Don't Meet Me Halfway: Story in Video Games

If you aren't close to me or haven't lived with me, you should know that I play video games. A lot. However this is going to make it sound like I play only a narrow kind of game. This is not meant to boast about what all I play, so I will not make a list qualifying myself on the topic. The more you read this blog, the more you'll understand all of my interests. If you have any immediate questions, comment below or message me.

Also, this will contain gameplay and basic story structure spoilers for Bravely Default. Read at your own risk.

Everyone who plays video games remembers the first time they were sucked into a game and why. For me, it was Final Fantasy X, and its story. To make it as simple as you can make the plot of a twenty-first century Final Fantasy game, the main character Tidus washes ashore in Spira and ends up following summoner Yuna and her protectors on a pilgrimage to defeat Sin.

This journey and Spira itself does not make a lot of sense to Tidus at first, the game doling out information as slowly as it probably would have traveled in the game's anti-technology society. But the pace makes it satisfying. At every little turn, you learn something about the religious leaders of Yevon or the pilgrimages of past summoners, and then the game throws battles at you while you mull over the new knowledge; the next piece of insight only comes after enough time has passed to make the player crave more. By the time the true nature of the quest and the church who preaches its necessity is revealed, you are shocked. At the same time, you do not feel as if the game was holding out on you. In hindsight, you see the evidence that points to the game's conclusions but appreciate the script writer's ability not to make it predictable.

This brings me to the contract.

You cannot break a contract you have with your player. For example, when writing stories, you tacitly agree not to trick your readers. This does not mean that they always deserve a happy ending, but it does guarantee them a gratifying one. You cannot kill off the main character without real reasoning and an inescapable death. You cannot let everything that happened in the novel end up being only a dream or delusion. You cannot let the reader think they are reading a story based in reality only to introduce fantastical elements halfway through. Readers do not want to be duped, and neither do players.

After spending a hundred hours replaying FF-X when the PS3 HD port was released, I picked up a newer, handheld JRPG: Bravely Default. The game and I hit it off right away. The characters developed from tropes to full-fledged people, the humor was biting and unexpected, and the battle system had a new but easy-to-utilize twist. I enjoyed going from temple to temple, awakening the crystals and acquiring new jobs.

Anything remotely spoiler-y is below this point. Beware.

I knew from some online research that the game was eight chapters long, but as I reached the near end of Chapter 4 and nearly fifty hours of gameplay, I became concerned. The game sounded like it was about to conclude. I hesitantly went into what should have been an endgame sequence, only to abruptly have my progress reset. No, my game file was not erased, but all of the good I had done over so many hours had vanished. Every boss I had beaten, every NPC I had helped, every problem I had solved--gone.

Upon looking closer, the Internet cleared something up. Yes, the game is eight chapters long, but four of them are reiterations with little variation. That means that in the first four chapters, you awaken the crystals of wind, water, fire, and earth--one per chapter. Then in the next four chapters, you awaken them again--four per chapter. For those who aren't doing the math, you have to awaken the crystals twenty times if you want to reach the true end to the game.

At a hundred hours and not ever reaching the end of Chapter 7, I switched my 3DS off.

I felt tricked. For so many hours, I was promised a satisfying end through satisfying gameplay. This is not some kind of franchise installment meant only to get me geared up for the next game (Final Fantasy-XIII-2, I'm looking at you). Sequel or not in the making, it is meant to stand alone.

And honestly, I have no beef with repetitive gameplay. I grew up on platformers and point-and-clicks. I came into my own on RPGs and action games. I do not mind grinding. I do not mind long hours. Hell, I do not mind twenty "Game Overs" if I feel like I am getting something out of it. But here I was not, and here I was promised it.

The storytelling essentially stopped.

In the first four chapters, the plot's pacing coincided with the gameplay. In the last four chapters, barely any new information is given to the player, but he or she is asked to do ten times the work. For every fifteen hours of gameplay, only a handful of new facts are learned. That's like reading a thousand pages of a novel for only a hundred pages of story.

Before my still-open wounds from this game cause this to turn into a rant, I'll conclude it here. It is really saying something when I have been willing to pound through to the end of a bad game (Yes, still looking at you, FF-XIII-2) to find out the end of the story, but not the end Bravely Default. The reason? No matter how convoluted the story in some of the worst games I've played, they never stopped telling it. When a game is story-driven from the start, you cannot let it suddenly become solely mechanics-driven during its last half.

Bad or not, the first ten percent of a game you should help you see if it is worth playing through to the last ten percent. The player needs to feel reassured in reaching the end gameplay, not relieved.

Why I Could Never Be an English Major

I know what you are thinking. But you went and got a Creative Writing degree! Isn't that the same thing?

You can't see me right now, but I'm laughing at the very idea.

