“Inside Indie” is where we invite some of our favorite developers to talk about their lives and careers in gaming. This week’s article is by Dave Gilbert.

Today, I woke up.  I stumbled around for awhile, doing my usual morning routine.  I packed up my laptop and ventured forth onto the New York City streets en route to my alternate “office” – that office being a local Starbucks.  I sat down, plugged myself in, and dutifully began working on The Blackwell Convergence for a few hours before I was told by a staff member that they were closing and I needed to get the heck out.

“Closing?” I thought to myself. “But it’s so early!”

A quick glance at my laptop clock told me the truth. It was actually 10PM.

Huh? How did this happen?  I looked out the window and… yes.  The streets definitely had a certain late-night look about them. It was dark.  The streetlamps were on. University kids were walking around in clubbing clothes.  What happened? Where did the day go?

It went nowhere.  You see, the previous evening I had been working till the wee hours of the morning.  I was grappling with a particularly difficult part of the game, and it was consuming me.  The hours ticked by without me noticing, and when I finished I was too wired to even think about sleeping.  So I puttered around.  I had dinner.  I read for awhile.  I caught up on neglected household chores.  Eventually, I crashed.  I have no idea what time that was.  All I know is that it was late enough for me to snooze through the entire day.

This seems to happen more and more often lately.  It’s probably not the healthiest sleeping pattern, but I think back to an earlier time in my life and realize that it’s better than the alternative.

A few years ago, I had a 9-5 job like everybody else.  I was never without a watch or a clock nearby, and I’d check it constantly.  If I was out with friends and it was close to midnight? Then damn, I’d better get home and go to sleep or I’ll be a zombie at the office.  If I woke up and it was 8:30am? Then I’d better get a move on or I’d be late for work.  If I was late for work and I rushed to the subway platform only to see the train whoosh by without me?  Well, those are things that ulcers are made of.

That’s all changed.  Nowadays, I don’t even bother with a watch.  My wall clock stopped working ages ago and I haven’t thought to fix it.  If it weren’t for my cell phone and the little time indicator on my laptop screen, I’d live in a pure state of timeless bliss.

Of course, this probably explains why I am always so late in returning phone calls, or writing guest blog entries.  The fact that the rest of the world doesn’t conform to my sleeping patterns is a source of much disappointment.

“Inside Indie” is where we invite some of our favorite developers to talk about their lives and careers in gaming. This week’s article is by Rudolf Kremers.

Hello Bytejacker readers, thanks for taking the time to read this episode of “Inside Indie.” Be prepared for some strange musings and weird thought processes. ;-)

Things are rather hectic at the moment, as some of you may know Dyson somehow made it into the finals of the IGF, incredibly in the Seumus Mcnally Grand Prize category! Alex and myself are therefore currently deep into further Dyson development, trying to progress the game as much as we can towards where we want it to be. This means some seriously focused work and late hours, often after our other work commitments. We are only two developers and a musician developing Dyson in our spare time so it can be a bit intense. It is absolutely fantastic fun to work on this game, though, and I never have problems finding energy or concentration when sitting down to do some more work on it. In fact, I am currently experiencing a strange phenomenon that is caused by being extremely focused or involved in a game.

I have started to see the world though the lens or filter of game development. Not all the time, thank goodness, but often nonetheless– and in interesting ways. It is a phenomenon that has become well known to me through working hard on many games before and spending scary amounts of time in deep concentration, focused on a game’s inner workings.

When I was doing Quake levels, for example, I would start to notice how many polygons are used in the real world or how badly textured real world buildings are. They often show really sloppy texture alignment or excessive detail in areas of the world that nobody ever sees. When working on Stolen I noticed that there are a lot of badly places CCTV cameras that can be easily snuck past, but that there aren’t enough shadows in London for good stealth gameplay. That kind of stuff.

Dyson is now doing a similar thing to me, but in a more subtle way. Because the design and programming of the game is based on the principles of procedural generation, it has been clear from the beginning that we needed to design game systems that allow a small amount of data or attributes to interact in such a way that they produce diverse, complex, and interesting results. This is why almost anything in Dyson can be related to only a few key attributes, like speed, energy and strength. We also needed this economy of design and technology because the original incarnation of the game had to be created within one month. The principle that a small and simple “seed” can grow into a complex and accomplished end product and the reproduce to form another seed containing an evolved or mutated seed is also a key area of interest in the study of artificial life, another major influence on Dyson. Think of it as a nerdy version of the circle of life?

I also apply this thinking to much of the game’s level design. Instead of trying to write down and create the full experience I would like the player to have, I find it much more honest and effective to just create a set of parameters and provide the player with a general goal and tools with which to achieve it. Those gameplay “seeds” then develop and blossom into a rich gaming experience created and enjoyed mostly by the player and not predetermined by me. Well, that is the plan, anyway.

The festival starts on March the 25th, and regardless of what happens we will have a great time there, I think. If any of you are visiting please come to our booth and say hi!

All the best,

Rudolf

“Inside Indie” is where we invite some of our favorite developers to talk about their lives and careers in gaming. This week’s article is by Erin Robinson.

One side effect of being an indie developer is that weird things stop seeming weird after a while. Example: With one exception, I have not in person met any of the people who are currently working for me. There are five of them.

Three and a half years into this game development thing, and I’ve gotten used to it. Most likely, if you’re reading this, you count among your friends a variety of people you don’t actually know. It’s all good. This is the future, after all.

However, not everyone seems up to speed on this phenomenon. In this case, I am using the word “everyone” to mean “my bank.” Maybe it’s just a Canadian thing, but banks seem incredibly ill-suited to the kind of things you’d think they’d be good at. Namely, taking my money and sending it to someone else.

A few weeks ago I had to make a bank transfer to one of my artists, who happens to be living in another country. I had made the exact same transfer only a few weeks earlier, but because my bank doesn’t actually keep records of who I wire money to, they had to retype all of the transfer information.

After about ten minutes of watching a perplexed bank employee type in some very foreign-sounding addresses, he cleared his throat.

“For certain countries, we need to know a reason for your transfer,” he said.

“Certain countries?” I asked. “Which certain countries?”

“Oh, you know,” he said. “Thailand…”

I expected him to continue, but he didn’t.

In fact, the country I was sending my money to was that nefarious criminal hotbed, Latvia. It’s situated between Lithuania and Estonia, and according to Wikipedia, its notable cultural branches include theatre, scenography, and classical music.

I stared in disbelief at the bank employee.

“I bought some art.” I said. “This guy does art.”

“Ah, okay,” the employee said. “I think that’ll go through.”

I have to mention that the first time I made this exact bank transfer, the woman I spoke to hadn’t even heard of the country. “Where’s Lativa?” she asked me, pronouncing it so as to rhyme with “Queen Latifah.”

“It’s in Europe,” I replied. “Do you think I could maybe talk to your manager?”

Brushes with middle management aside, I still struggle to explain my occupation. I rarely tell anyone in my parents’ generation that I’m an indie game developer; it raises too many questions. Especially, “Are you making any money with that?”

I usually just say I’m unemployed and thinking about grad school. It’s perfect. Not only is it believable, but it gives old people a chance to chime in with their opinions about the economy. And they will, you can bank on it.