The Game Writing Guide

This comprehensive guide walks readers through the entire process of getting and
keeping a writing job in the games industry. It outlines exactly what a beginner
needs to know about education requirements, finding opportunities, applying
for roles, and acing studio interviews. Professional writers will learn how to
navigate studio hierarchies, transfer roles and companies, work overseas, and keep
developing their careers.

Written by an experienced games writer with nearly two decades of industry

knowledge, this book contains a wealth of interviews and perspectives with
industry leaders, hiring managers, and developers from marginalized communities,
all offering their tips and insights. Included are examples of materials such as job
posts, writing samples, and portfolios, as well as chapter-end challenges for readers
to directly apply the skills they have learnt.

This book will be of great interest to all beginner and aspiring games writers
and narrative designers, as well as more experienced writers looking to hone
their skills.

Anna Megill is an award-winning game writer and industry veteran with experi­
ence writing primarily for modern AAA games. In her nearly two decades of game
development, Anna has worked for some of the top studios around the world, such
as Ubisoft, Arkane, Remedy, and Square Enix. A longtime advocate for margin­
alized voices in games, she provides resources and advice to aspiring writers
through her website. Anna currently works at Playground Games on their up­
coming Fable game.
The Game Writing Guide
Get Your Dream Job and Keep It

Anna Megill
First edition published 2023
by CRC Press
6000 Broken Sound Parkway NW, Suite 300, Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742
and by CRC Press
4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN
CRC Press is an imprint of Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

© 2023 Anna Megill

The views and opinions expressed in this book are those of the author and do not necessarily
reflect the views and opinions of Playground Games.
Reasonable efforts have been made to publish reliable data and information, but the author and
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Megill, Anna, author.
Title: The game writing guide : get your dream job and keep it / Anna Megill.
Description: First edition. | Boca Raton : CRC Press, 2023.
Identifiers: LCCN 2022055019 (print) | LCCN 2022055020 (ebook) | ISBN 9781032252384
(hardback) | ISBN 9781032252360 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003282235 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Video games‐‐Authorship‐‐Vocational guidance.
Classification: LCC GV1469.34.A97 M44 2023 (print) | LCC GV1469.34.A97 (ebook) | DDC
794.8/3‐‐dc23/eng/20220125
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022055019
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022055020
ISBN: 978-1-032-25238-4 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-1-032-25236-0 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-003-28223-5 (ebk)
DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235

Typeset in Garamond
by MPS Limited, Dehradun
 To Christopher Megill
The bestest big brother. You don’t die in this one!
Contents

Acknowledgments. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xv
Mentor Interviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xvii

Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
1 Definitions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7
Defining Terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
The Basics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
The Hierarchy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Narrative Design Roles. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
AAA vs. Indie vs. Mobile . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
The Flow of Writing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Creative Control and Collaboration. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
The Right Path. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
2 Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
The Good News. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
The Right Skills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
Game Writing vs. Traditional Writing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
Tech Skills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
Programming Skills . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
Basic Education . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
University . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
Advanced Degrees . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
Game Programs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Alternatives to College . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
Online Education. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
Writer Beware! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
Internships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Grants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Summary. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39

vii
viii ▪ Contents

3 Finding Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
Fortune Favors the Bold . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Networking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Social Media . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Networking Strategies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Asking for Help . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
Networking Etiquette . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
You Are a Brand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
Game Dev Organizations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
Conventions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
Applying from the Middle of Nowhere . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
Find Open Positions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
Studio Career Pages. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Recruiters and Agents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Contract Jobs and Staffing Agencies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
How to Use Resources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
Red Flags . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Inside Job . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
4 Applications . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
The Job Post . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
Online Forms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
Timing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Ghosting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Reapplying . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
Speculative Applications. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
Rejection. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
Feedback . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
After Submitting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
5 Resumes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
Essentials. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
Function . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
Format. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
The Classic. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
The Deconstructed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
Content. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
KISS Them . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
How to Stand Out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
An Ideal Resume . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
Beware Resume Services! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
 Contents ▪ ix

