So I’m kicking off 2025 by talking about dream projects again. I’ve sung the praises of a couple modern game series previously with Army of Two and Sly Cooper but, for this one, I’m going back to the early days of gaming with an absolute all-time, Pitfall!
Gators and snakes and scorpions!
Designed by David Crane (who helped make the early life sim Little Computer People) and published by Activision, the original Pitfall! has so many interesting systems happening. The core objective is simple: take control of brave adventurer Pitfall Harry to navigate a treacherous map, avoid danger, and pick up treasure. Treasure gave you points and you had twenty minutes to get as many points as you could. Different treasures are worth a different amount of points and their placement is randomized—so you can’t memorize a best path. (I’ll get more into that soon.) Hazards and dangerous creatures abound. Sand pits, scorpions, fires, alligators, and more are eager to take one of Harry’s precious lives from him. But you can run, jump, swing on vines, jump on closed alligator mouths, and climb ladders to take shortcuts and get around challenges.
That gameplay alone—especially back then—would have been enough to hook most gamers. Whether you think of Indiana Jones or Tarzan, the idea of running through a hostile jungle filled with traps and creatures and bouncing on reptiles to get across water sounds pretty fantastic. The team added something truly special though: procedural screens. I won’t go into the details of why (though they’re pretty fascinating as a fan of early gaming history) but not only was animal and treasure and trap placement randomized, everything was. Well, proceduralized anyway. This write-up does a good job of breaking it down. The long and short is that, at a time when Adventure for the 2600 boasted 30 individual screens, Pitfall! shipped with 255 thanks to truly ingenious engineering.
In the decades since, the formula laid out in Pitfall! has gone in numerous directions. Tomb Raider, Uncharted, Spelunky, La Mulana, Temple Run, and countless other games drew inspiration from the escapades of Pitfall Harry but, as the game that laid out so many movement and enemy behavior standards, the entire platformer genre—from Super Mario, Alex Kidd, Bonk, and Sonic the Hedgehog and modern masterpieces like Super Meatboy and Celeste—owes a debt of gratitude as well.
Was Pitfall! successful? Did it spawn sequels? Did they make a portable version? Was the game ever turned into a Saturday Morning Cartoon? Let’s take a look.
This isn’t the history of Pitfall! though. It’s about what it means to me and what potential the game has for the modern era.
Pitfall! actually means a lot to me. I have vivid memories of playing the game on the Commodore 64. Pitfall! and Miner 2049er ate up more of my time on that machine than anything else. So I have an emotional connection. We all know though that nostalgia is not a business case.
Asking “does the world need a new Pitfall! game?” is a fair question. There have been many over the years. Lots of people have taken lots of runs at the game. And some major successes have come from that space (such as the aforementioned Spelunky). It stands to reason, since I’m writing this post, that I think there’s room for a new entry in the line.
From Dead Cells to Dungreed, from Noita to Neon Abyss to the games mentioned throughout this post already (do I have to mention Spelunky again?), roguelite action-platformers are an exciting (and popular!) genre. It’s one that I love playing and that I think has room for new ideas. Bringing in the classic Pitfall! elements along with some fun tweaks would make for a fantastic update that honors and advances the original. Activision is already juggling a lot of these days so I doubt an update to a forty-year old game is on the calendar but, man, I wish it was. I’d love the chance to make the case for it anyway.
I mean, maybe it’s just coincidence but Jack Black starred in a commercial for Pitfall! back in 1982 and then went on to global super stardom. Dude also starred in Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle and its sequel which are pretty much Pitfall! The Game: The Movie(s). So. I mean. C’mon.
From video gaming’s earliest days, designers have been imagining a dizzying array of worlds, play styles, and ways to entertain. From Pong to Zork to Adventure to Mega Man to Halo and far beyond, gaming has been a platform for interactive experiences across an array of design paradigms. Diversity in concept, from intimate narrative games to sprawling action epics to brain-twisting puzzle games to intense multiplayer battlers, has been a strength similar to other media but with an element of engagement unique to the medium.
I imagine some of the industry’s original luminaries could foresee a world when gamers around the globe were playing their creations together, in real time, sharing the experiences they made. But I wonder if any of those toiling in the digital mines forty years ago saw quite the world we live in today exactly how we live in it. A world always online, always connected in ways that are changing and evolving at an incredible pace. A world in which games are now played at home, on the go, from a couch or from a pocket! A world where all of that can be the same game! A world where playing one game can unlock goodies inside an entirely different game! A world where gamers have more options than ever before—with a dizzying amount of new games being released every single day. A world where some games are vying to be the only game that anyone ever plays.
I highly doubt Tōru Iwatani ever imagined his pizza-inspired maze runner would evolve into this.
Gaming and the internet have a love affair as old as time. I was playing games on dial-up bulletin boards when I was in junior high. I was connecting to friends to play the original Doom on my brother’s computer ages before you could play it on a calculator. But the advent of Xbox Live changed the rules of what playing online meant.
Friends lists gave me a convenient way to track those I wanted to play games with. Pairing up with friends for an online session became easier than ever. I could chat with friends while scrolling console settings before jumping into one game before loading up another. Achievements gave me carrots to chase that went beyond finishing level, defeating a boss, or getting a high score. I could easily update games with patches to fix issues or rebalance system and I could just as easily add content packs with new areas, game modes, characters, missions, and more. While other platforms followed suit, Xbox Live led the charge in hammering down a lot of boards upon which our modern house of gaming stands. (Fair note: MMOs played their role as well and have done so since the late 90s.)
Mobile and browser-based games, while often dismissed by “real gamers,” led innovations in free-to-play and community-based goals. You could start a farm for the cost of a Facebook login. Need 16 corn? Ask your friends. Friends aren’t playing? Invite them! Or befriend those who already are and build your online community. Don’t have time or don’t want more friends? Then you can circumvent the whole social aspect by dropping some real-world cash.
These ideas and others would eventually converge into what I call Forever Games. If you haven’t played one of these, you certainly have heard of them. Fortnite, Valorant, Overwatch, Destiny, and the newly-released Marvel Rivals all fit this bill. And while they may not want to be the only game you ever play, they are vying to dominate your investment—both time and money.