Growing up, I read. Not just school assignments. Not just when a new book came out. I read everything. I got a library card at the age of three, so young my mom had to sign it for me. After that, we would go once a week and raid the shelves. My card got used as overflow because the fifty-book limit on my mom's card was never enough.

Now you're thinking, isn't that an argument for why you should be an English major?

Still laughing.

Here is how I operate: I read, and I forget. To summarize, to analyze, to theorize. I love books but can never catalog the events and quotes and figurative language. On all of those standardized tests in school, I scored lowest on reading comprehension, and that was with only a thirty-second break between the passage and the questions.

Fast forward to college.

Despite holding onto the writing program with a death grip, the degree still had more literature requirements than anything else. Don't get me wrong, I had a few classes that changed my opinions on different writers and novels in a Dead Poet's Society kind of way. Jane Austen went from contrived and melodramatic to witty and understated in one semester. I unexpectedly fell in love with Joseph Conrad's The Secret Agent after a rocky start with Heart of Darkness. One teacher even convinced me that it was worth rereading Faulkner's As I Lay Dying despite how much I hate the stupid people that populate Yoknapatawpha County.

But the same reason stayed and a new one blossomed.

I enjoy simplicity. In language, in word choice, in...synonyms. But still, I come from a place where there is no need to use an archaic and overly-complicated word when there is a basic word instead. Writing is not an excuse to show off your vocabulary.

On the other hand, your (stereo)typical English majors wants more. They want words with ten definitions and conjugations. They want the long, dramatic ballads of Whitman and Wordsworth over the artistic choices of Elizabeth Bishop and Sylvia Plath. They want Middle English over Hemingway's use of the word "nice."

Writers prefer to put their complications elsewhere, whether it be in the plot, the characters, or the structure. I'd rather spend time figuring out whether the protagonist is a hero or a villain than spend time figuring out what even happened in the paragraph I just read.

Bartender, I'd like the English language, straight up, please.

What Not To Expect When Reading This

In case you are somebody I did not strong-arm into reading this, let me explain something to you:

I grew up under the impression that if you want to write for a living, someone will pay you. Silly, right? Well, the truth is that when I was a kid, that was actually true. There were print publications galore before the Internet became more than a fad. Newspapers and magazines were the best way to consistently consume accurate and insightful news (and in my opinion, still are). I even had one professor explain that there used to be a middle class for writers. They would develop a small but consistent following and release novels once or twice a year, receiving an average, steady paycheck.

Now people read more about what the kid they knew in middle school ate for breakfast and watch motivational videos that are mainly meant to inspire ad revenue.

So if I can't get a job writing, I want to at least explore the idea of writing for public consumption instead of academic consumption. Anyway I'm definitely qualified. I:

A. Have a computer with Internet access and

B. Think I'm really funny.

With that being said, I have a few promises of what not to expect from this blog:

1. More pictures than words

It is not in my nature. I made an Instagram a couple of years ago, but don't bother looking because it has a whole whopping three pictures on it. Most photos on my phone are out of either relative necessity (i.e. dressing room shots because I can't buy anything without asking my mom's opinion first) or pure accident (i.e. twenty screenshots of the home screen on my phone from where all I wanted to do was turn it off).

When someone can successfully explain how a twelve-year-old I babysit can take a picture of a desk chair at school and come home with twenty likes, maybe I'll reconsider.

2. Clickbait inspirational videos

A few months ago, a lot of intriguing titles of links started popping up everywhere. Of course I would follow them, thinking I was in store for some sweet story that would brighten my day. Under the sarcasm, I like to see the best in people. But every time I would look, I would find a video. Every. Time.

Videos bother me because I'm paranoid and lazy. Seriously, it's not that I'm too good for them. I just don't want anyone to hear what I'm watching and judge me, but, at the same time, don't want to find headphones or go somewhere more private. If it's not something I can watch silently in a room full of people, you've lost me.

3. Lists on lists on lists

Most twentysomething blogs and websites are compiled entirely of lists. I don't know what started it, and trust me, I'm a sucker for them sometimes. Throw me anything about Parks & Recreation or the nineties, and I'll eat it up. One day I even looked at thirty potatoes that looked a little like Channing Tatum. God, forgive me for I have sinned.

But that's not my style. If I list something out (oh hey, I'm doing it right now), I plan to elaborate. Be prepared. Cue dramatic music and Scar from The Lion King. 

4. Political tirades

We all have that one friend who does nothing but send people and share links to "insightful" and "unbiased" articles from authors whose views are so slanted that I'm surprised they don't have vertigo? Me too.

I do not have the patience to research and provide you accurate information about what is happening in Congress. Why read my bumbling paraphrase when there's Google so you can find the real thing? Politics is something I read about, not write about.

If you are as tired of these things as me, you have come to the right place. Keep up with me while I channel my morning-coffee creativity.