6 Cover Letters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Purpose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
What to Say. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
Twice the Reading. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Audience 1: Recruiters . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Audience 2: Hiring Managers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Letter Dos and Don’ts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
What Not to Say . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96
HALP! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98
YMMV . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98
7 Samples and Portfolios . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
The Purpose of Samples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101
Know the Project . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
What to Include. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102
Who’s Reading? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
Time Limits. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 104
Project Needs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107
Interactive Samples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108
Twine Samples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
What about Fanfiction? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109
The Dos of Samples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
The Don’ts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
Showcasing Your Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 111
Set Up Your Portfolio Site . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
Your Story . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
Unreleased Game Samples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
8 Interviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
Types of Interviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
Perspective Shift . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 127
A Note on Fashion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
NDA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
Do Your Homework. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
Red Flags for Interviewers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
Red Flags for Candidates. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131
References. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
Next Steps . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 132
9 Writing Tests. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133
Getting Paid for Tests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
Should I Take an Unpaid Test? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
Beware of Scams! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136
x ▪ Contents

What Does a Writing Test Look Like?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139

How to Ace the Test . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
What Are Leads Looking for in a Test? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142
Turning the Test into a Sample . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
Grow That Portfolio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144
10 Contracts and Negotiations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147
A Fair Wage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147
Authority . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
Step 1: More Research! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 149
Step 2: Time to Math! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Step 3: Know Your Worth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 152
Step 4: Negotiate! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 153
Mind the Pay Gap! It Starts Here . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
Exposure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
Step 5: Sign on the Dotted Line. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155
Do I Need an Agent? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
Do I Need a Lawyer? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
How Do You Find a Good Lawyer? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158
What Should I Ask? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 159
The Usual Suspects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160
So … DO I need a lawyer? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
Now What? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
11 First Day. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165
The Night Before. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165
Getting There . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166
At the Job. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 166
First Week Checklist. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
Start Collaboration Early . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 168
Probationary Periods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169
Imposter Syndrome Part 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170
Take a Moment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170
12 Moving Up. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
Now What? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174
The Writing Routine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 174
Preproduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 175
Production . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 178
Friends and Allies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180
Collaborators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181
The Game Writers’ Room . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 181
Managing Your Manager. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182
Next! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184
 Contents ▪ xi

Know Yourself . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 184

Set Your Goal . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 186
Keep Growing. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187
Map Your Path. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
13 Steps and Obstacles. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
Keep Up Your Networking. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
Promote Yourself . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192
Press . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193
Fans . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 193
Obstacles. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
Imposter Syndrome Part 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
How to Ask for a Promotion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 195
Balancing the Scales . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196
How to Ask for a Raise . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 196
When the Answer Is No . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197
Crunch Part 1. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
Burnout. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 200
14 Leadership . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
When You’re Senior . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
Fight for What You Need. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 206
Sharing Your Vision . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208
Documentation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
Priorities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
Finding Balance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213
Leading with Empathy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 214
Building a Narrative Team . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215
Step 1: Assess Your Needs. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216
Step 2: Make a Hiring Plan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216
Step 3: Alternatives to Hiring . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217
Step 4: Hiring. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
Points to Consider When Hiring . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
An All-Purpose Team . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
Writing Tests . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219
Running the Writers’ Room. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 220
Crunch Part 2: Protecting Your Team . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 220
Work-Life Balance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222
15 Moving On. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 223
The Right Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
Just Looking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
Working While Applying . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
Make a New Plan . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 225
xii ▪ Contents

Be Discreet. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226
References and Samples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 226
The Big Decision . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227
Leverage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 227
At the Crossroads—Two Perspectives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228
Lifers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228
Leavers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 229
How to Leave . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 230
Paperwork. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231
Don’t Burn Bridges. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231
Take a Break . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231
On Repeat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 232
16 International Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
Remote Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
Applying for International Work . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
Relocation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235
Arrival . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
Housing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 240
Settling In . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 240
Culture Shock . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241
Isolation and Friendships. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242
When It All Goes Wrong . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242
Communication . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245
Final Thoughts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247
17 Strategies for Marginalized Communities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
Even When It’s Good, It’s Bad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250
All the -isms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250
When Biases Affect Your Work. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 253
Unconscious Bias . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254
“Allies”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254
Enemies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 255
Sexual Assault and Physical Abuse . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256
Inappropriate Conduct. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256
The Answer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257
Be Heard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 258
Know When to Stop. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259
Real Allies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259
Organized Labor Groups . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
Mentoring . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
Be a Mentor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 260
Whisper Networks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261
 Contents ▪ xiii