Forever Games are built around some simple but bold ideas:
They want to lower the barrier of entry so anyone can join.
They want you to play with your friends.
They want to offer a world that changes over time.
They want to offer rewards for engaging with their content.
They want to be the game you play forever.
They want to make money.
(Forever Games employ a lot of systems categorized under the “Games as a Service” umbrella but I don’t want to conflate the two. A game can have GaaS aspects without being a Forever Game but I’ll talk about that another time.)
Forever Games didn’t invent free-to-play but they often take advantage of it. If you have the hard drive space (or the bandwidth to stream it), you can play the game. Some games will gate characters or other elements to those who don’t chip in but you can play the game with zero monetary investment. Making access free fulfills the first bullet point and contributes significantly to the second. Love a game and want a friend to check it out? They can do so with no up-front cost.
These games want to be the place where you and your friends spend your time. They don’t want you at the movies, they want you playing the game. They don’t want you at the club, they want you playing the game. They want you to jump into Discord with your besties (or online streamer community), launch the game, and go. Chat, drink, eat, do whatever you want to parallel to gaming but continue gaming. Build camaraderie and enjoy the pleasure of shared experience inside their virtual world. Plus, the more people playing, the quicker lobbies fill and sessions launch—which minimizes a key frustration point for multiplayer games.
Matchmaking time—and thus time between sessions—can make or break player momentum.
Of course, no matter how big a game may be, game features lose shine over time. No one (well, very few) will play the same game over and over without something fundamental changing. So Forever Games add dynamic content. They change up the loot table so that different items, weapons, and gear drop during different playthroughs. They change the character balance and abilities to alter the meta and keep the community on their toes. They alter the literal playing field by adding new maps or map features. They add alternate modes that let you play with your toys in new ways. They do all of these as minor tweaks frequently, usually under the theme of a season or story arc. Then, when they introduce a new season or arc, they make major changes that really freshen things up. They also employ time-limited events where players must be butt-in-chair at specific times or miss out on exclusive drops or XP.
Forever Games wants you to know they see you, appreciate you, and want you to come back by offering rewards for your engaging with their content. They give you new cosmetics, XP to unlock perks, or currency for their in-game store. Even those who pay nothing will get tchotchkes for playing as a thank-you for filling out their lobby and keeping their concurrent user statistics above the line.
Because they want you to play this game forever. The game wants to be your lifelong buddy, your gaming bestie, and your favorite destination for online entertainment.
The game wants you to play it forever, of course, because the publisher and developer(s) need to make money. Not want, need. Games cost money to stand up and then require additional money to keep going. Without income from the player base, the line goes down and the game is shuttered. Developers used to get money from you by selling you their game once but the Forever Game paradigm requires something more. So, while the game is often free to play and gives you no-cost rewards for playing, it also offers a line of premium goods. Standalone items, bundles, and battle passes are all common wrappers for premium content. None of this is required to play the game. It doesn’t alter the game or create a “play to win” situation. But it speaks to something primal within us. Some developers employ psychologists and economists along with skilled designers to create systems that tap into needs and wants deep within us. And those developers who don’t employ such specialists are often building upon the work of those developers who did.
Not sure I’d trust Lucy to consult on your upcoming competitive looter-skater, Sir.
You can find lots of vitriol online about this but you won’t find that here. This model isn’t a flaw and, honestly, I don’t see it as predatory by nature (though it can be by execution). Buying Valorant once doesn’t fit what the game is. Its payment model—or something like it—is necessary for the game as designed. (Whether such a payment model leads the design or vice versa depends not only on the game but the individual design.) A pay-once model simply doesn’t support a game as big, as varied, and as evolving as Forever Games strive to be.
For those on top, this model pays bank. You don’t need me to tell you how much cash Fortnite is raking in. But Epic’s burgeoning metaverse is not the only game that longs to be your forever. Lots of Forever Games are competing for your attention and time. And more are coming. Some will be successful. But most will not draw the user base, will not lock in the monetization, and will not recuperate their development cost much less turn a profit and generate a revenue stream. Even with a gamer base in the millions, people only have so much time. Which Forever Games need, more than any other type of game.
My fear is that more and more pocketbook-holders, salivating over the potential of the next big Forever Game, will think chasing that dragon is the only path to success. My fear—one that is already being realized—is that mid-tier games will disappear as publishers only fund small projects and big gambles. My fear is that the only way us game developers will be able to pay our bills doing what we love will be in a torturous cycle of studios and projects booming and busting. (Another strong argument for work-from-home.)
I like cooperative experiences. I like playing through campaigns with friends. I like murking monsters in horde modes with a couple buddies. I like dropping on the map and almost getting the crown. I like shared experiences. I like repeatable experiences. I have played and liked quite a few Forever Games. I worked on Fortnite for three years and had a blast doing so. During that time, I contributed to Save the World, Battle Royale, LTMs, competitive, Creative, seasonal events, and there are a lot of store items out there with names and descriptions by yours truly. Both working at High Voltage and with Epic and all the modes I contributed to was a real good time. So this isn’t a hit-piece on Forever Games. These are my thoughts on why the prospect of competing in that space scares the shit out of me.
From my perspective, any game attempting to nudge into that space faces three incredibly difficult challenges—obstacles that exist outside the quality of the game. You can make a great game and still not succeed. We’ve seen it before. These are hurdles that any game faces, yes, but especially any game whose stock in trade is “I want to be your next hobby.” You have to have a damn good argument that overcomes three key player hurdles. Areas where players have invested and where you are asking them to start anew: their expertise, their friends, and their stuff.
Player Hurdle 1: Their Expertise
Gamers don’t need to know the meta or best strats or prime team composition to have expertise. They don’t need to consider themselves “good at the game.” They don’t need to get top frag every match. If they’ve played enough Fortnite or Valorant or Overwatch or Apex Legends, they have internalized aspects of that game they may not even realize. From intuitive navigation of the controls to immediate read of the items or abilities to an understanding of where locations can be found on the map, they have a familiarity with the game that provides comfort and lets them slip right into a session with minimal anxiety or neophobia.
