oceans, our selves, and how all futures intertwine. Their short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Decoded Pride, Small Wonders, and as a postcard from Thinking Ink Press. When not using words to teach or tell stories, Clara uses wood, fiber, and glass to make practical or completely impractical objects. More of their words along with crafted creations can be found at https://clarawardauthor.wordpress.com and their short stories can be found at https://clarawardauthor.wordpress.com/short-stories/