Trust Your Gut . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 261

Open Up . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 262
Break the Rules. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 262
Don’t Get Pigeonholed . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263
Even When It’s Bad, It’s Good. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263
Conclusion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 265
Acknowledgments

It took the strength of a thousand game writers to make this book, but I only have
space to name a few. All my love and gratitude go to the following people (in no
particular order) for contributing their wisdom and support.

Harvey Smith, Rhianna Pratchett, Greg Kasavin, Sam Lake, Kim Swift, Sam
Maggs, Ann Lemay, Josh Scherr, Kim Belair, Whitney “Strix” Beltran, Clara
Fernandez-Vara, Samantha Wallschlaeger, Richard Dansky, Mikko Rautalahti,
Eevi Korhonen, Petteri Tuomimaa, Sandra “Sachka” Duval, Mary Kenney, Hazel
Monforton, Son M, Tara J. Brannigan, Evan Higgins, Pete Lewin, Willow Morris,
Christina Lassheikki, Ed Stern, Lisa Hunter, Natalie Concannon, Sahil Bajaj,
Whitney Rowland, Osama Dorias, Jennifer Klasing, and James Phinney; all the
devs and recruiters who shared their stories off the record; all the cool kids
in The Mingle; my lovely colleagues at work; the ever-helpful Will Bateman at
Taylor & Francis; and Toiya Kristen Finley, who kicked this whole thing off.

xv
Mentor Interviews

■ Ann Lemay, Narrative Director, WB Montreal. Interview, July 2022. Email

and Slack discussions, 2021-2022.
■ Clara Fernandez-Vara, Associate Arts Professor, NYU Game Center.
Interview, December 2021. Email and Slack discussions, 2021- 2022.
■ Ed Stern, Lead Writer, Splash Damage. Interview and email discussion,
August 2022.
■ Eevi Korhonen, Senior Narrative Designer, Housemarque. Interview and
email discussions, June 2022.
■ Evan Higgins, Senior Scriptwriter, Playground Games. Interview and email
discussions, June 2022.
■ Greg Kasavin, Creative Director, Supergiant Games. Interview and email
discussions, June 2022.
■ Harvey Smith, Studio Director, Arkane Austin. Twitter discussion, May
2022.
■ Hazel Monforton, Senior Narrative Designer, Bungie. Interview and email
discussions, June 2022.
■ James Phinney, CEO & Co-Founder, Lost Lake Games. Interview, January
2022.
■ Jennifer Klasing. Game Designer, Amazon Studios. Twitter discussions,
2022.
■ Josh Scherr, Narrative Director, Crop Circle Games. Interview, February
2022. Email and Slack discussions, 2022.
■ Kim Belair, CEO, Sweet Baby Inc. Interview and email discussions, July
2022.
■ Kim Swift, Senior Director of Cloud Gaming, Xbox Game Studios
Publishing. Twitter discussion, May 2022.
■ Lisa Hunter, Narrative Director, Compulsion Games. Slack discussions,
2022.
■ Mary Kenney, Senior Writer, Insomniac Games. Interview, Slack, and email
discussions, 2022.