If I’m releasing a new game, I am asking players to learn a lot of new things. New controls, yes, even if they are built on familiar or common schema. New characters who will move at a different pace than they’re used to. Who will have different ways to engaging with an environment that has unique ways of messaging interactivity. Is that big? If they’re a gamer, no. They’re probably used to it and, honestly, those variances are rarely significantly divergent. But the variance exists. What’s really big are the new items and abilities they must use. Those things are usually the grandest expressions of a game’s big ideas. Those items are how the game’s verbs are usually expressed the loudest. I’m asking player to learn what each character’s abilities do and how they should be used. I’m asking them to learn the range, accuracy, recoil, damage, and reload speed of each weapon. I’m asking them to learn the layouts, vantage points, and secrets of each map. Your average player may not consider themselves an expert at their favorite game but each one of them has expertise. Convincing them to start at (or close to) zero is your first hurdle.
Player Hurdle 2: Their Friends
If I’m trying to bring someone over to my Forever Game, I need their friends to come with them. So much of online gaming is comfort-driven and a huge part of that is playing with people you know and trust. Some online gaming communities are notoriously toxic which drives the so-called casuals—who are the majority of players—to come in as a group. Having people you like chatting in your ear—and not some sweaty comp-beast criticizing your every shot, yelling slurs and threats, and being a complete aggro ass—makes for a more pleasant gaming experience.
Sure, they can chat with their friends on a private server while they play two very different games but then they’re missing out on sharing that common experience which so much of multiplayer gaming offers.
If I’m releasing a new Forever Game, I don’t just have to sell to one person, I have to sell to their friends too. If I don’t, I may get a person’s attention for a little while but they will eventually go back to where their friends are.
Player Hurdle 3: Their Stuff
Finally, there’s the very real dread of starting over. If some has played a Forever Game long enough, they have earned skins, emotes, character options, guns, skills, perks, and all sorts of trophies that signify and celebrate the time spent and the successes had. Gamers open their locker or trunk and they see their stuff. Whether earned by doing or paid for with cash, gamers have accumulated a big ol’ pile of stuff that is theirs. Even if they only ever play the same character with the same skins and same weapons, they have their Tickle Trunk of goodies I know they still look at now and then. It reinforces a sense of accomplishment and tells the player, “You haven’t wasted your time! Look at the fun you had! Look at the stuff you got!”
If I’m releasing a new Forever Game, I’m asking gamers to start fresh. Even if I give them freebies, they have no emotional connection to them because they invested neither time nor money in them. Even if the stuff looks cool, even if the characters and weapons are from their favorite fandom, they don’t have the same deep down connection as they do to the weapon skin they got for completing some difficult set of challenges, getting first place for the first time, or being present when they helped blow up the enemy headquarters three seasons ago.
In Sum
Forever Games will continue to happen. And some will break through. Some will jump over the hurdles and wow the crowd and get the gold. Good. Forever Games, as a concept, are fine. But the math doesn’t work for a hundred of them to be successful. Even with a wide array of gameplay genres—and I can name RPGs, MOBAs, hero shooters, battle royales, and more without even pausing to think—there’s only so much time in the day. For one to rise, another must fall. The clock only has twelve numbers. And saying “well, yes, but OUR GAME is better and OUR GAME will succeed” is a real cool guy thing to say but can be horribly irresponsible in some situations.
As a fan, there’s an appeal to having more games get released. More games is more games! As someone who works in the industry, I’m not confident we need more Forever Games. It’s fine to have them. I’m happy that movies have a few cinematic universes out there but I don’t want to have invest a hundred hours into film and show lore so I can understand the subplot of the eighth episode of the latest tie-in series.
Games, gamers, and gaming need room to breathe. We need new ideas, new paradigms, new activities, new perspectives, and new experiences. We need a world where Forever Games exist but don’t have all the gravity. Where publishers, developers, and players are all investing in that truth. (Don’t think I don’t see you, indie devs and pubs. You are, for my money, the most exciting thing in gaming and you have my heart absolutely; this is an appeal for the Big Boys.)
I have a lot more thoughts on this—and on the concept of a metaverse where a game client is a portal to varied experiences that share currency and assets and all that—but I’ll wrap up this post instead of going down that rabbit hole.
Anyway. All this to say that the games industry is messy right now. I think pushing millions-into-billions all to chase the dream of Forever Games is doing a big disservice to the gaming industry across all sectors. The sooner we accept diversity is the way to prosperity, the better off we all will be. As a small cog in a massive machine, I can only let the titans fight and hope for the best. I just want to make cool games.
Adrift and uncertain, trying desperately to steer the ship to shore.
In many ways, the past few years have been wonderful to me. Far beyond my dreams, in fact. A newfound love, an ever-strengthening bond with my kids, new friends and family, and new opportunities all provided light to me after many many dark days. As a partner, I feel blessed. As a father, I feel proud. As a son, I feel lucky. As a creative, I feel…unfulfilled.
And I am, for good or ill, a creative through and through. I have tried to quiet the drive–and it will dull to a whisper for a while–but it never rests for long and it comes back with ferocity. It is a part of me that I cannot deny. Instead, I must own. I must accept this inexorable truth: I have to create.
I have to. Whether it’s making powerpoints for projects that will never happen or stubbing ideas into a Google doc or writing up blog posts or drafting orphan paragraphs or prototyping simple video game concepts, I have to make stuff.
I’m fortunate to make my living by doing what I love and what I’m best at. I have been working in video games–as a writer, as a designer, as a creative lead–for coming on 20 years. (It will be exactly 20 years on January 3rd of next year.)
As of this writing, I have numerous concepts swirling in my head. I have a novel at about 55% completion with many others at lesser levels of completion along with a veritable ocean of whatabouts and whatifs. I have a day job making video games. Still, I need more.
I know “creative satisfaction” is a cryptid. I know the goalpost of “I made it!” is ever-shifting. Like a certain determined coyote, I have fallen off many ledges, run into numerous cliffsides, and been flattened by countless trains in my pursuit of the Road Runner named “The Next Best Thing.” I am not pursuing the new for new’s sake. What is lacking in my creative self is putting something out there that I truly own and love. What’s also lacking–what’s far more important–is a sense of security.
I don’t feel secure. Sitting here, staring into the waning days of 2024, at the curvature of 2025 just ahead, my veins run cold with dread. I’m 48 years old. I feel unprepared financially for the future. The weight of past mistakes hunches my shoulders. My neck and back ache from this ever-present fear that the floor could give way at any moment. I am not James Gunn. I am not Leigh Whannel. I am not R.L. Stine. I am not Tim Schafer. I am not Sid Meier. I am not Your Favorite Creative. I am not a name many people have ever heard of.
Which is all fine. I mean, I’ve had the opportunities. I’ve had the years. I’ve had the same chances to do similar things to achieve similar success. And it didn’t happen for me. In all likelihood, it will never “happen” for me. I’ll remain like most creatives: doing the work I can on the opportunities afforded to me. I’m not bitter. If anything, I’m a bit disappointed (in myself) and I’m a bit scared.
I’m disappointed in myself because I can recall entire years where I had windows of time that I spent in a stupor. Yes, I was processing trauma and depression and myriad other mental health issues–but I was wallowing in it. I wasn’t trying to get through or get better. I was sitting on my couch, staring at social, and going nowhere. Prior–decades prior–I had youth and energy and wasted years talking but not doing. Dreaming but not trying. Hoping but not reaching.
I’m scared because I haven’t truly processed what being 48 means. I’m young to the old and old to the young, yeah yeah yeah. I have more time behind me than, reasonably, I have ahead of me. If I’m not over the hill, I’m certainly at the top and looking down. The sand in the hourglass is heavier at the bottom than the top. I’m afraid I’ll never feel fulfilled in this regard. Long gone are the wide eyes of youth. My vision is narrowed, concentrated, and I’m asking myself over and over “How?”
My only path to security is my creativity. I lack the skills or interest in creating the hot new gadget everybody needs. No shark in any tank is going to give me $3.5m for 35% stake in some health food company I found. The movement of money–stocks and hedges and all that capitalist machinery–confounds me. I have the talents I have. I have good ideas that I can execute well. I have good ideas. Hey–I have plenty of bad ideas too. But I have good ones. A few excellent ones even. I can execute them well. I don’t always do so but I can.
So I stand at the fork and the many paths ahead and wonder “which way do I go?” All seem exciting. All seem equally achievable (which is to say “equally unachievable”). I only have so much time though. How do I dedicate it? I can only make so much. What do I make?
How do I know which road leads to home?
Robert Frost knew what was up.
I want to make at least one video game that I truly own and love before I die. I want to walk into a bookstore and see my novel on its shelves. I want to not shake for a moment before I open a new bill. I want to not feel the stone in my heart when I imagine my golden years. That’s what I want. Those two things.
A video game that I am fully and completely proud to show the world and go “I made this.”
A want a novel to prove to myself that, yes, twelve-year old me wasn’t delusional. I do have what it takes.
But which video game? Which novel? My head is nothing if not creative static.
I work hard to shove aside the thousand different concepts rushing around my noggin. I am instead focusing on just a few. A project with my eldest child. And a novel I started back in 2019 that I’m working on finishing. Those are my writing pursuits.
The video game one is trickier. The industry is in weird shape. I hesitate to say it’s in bad shape–it’s not in good shape from a developer perspective to be clear–so I’ll stick with weird. The middle tier of gaming is basically gone. Indie is a big risk. Not indie seems, somehow, like a bigger risk. I also have less control of that. So that’s undetermined at this point. All I can say is that I’m going to keep leaning in, giving my all, and we shall see what happens.
Will either provide the sense of security my soul is screaming for? I only control the “make something good” part of that. The rest is reliant on things far beyond my control. But I can and will do what I do. I’ll work hard, I’ll finish, I’ll hold the work up to a standard. The rest I must leave in other hands.
Just so you don’t think I have lost perspective here, I know, of all the things in life, if one must have uncertainty, this is the one. I want my loved ones happy and healthy. I want love and laughter and longevity. But I cannot ignore the part of me that aches. The part that occupies my thoughts as I lay in bed each night. The part that lets me breathe when I look down the road of inevitable landscape.
I will be updating this site as milestones are hit. Should anything move with significance, I’ll paste it up here. I’ve already written up a handful of Dream Project articles for the new year so I hope folks show up for those. They’re fun to write. They help get the ideas out of my head and into the world plus they’re good exercise–just as this post right here is.
2024 was, overall, a very good year. The important parts were good which is really what matters. Obviously, I wish there had been more but that’s on me. So here’s to making sure I hold up my end in 2025. See you all then. Have happy holidays and I hope this next year is your very best yet.
I spoke last week about dream projects and my desire to reboot Army of Two. As I said then, that beloved bro-op shooter isn’t the only game series I’d love to bring back into the light. Another one that sits very high on the perch is Sly Cooper.
This iconic anti-hero is more of a treasure panda than a trash panda.
Set in a world of anthropomorphic animals, the original Sly Cooper follows the titular character—a raccoon thief who comes from a long line of such—and his buddies, Bentley the super smart turtle and Murray, a lovable hippo with more muscle than brainpower. As the series evolved, more characters—many playable—were added including love interest and foil Carmelita Fox, a police detective, and a veritable gaze of Sly’s ancestors.
Sly Cooper and the Thievius Raccoonus kicked off the series in 2002. Developed by the excellent Sucker Punch and published by Sony, it was—for obvious reasons—a PlayStation 2 exclusive. (This fact lent considerable weight when I later made the decision to jump into that console generation.) Players took on the role of the three main characters as Sly sets out to retrieve the pages of the thievius raccoonus, his family’s handbook on all things thieving, from a cadre of villains including a crafty bullfrog, a powerlifting bulldog, a mystic alligator, a fire-flinging panda, and the half-machine/half-owl head of the Fiendish Five, Clockwerk.
The game introduced the core gameplay of sneaking around good-sized maps, thwacking heavies with your crook, and picking the pockets of unsuspecting guards. Mission to mission, you revisit these maps, exploring new areas, confronting new challenges, and finding precious collectibles. The mix of enemies and opportunities—and that iconic “sneaky noise”—laid down a great formula on how to make a game about stealing stuff.