xvii
xviii ▪ Mentor Interviews

■ Mikko “Mikki” Rautalahti, Narrative Director, Roleverse. Interview and

email discussions, April 2022.
■ Natalie Concannon, Director, Datascope Recruitment. Interview, July 2022.
■ Osama Dorias, Lead Content Designer, Blizzard Entertainment. Interview,
June 2022.
■ Pete Lewin, Senior Associate, Wiggin LLP. Interview and email discussions,
May 2022.
■ Petteri Tuomimaa, Senior Recruiter, Noice, Inc. Interview and email
discussions, 2022.
■ Rhianna Pratchett, Freelance Writer. Interview, May 2022. Email and Slack
discussions, 2022.
■ Richard Dansky, Narrative Director and Central Clancy Writer, Red Storm/
Ubisoft. Email discussion, June, 2022.
■ Sahil Bajaj, Freelance Writer. Interview, Twitter, and email discussions,
2022.
■ Sam Lake, Creative Director, Remedy Entertainment. Email discussion, July
2022.
■ Sam Maggs, Narrative Lead for Digital Publishing & Licensing, Wizards of
the Coast. Twitter and email discussion, May 2022.
■ Samantha Wallschlaeger, Lead Writer, Crystal Dynamics. Interview and
email discussions, January 2022.
■ Sandra “Sachka” Duval, Narrative Director, Hinterland Studios. Slack
discussion, 2022.
■ Sonia “Son M” Messar, Freelance Narrative Designer. Interview and email
discussion, June 2022.
■ Tara J. Brannigan, Head of Player Experience, Behaviour Interactive.
Interview, July 2022. Email and Slack discussions, 2022.
■ Toiya Kristen Finley, Freelance Writer and editor in general; game designer,
narrative designer, game writer, editor, narrative and diversity consultant in
games. Interview, July 2022. Email and Slack discussions, 2022.
■ Whitney “Strix” Beltran, Narrative Director, Hidden Path Entertainment.
Twitter and Slack discussions, 2022.
■ Whitney Rowland, Scriptwriter, Ubisoft Quebec. Interview, July 2022.
Email discussions, 2021-2022.
■ Willow Morris, Level Designer, Playground Games. Interview and email
discussions, July 2022.
■ And many, many game devs who shared their wisdom anonymously or off
the record.
Introduction

I wrote this book in fragments across a decade, although I didn’t know I was
writing it. It began its life as a short Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ) post on
my personal website. I posted the FAQ out of desperation when I got buried by
requests for information about game-writing: What’s the job like? How do I break
into games? What skills do I need? Do I need a degree? Emails pleading for
advice arrived every few days, until I was overwhelmed trying to answer them all.
I wanted to help, but there was no way I could respond to all the messages
individually. So instead, I sat down and scribbled out some high-level advice.
I covered the basics of the job and offered some general tips for breaking into the
industry. I posted it and pointed hopefuls in its direction. They got help; I got
my time back. Everyone was happy.
That basic FAQ served its purpose well, and I was delighted when it became
a standard online reference for aspiring game writers. I added some information
about pitching games and internships here and there, but otherwise the post
remained unchanged for ten years. In those ten years, a lot happened. The games
industry changed and grew, and my knowledge and experience grew along with it.
I noticed gaps and flaws in the old FAQ, and I realized that many of my answers
had become outdated. Students and new writers needed help with topics my basic
post didn’t cover. It became painfully clear that it wasn’t serving its purpose
anymore.
So, I decided to write a new, expanded post. I compiled the notes and reference
materials I’d bookmarked for years. I planned sections for international work,
applying for jobs, negotiating contracts, switching studios, and a wide range of
other topics. The role of game writers had evolved, and I wanted to discuss what
that evolution meant. Narrative design had gone from being another term for
“game writer” to a complicated pastiche of interconnected roles. Companies were
recruiting game writers for interactive movie series like Bandersnatch. There was so
much happening in the world of game writing, so much new information to add,

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-1 1
2 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