The game spawned three sequels. Band of Thieves and Honor Among Thieves quickly followed on the PlayStation 2. These games built on the origin with bigger maps, more abilities, and an escalating threat. The games were ported to the PlayStation 3 as the Sly Collectionin 2010. The final game, Sly Cooper: Thieves in Time, capped off the series three years later on for that same system as well as the Vita. (The main character also got a Funko POP! which isn’t, like, rare these days but it still real cool and, yes of course, I have one.)
Filled with tight stealth gameplay, bright and beautiful art direction, complex but sensible level design, whimsical dialogue, brilliant sound design, and great voice acting, the Sly Cooper series is an easy recommendation.
What’s not so easy is finding them. A few years ago, I signed up for the top PlayStation Plus tier just so I could play Thieves in Time. At least I didn’t have to break into some mechanical bird’s stronghold to grab a copy.
The Sly Cooper series blends the best of comic book thieving with afternoon cartoon visuals. Sly, Bentley, and Murray are a perfect trio in their attitudes as well as aptitudes. From sneaking into well-guarded fortresses to protecting Murray as he tries to get into top secret areas to hacking datafortresses as a digitized turtle, the games offered up a nice variety of gameplay. As new characters were added into the series, you employed new skills in new levels against bigger and badder challenges. The games had a clear vision of their strengths and built on them with each installment.
Sly Cooper is a colorful, fun, all ages stealth-action game featuring anthropomorphic creatures straight out of a cartoon and it is prime for a comeback. Not to be immodest but I think I have a pretty cool angle for just such a venture. It’s a concept I’ve dabbled with numerous times over the years because even playing make-believe in that world makes me happy. Unfortunately, I’ve never been able to make the connections necessary to have the conversations you need to have to make something like that happen.
Rumors of a Sly Cooper 5 have popped up numerous times over the years with no official confirmation. I hope Sly gets a chance to return. Obviously, I would love to be involved—this is a dream project after all—but I’d be happy just to play. I’ll take any opportunity to jump back into a world that stole my heart over twenty years ago.
Dream projects are the blessing and the curse of the creative mind. Dream projects aren’t just things you want to do; they’re ideas that keep coming back to you over and over again. Ideas that get the heart and mind racing. Ideas that call to you like the setting sun, that promise a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment like no other. Ideas that make you go, “If I can do this, I’ll have done something.”
As with most creators I know, I have more dream projects than I have time left on this planet to do them. From original concepts to licenses I long to realize to beloved properties I feel are ready for revival, I am not lacking for ideas when it comes to dream projects.
That said, some of those ideas stand taller than others. Those are the special ones. The ones that get the ol’ mind factory working overtime. The ones I would throw down my tools to help bring into this world.
One of those ideas–one that has a nasty habit of preoccupying my hippocampus for long stretches of time–is rebooting Army of Two.
Tyson Rios and Elliot Salem form the Beast with Two Fronts.
Army of Two is a cooperative third-person shooter that megapublisher EA put out back in 2008. Unlike a lot of coop shooters, “cooperative play” wasn’t just a bullet-point. It was the game’s raison d’etre. From the Aggro system of drawing heat away from your partner to special coop moves like the one featured in the image above to impromptu roshambo in the middle of the battlefield, the game’s driving premise was clearly evident.
Army of Two was born of the same initiative that gave the world Mirror’s Edge and Dead Space. It was followed by two sequels, The 40th Day and The Devil’s Cartel, as well as graphic novels, action figures, and other tie-ins.
I was so stoked for the original Army of Two to come out. I hung on every preview. I remember racing to GameStop to pick up my preorder and having the game taunt me all day on my desk until I could go home to play. I finished the campaign numerous times. I recall staying up way too late with the DLC trying to get every achievement during the alternate Dalton boss fight ending from the Veteran Map Pack.
I remember advancing one room ahead on my save and locking my coop partner from getting into my game. An event that became a running joke (I hope?) for years to come.
I was just as excited when the sequel got announced and I have so many fond memories of the fictional Shanghai from running out of a towering inferno to racing through the zoo. It really ramped up the sense of urgency and adding moral choices where players made decisions that had interesting (if shallow) ramifications.
The third game changed things up by replacing the main characters of Rios and Salem with player stand-ins codenamed Alpha and Bravo. Running through the streets of a wartorn Mexico felt more like an arcade shooter with after-action reports between levels.
I absolutely love all three games. Though they share a common core as coop-focused third-person shooters, each stands apart from the globe-hopping origin story of the first to the growing tension along the midpoint to the tragic reveal at the end of the last game.
It’s been eleven years since the world has seen a new Army of Two game. During that time, the gaming paradigm has shifted but, with the successes of campaign-based cooperative shooters like The Division, the new Ghost Recon games, Helldivers 2, and the venerable Gears series, I think there is more than enough space for a reboot. And, to be absolutely frank, I would love to lead the effort. Keeping the core concept intact while bringing in learnings and innovations from the past decade-plus, I think a new Army of Two could be something truly special.
Alas, the fate of Army of Two is not mine to decide. The folks at EA need to make that call. I hope they do. If not me, I hope they find someone just as passionate as I am to lead the effort. I hope it satisfies us long-time fans while bringing in a new generation of folks who are down for a dark yet funny, gritty yet flashy cooperative shooter that puts cooperative on the same level as shooter.
I just finished the firstthreePajama Sam games. I was 20 when the first game came out and didn’t do any real PC gaming until later so I never played them. I remember seeing the boxes on the shelves of the Kmart I worked at though so I was familiar with the series.
I’m basically just seeking comfort these days and the idea of a funny point-and-click aimed at kids sounded right up my alley. I had no idea what I was missing. I totally get why those who played the games back when speak so highly of them.
I want to put down some thoughts on what stood out to me. This won’t be long or detailed–my brain is begging for this post to be a few thousand words–but I hope to hit the highlights.