but I could never find time to update the post. And as the days slipped past, I
stopped trying.
But the pleas for advice kept coming. One message in particular touched me. It
was from a young woman in Minneapolis who’d been cobbling together infor-
mation about game writing from pages scattered all over the Internet. What little
help she’d found was often vague and confusing to someone who barely knew
the industry terminology. I was sad to learn that my ancient FAQ was still one of
the best resources for aspiring game writers out there. Only a few other game-
writing career references existed, and they were woefully incomplete. In her
message, and the others I received, I felt a deep hunger for guidance that nobody
was providing. I had to help, so I decided to update my FAQ. I thought I’d add
a paragraph here, a short Q&A there, and give the entire post a brisk edit. But
once I assembled my proposed changes into one giant, daunting list, I realized
what I was actually looking at: a book. I was writing a book. To provide the level
of help aspiring writers need, it had to be a book.
So, I talked to a publisher and here we are! This is the book.
There’s a terrible, perhaps apocryphal, statistic that the average game devel-
oper’s career lasts only five years. That timespan is even shorter for women and
other marginalized devs. My goal with this book is to break that cycle and keep
talented people doing what they love. It’s not a book about game writing as a craft.
Shelves of those books exist already, and I don’t need to toss my thoughts on that
pile. Instead, my book will talk you through the unspoken rules and expectations
of life as a game writer. I’ll offer practical advice in plain language. No unexplained
jargon, no dry academic tone, and no insider knowledge required. Anyone who
wants a career in games should be able to pick up this book and understand what
it says—even complete beginners.
My book is designed to help working writers, too. Most game-writing advice
I’ve seen is only useful up to a point. Books offer general, high-level information
about the industry, but don’t give the detailed breakdown that most new writers
need. Or they’ll offer help finding a job but not keeping it. This book won’t leave
you hanging. I’ll walk you through the hiring process step by step, from finding job
posts to acing onsite interviews. And I won’t abandon you once you’ve secured
work. I’ll show you how to make a long-term career out of writing for games. I’ll
teach you the essentials for surviving as a game writer, how to work in a writing
room, and how to put together a team as a narrative lead. I’ll explain how game
studios are organized, how to navigate hierarchies and negotiate role changes, and
how to work your way up to your ultimate dream job. I also have advice about
the specific obstacles that marginalized developers encounter—like what to do
when you’re the only person like you on the team. Where my own experience isn’t
sufficient, I’ll provide insights from working professionals who know exactly what
it takes to succeed in the games industry. I interviewed dozens of game developers,
hiring managers, and recruiters for this guide. Every one of them was eager to share
their wisdom and expertise. Collectively, we’ll be your career mentor.
 Introduction ▪ 3

But before we get started, I’d like to introduce myself and explain why you
should listen to what I have to say. If you bought this book, you might already
know my work. If not, hello! I’m a game writer and narrative designer. I’ve been in
the games industry for nearly two decades now, working for companies like
Ubisoft, Arkane, Remedy, Square Enix, Nintendo, and ArenaNet. My projects
have taken home many, many awards, including a few Game of the Year and Best
Narrative wins. I’ve spoken at major game conventions around the world about
everything from emergent narrative to crafting an interactive portfolio. I’ve moved
all over the continental United States and Europe for jobs and uprooted my life
several times—with two international moves in 2014 alone. Right now, I live in
the English countryside, working as the narrative lead on Fable at Playground
Games. I’ve been from one end of the games industry to the other, from small
independent titles to huge, tentpole AAA1 projects, so I have a holistic view of
the game-development ecosystem. All this to say that I’m a working writer who
knows the modern games industry. I know the challenges you’re going to face. I
know what studios want in a game writer. As an industry veteran and manager, I’ve
been on both sides of the hiring process. I know how to land a job, and I know
what studios look for in a hire.
But I’m more than my credentials. I’m someone who cares deeply about
making the games industry a better, healthier place. I want more people to know
the unique joy of writing games. To know how it feels to create a story, craft
it with a team of talented colleagues, and then load into the world you built and
live your story with players. There’s no other feeling like it, and that joy should be
accessible to everyone who wants it. Beyond that, I want to be the mentor I never
had. I always wished for someone to show me the ropes, warn me about problems,
and offer me advice. But while I met plenty of smart, caring people in the industry
who helped me along my path, I never found the right fit for a mentor. Making the
right connections is tough when you’re starting out. And even if you find the
perfect experienced dev to be your mentor, they might not be able—or willing—to
take you on. The number of hopefuls reaching out for help these days is over-
whelming. Who has the bandwidth to mentor thousands of new writers while
keeping up with their own projects and goals? The honest answer is nobody. That’s
another reason I wrote this book: to reach writers that I don’t have time to mentor
individually.
This book offers advice for navigating the games industry as it currently exists,
with its myriad flaws and deep-rooted problems. I absolutely believe that we can
make games a better, safer, kinder, fairer environment for developers, but it’s
going to take time and work. I’m committed to making those changes from
within, and I encourage others to improve what they can, where they can.