FUNNY AND ENGAGING Pajama Sam is genuinely funny. Each story launches a simple premise toward inspired absurdity. The first game starts with Sam getting tucked into bed for his first night sleeping with the light off. His quest to overcome his nervousness launches him into a world of make-believe where he meets a boat who’s afraid of water, a carrot plotting a rescue mission for his brethren trapped in the refrigerator, and a Tic-Tac-Toe-obsessed wedge of cheese. Each game oozes imaginative concepts.
INTERACTIVITY EVERYWHERE Each scene is packed with one-off interactions and gags. If the arrow turns solid when over something, CLICK. You will be rewarded. A lamp may turn into a flower on the first click and a set of spinning helicopter blades on the next. Maybe a bug will come out and do a little soft shoe. There is so much happening in each scene that you won’t want to rush through.
WORLD FEELS ALIVE Characters greet Sam when he enters the room. Some will be reacting to something the player initiated in another scene. Sure, many times characters are idle–of course they are–but they’re active enough that the world doesn’t feel static. The narrative supports this with lines that advance often and have a good variety of alts.
REPLAYABLE Objectives can be in different locations with different obstacles. Collectibles can spawn in different spots. There are optional mini-games to find. After completing each game, I looked up walkthroughs and saw things I never encountered. I wanted to dive back in and find everything.
SURPRISINGLY SUBVERSIVE A vegetable lecturing on being a political prisoner. A “chair man” of the “board” (quotes to denote the words are literal here). A mine cart struggling with the state of its life. Children’s media will often include mature nods for any adults in the audience and Pajama Sam is no exception.
PLAY THESE GAMES If you work in games, you should play the Pajama Sam series. It doesn’t matter if you’re not making a game aimed at kids, or with a humorous tone, or that isn’t an adventure game. There is so much to learn from these games even thirty years on. Pay attention and you will take away SOMETHING. Each two-hour game goes so much harder than it needs to and I cannot applaud or recommend the series enough.
I haven’t updated this site in nearly three and a half years. In my defense, I’ve been busy. In the time since I last posted, I’ve switched jobs, met an incredible woman who agreed to marry me, fostered a better than ever relationship with my kids, and done a lot of fun stuff.
If you look at my published works, you’ll notice I have this Clue interactive audiobook listed there. I want to talk about that for a second.
I’m fortunate that I have friends who look out for me and that was definitely the case here. When toymaker Lunii reached out to a famous author friend of mine to do a Choose Your Own Adventure style audiobook for kids, said friend had to politely decline due to scheduling but, in doing so, they offered me up as an alternative. They were well aware of my deep love for children’s media, branching narrative, kid detectives, and the Clue board game. I chatted with Lunii and it was clear early on that we were a good fit for each other. They showed me what they wanted, I pitched some ideas for it, and a little back and forth aaaaand…
…that all resulted in this:
It was Mr. Blair, in the Basement, with the Flowchart!
Over the course of many months, I worked with my great editor at Lunii to realize a fun, engaging, and oh-so mysterious interactive audiobook for their My Fabulous Storyteller device. You can check it out here, available in English and French.
As someone who has absolutely loved Clue since they were a child, this was a dream project. The new take on the characters is just stunning–modern, elegant, enticing–and I got to breathe life into these absolute icons. I cannot think my author friend, Lunii, and Hasbro enough for this opportunity.
In addition to that, well, I’ve been living life. Going to shows, seeing live music, having incredible food, spending time with my family, and trying to take advantage of every day. If you follow me on socials, you…probably noticed I’m barely on them anymore. It’s for good reasons though.
I won’t promise to update this often but just know that, as of right now, things are going well. I love my job, my people, and all the incredible experiences we are having.
Much much love to you all. I hope you are doing well too.
I love you. I have loved you since I first saw your wide grin and big brown eyes. Since the moment you flopped over on the pet store floor and demanded scritches. You were loving and playful and ready for a new home.
You were almost four. I don’t know how anyone could have given you up.
I had sworn I would never get another dog. Not after my last broke my heart. But you were special. I knew then you belonged to us. You were already a member of our family.
You were such trouble. The little escape artist. There was no fence you couldn’t dig under, no closing door you couldn’t rush through. You would disappear and we would chase after you. Following your nose, your signature troublemaker, you would run into traffic without a care in the world. We would drive around and call your name. Eventually, you would find your way back. That big grin would be plastered on your face. You’d want food and loving and you’d act like nothing had happened at all.
You destroyed the first kennel I ever bought you. It lasted less than thirty minutes. I underestimated your drive to be free. Nothing could or would contain you.
I took you to training classes and you laughed. The instructor warned me that dogs like you were clever and bull-headed. She was right.
You wouldn’t be trained but I still enjoyed that time together.
You would eat until there was no more food you could reach. We were really looking forward to that artisanal loaf of bread we bought at the Farmer’s Market. But you decided it was yours and ate almost the whole thing.
Other dogs didn’t interest you, unless you thought they were in your turf. You wanted to be around the people. You weren’t shy about demanding attention. You’d stick your muzzle into my face to say hello and lick my eyelids until I gave you enough pets.
But you never got enough pets.
When I moved away from the family to start a new job, you came with me. It was just us down there for a month. Every night, after your adventures in the backyard, you’d jump up onto the couch next to me and sleep. I found such comfort in your little rumbling snores.
When everything in my life imploded, years later, and I was living on my own for good this time, you came to stay with me.
I wanted to spend every evening sunken into a depressive funk but you demanded your walks. You got me moving, got me out of my head. After, you’d demand a treat and some cuddle time on the floor.
You couldn’t jump onto the couch anymore.
I’d take a selfie of us and post it online. You knew when it was picture time and you’d try to get away. You didn’t like having your picture taken but I got the shot anyhow.
Six months into our new life, you stopped walking very well. Your back feet knuckled under you. You’d lose balance. You’d look up to me for help.
The vet said it was degenerative. It was only going to get worse. It was common in dogs like you. Especially older ones.
I didn’t want to admit it but you were old.
We celebrated your thirteenth birthday, just the two of us. I got you special treats. We made an evening of it. My special girl’s big day.
I knew. I knew it would be the last birthday you ever had.
When I went looking for a new house for us, to get us out of that apartment, I wanted a big yard for you. And we got one.
You spent all day every day out there. You’d wake up in the morning and I’d help you down the stairs. You’d gobble up your breakfast and demand to go outside.
I’d check on you throughout the day. You explored every inch of that yard. You were so happy.
Every evening, I’d help you back in. I’d help you back up the stairs.
Out every morning. In every evening.
Those ins, those outs. They were getting harder for you. Too hard.
You’d come in and you’d eat and you’d drag yourself over to the rug. You’d sit and you’d shake. You’d demand love. And I would give it.
I’m not mad at you. I know I’m crying and I know I’m screaming but it’s not at you. We are turning onto the last road and I have been driving tear-blind this entire time. One hand on the wheel. Another, gently rubbing your back.
You did nothing wrong. You were such a good girl. You were with me and you loved me when I didn’t feel like I was worth any love at all.
You healed me. I never thought I’d want another dog. I thought I could never love another dog. But you healed my heart.
I can’t imagine a world where you’re not with me. Cuddled up next to me. Snoring those sweet, sweet snores. Demanding pets. Giving even more love than you got.
You saved me. And I wish I could save you. I wish I could snap my fingers and make everything better. But you’re very sick. And you’re in a lot of pain. And there’s nothing anyone can do to take that away.
I know you don’t understand. I know you think we’re just going for a drive. You loved drives. I forgot to mention that.
But now we have to say goodbye. And I’m not ready. My hope, my dearest hope, is that you are. And I’m not some monster who takes away your life when all you did was love me.
We’re going to go into this room. You’re going to go to sleep. I will be with you. I will be crying. I will be screaming. But I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at everything but you. I’m mad at life. And I’m mad at me. And I’m mad at a world that gives us such sweet creatures and then takes them away.
I love you. I love you.
I will love you always.
I hope you can forgive me. I hope, in some way, we get to see each other again.
A new story-focused roleplaying system from the creator of Little Fears and Streets of Bedlam.
A few months ago, I was inspired to create a roleplaying game system that used standard decks of playing cards to create dynamic, engaging stories through play. RPGs with card mechanics aren’t new but I wanted to make the cards you play more than your usual randomizer. I wanted them to introduce elements into the story, for the system to be as active in the storytelling as the players.
The result is Full Deck Roleplaying. I am currently working on the complete ruleset for release later this year but I wanted to get the core mechanics out to as many people as possible to read, play, and give feedback on how the system worked for their group. This isn’t intended as simply a design experiment but a full, functioning game system that can accommodate a wide array of genres, characters, and settings.
Full Deck Roleplaying will be released as a standalone system that players can use in whatever worlds they desire, but I am also working on official settings that use the system at its core with tweaks and adjustments particular to the setting’s needs. Through these settings, players will see the dials turned in different ways that show off the customization options and scalability of the Full Deck Roleplaying system.
Currently in development are:
Seven Thunders
In a world after the Rapture, a war between Angels and Demons ravages the globe. Human bands, the remainders who didn’t make it to Heaven, try to survive and thrive as they attempt to find a way to end the constant fighting.
No Mere Mortals
Superheroes strive to protect humanity against a dark, extradimensional menace that threatens reality itself. Inspired by such comics as Umbrella Academy, Doom Patrol, and Justice League Dark.
Wyrd is Bond
A new version of my magic-hits-the-streets setting from 2004, this new edition of Wyrd is Bond is set in an alternate modern day where practitioners of magic are in the mainstream, releasing hit singles, streaming gang wars, and recruiting neophytes while serving clandestine agendas and hidden masters.
You can get a copy of the Full Deck Roleplaying Playtest Document for absolutely free over at DriveThruRPG. You can chip in a few bucks if you want but there’s no obligation. The PDF includes everything you need to play the game and let me know what you think. People who submit feedback on the game will get a 25% discount when Full Deck Roleplaying hits virtual shelves later this year.
I have always been plagued by the demon known as Ambition. As a youth, I never felt at home in the place I grew up in. I always wanted more. I knew my life was elsewhere. I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to do but I knew I couldn’t do it in the rural NEOhioan town in which I was raised.
In my late teens, I met a girl. A girl I would end up marrying. Her career would take us to the Cleveland suburbs–which offered more but still wasn’t enough for me. I took jobs that weren’t good fits but would do for now while I figured out what it was I was going to do for a career.
I worked hard, I put together a tabletop game called Little Fears, which became a critical darling and an indie hit. It opened up doors for me in the field of game design. In 2004, I accepted a position with Human Head Studios as the director of their adventure games division. It was a big opportunity in a new city, a new state. I uprooted my wife and our young daughter to Madison, Wisconsin. I moved them away from family–both mine and my wife’s–in pursuit of a dream. I worked at that studio for a few years before moving on to a local video game startup as an associate game designer. When that place shuttered, I turned to freelance to keep afloat.
The entire time, I looked for a new opportunity. A new position. A new studio. A new place. I eventually found that in 2012 when I accepted a position at Volition in Champaign, Illinois.
Once again, I pulled up the family stakes and relocated us–my wife and now two kids–to start over. New city, new friends, new jobs for both of us adults. A clean slate.
The move was hard. I went ahead and lived in an economy hotel for a week before settling into a rental home for a month while my wife got everything in Madison ready for transition. A huge endeavor that she handled alone. Eventually, they moved down and we started our life there. We made friends, we bought a house, our roots began to tendril into the soil and take hold. But I would soon yank them out.
I stayed with Volition until Spring 2018, when I accepted an offer at Funcom in Durham, North Carolina. A lot of reasons, a lot of emotions, went into that move. I didn’t have to go. It wasn’t like it was in Madison where I was at the whim of contracts and my own meager publications to stay afloat. But, still, it was a new opportunity, a new title, a new studio, and I felt the pull of Ambition telling me to “Go. Go now.”
It wasn’t the first opportunity to leave Volition that I had. I had interviewed at multiple other places, gotten offers, accepted one, and even planned to follow through with it before life went south. My dad got sick. My friends asked me to stay. It was a lot on my shoulders, and I eventually had to pull out of that opportunity. I stayed at Volition for another year or so.
But the demon Ambition was ever-present on my shoulders. My dad passed. My mom was looking to relocate, to be nearer to us. I thought the opportunity at Funcom would be the right one. A good place for us all to be. A big job title at a company whose games I dug.
Again, I packed up the family and moved us far away. Goodbye, friends. Goodbye, jobs. Goodbye, Champaign.
The demon Ambition smiled.
But life in North Carolina was rocky. We went through the motions but they were so hollow. My family was unhappy. My wife and kids were far away from long-time friends. My wife’s community was states away. Intellectually, I knew that. I thought I understand. But I was blind to what that really meant.
In Summer 2019, my life imploded. My wife asked for a divorce. She and the kids went back to Champaign. Funcom and I parted ways. I floundered. I desperately submitted resumes to everywhere. I had some really promising calls. But it was an opportunity at a place I had once contracted that was the no-brainer. I was offered a job in Chicago, just a few hours away from where my kids would be. At a studio I liked, working with some people I had known for nearly two decades.
But my mom had bought a house in North Carolina just a couple months prior and was relocating. She had an offer on her house in that small town in Ohio I grew up in. That house I grew up in. She was uprooting her life, everything she had known for 40 years, to be closer to her family. Just in time for all of us to go away.
The demon Ambition laughed. It had claimed yet another victim. Another casualty of my selfishness and narrow-minded tunnel vision. How had I become so greedy? So self-centered? So blind to the fact I had sworn to share a life with others, not just drag them along in my wake as I went where the whim and the whimsy took me?
I couldn’t stand what had happened. It was like looking at a seven-car pileup that you had caused. It was too big to comprehend. Too painful to absorb at all once. All I could do was reel from the impact, segment, and dissociate as I worked through what my life–what so many lives–had become. Because of me.
I started my new job in September of last year. I love it. I’m getting to use design muscles I haven’t flexed in years. I work with an amazing team. The project is dope. I like being in the Chicago suburbs. My kids visit me and I visit them. I got to take them to Medieval Times to see the new show. I get to pop into IKEA to grab cheap Scandinavian furniture whenever I want. Well, I used to before the pandemic happened.
I live in a small apartment just minutes from the office, though that’s less of a benefit given the entire state is under a Shelter in Place order. But still.
I’ve been here now for seven months and I’ve tried to get settled. I’ve tried to find “home” in this place even though I’m going through a divorce, live away from my kids, and my mom is now 18 hours away, living near no support system whatsoever.
My job has been the one port in this storm that has kept me sane and kept me grounded while every other aspect of my life raged around me. Over time, I’ve calmed and settled and taken stock. I’m slowly establishing something here. But there’s still been a sense of detachment. I look around and I’m trying to find my life in all this. The one drop of paint in the ocean.
And that’s where I’ve been for a long time now, awash amidst so much newness and uncertainty. Smashing against the rocks like my family did every time I grabbed them by the shoulders and shoved them in a new direction.
Ambition is still on my shoulder, jumping up and down, demanding attention. But I don’t listen anymore.
I stopped listening after everything blew up. I realized what a demon Ambition was. I realized what it had cost my family and, in turn, what it had cost me.
The pieces of the puzzle had been assembling for months. I was starting to see the picture of destruction and devastation but I was missing a vital piece. Again, I understood it intellectually but it wasn’t internalized, it wasn’t realized within me.
Funnily enough, it was a video game that helped me truly sort it out.
I picked up Animal Crossing: New Horizons for the Switch earlier this week. I originally got it so that my son and I could play and share our experiences. But, as I got more and more into the game, my eyes opened to feelings, realizations, that had been dormant inside of me, awaiting a light to be shined on them.
It started with placing the tent, establishing where my character would live on this new island. It’s one of the first things you do in the game but it places a stake in the ground around which everything else revolves. You don’t truly understand the ramifications of this choice until later, until more people are involved, more of the island comes to life.
The first few days of playing, I went through the routine: gather resources, complete objectives, build what’s needed, talk to people. My duty was a shopping list: do this, get that, do this, get that.
I was having fun but it was surface. Then I got some fun furniture and decorations. I put them on the wall. I built tables and chairs and a bed and I meticulously sorted everything out. I planted flowers around my house, around my neighbors’ houses. I put up a fence around the museum and planted a tree. I fussed over where to put the outdoor furniture in the homes I was building for new villagers to enjoy.
I visited other islands, saw what people had established on their own. I saw the pride in which they were creating their new world. I took ideas, inspiration, and brought it over to my island. I did more. I planted more. I built more. I had a new drive, a new purpose. I had…pride.
I wanted to make my little home on my little island the best it could be. I wanted to set down roots for my character and build a community for them. I talk to the other villagers to build relationships. I give them presents. I want them to be happy. I want them to be my community. I want to stay on this little island and make it somewhere I can call “home.”
It hit me like a slap in the face. This was what I had been missing in the real world. This sense. I had had houses, and friends, and routines but never a sense of pride, of community, of home. The demon Ambition had my head spinning, always looking toward the horizon for the next new thing. I never got to enjoy where I was, what I was doing. I left that to others. Sure, I fixed the toilet and hung up some pictures but it was rote. I was lacking that connection. I had routines but they were obligation at best.
43 years and it took a video game about animals building a town to teach me what comes naturally to so many others.
I’ve been a fool. I listened to the wrong things. I wanted the wrong things. And it cost me everything that mattered to me.
While it’s too late to undo the damage I’ve done in real life, I can start anew with this knowledge in hand. I can build a new life, can find joy inside a smaller radius, can look to the horizon and see the sunrise instead of a destination. I can decapitalize ambition and turn it from a demon to something manageable. I can still want without needing to salt the earth behind me.
I can and have apologized for what I’ve done in the pursuit of whatever it was I was chasing for so many years. It won’t untie the knot, it won’t put the apple back on the tree, but my sense of sorrow and regret is sincere. I am so sorry to those my lust for Ambition has affected. My family, most of all, but my friends, their friends, my community, their community.
I am still learning, still trying to figure this out. But I will continue to build, to live, to be, to grow. And if you stop my island–in the game or here in the Chicago suburbs–forgive the mess. It’s still under construction.