1
Pronounced “triple A,” these are large-scale games with massive budgets and high production
values. They’re the games equivalent of big blockbuster movies.
4 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Hopefully, the games industry will be a utopia someday, and I can write a book
that focuses solely on “How much is too much salary?” But until then, we have
to face the realities of the industry and deal with the systems currently in place.
Yes, it would be wonderful if every job offered remote and work-from-home
options. And if neurodivergent devs didn’t have to endure open office spaces.
And if crunch and burnout didn’t exist. But right now, that’s part of the
industry. If you’re someone facing one of the many -isms, then this book can
show you how to cope with those issues. I want to be clear, however, that this
book is not a tell-all expose of the games industry. There’s no “name and shame”
in my advice, and I’m not interested in calling out any studios for bad practices.
My advice isn’t based on any one person’s experiences at a specific studio. Also,
to be very clear, nothing in this book is drawn from my experiences at
Playground Games. All advice and anecdotes come from the shared knowledge
of the people I interviewed. I won’t pull my punches when it comes to the
problems in this industry, but my focus is on how to solve them and thrive.
The developers I interviewed spoke on the record when they were comfortable,
but to get the honest advice and insight that will really help you, I offered the
protection of anonymity in certain cases. It’s hard to talk honestly about problems
at a studio if you’re worried about backlash or violating your NDA.2 Happily,
there were few occasions when people felt they couldn’t speak openly. But when
you see language like “an anonymous game dev says” or “one recruiter noted,”
understand that it’s there to get at the truth.
This book focuses on the AAA games industry in North America and Europe.
Mostly because that’s my area of expertise and because those regions are a dom-
inant force in AAA development and publishing. The games industry is not a
monolith, however, and Japan, Mexico, India, and South Africa, among others,
have different business cultures than the United States and Europe. I recognize that
some of my advice won’t apply globally. And, of course, there are places in the
world where industry opportunities are almost nonexistent. Wherever feasible,
I sought out voices from those regions to hear their perspectives and understand
their needs. Studios might be scarce there, but people still dream of making AAA
games. I want this book to help them, too.
I wrote this book in the third year of a global pandemic with fascism on the
rise and human rights endangered around the globe. It often felt like I was writing
in quicksilver, the words sliding off the page into obsolescence as fast as I could
dash them off. The world I’m describing in this book might not exist soon. And
the people I’m writing this book for might soon lose access to the opportunities
I’m describing, as they fight for survival. Sometimes, I wondered why I was giving
career advice when the world’s burning down. But every act of creation means

2
NDA means non-disclosure agreement. It’s a legal document that binds developers to secrecy
about their work.
 Introduction ▪ 5

something. It’s a shout of defiance into darkness and a hand stretched across the
abyss. It’s an offer of hope.
My original goal was to help the widest possible audience become game writers.
I wanted to make my advice accessible, practical, and personal so it could open
doors for nontraditional hopefuls. But now, I’ll be happy to help even one person
catch their dream. As game writers, we create new worlds for people to escape into.
We write dreams into reality. Maybe it’s all code in a machine, but it lives inside
people’s hearts and minds. The letters I’ve received over the years telling me how
much my stories mean to someone—that’s real. And that connection to players
has fed my soul and kept me in the games industry.
To get the most from this book, we need to work together. I’ll be honest
about how tough it is to break into the industry, how many obstacles remain
once you’re in, how tedious the work can get—and how it’s still absolutely worth
it. In return, you need to be honest about what you want and how hard you’re
willing to work for it. I’ll show you how to pick a role and prepare for it, find
ways to shine, and fight any dragons you encounter, but you’re the one who has
to do the work. This isn’t a standard school textbook with exercises and a quiz at
the end of every chapter. Instead, I’ll challenge you to take concrete steps toward
your goal. You’ll come out of the resume chapter with a solid document to
submit to studios. You’ll come out of the networking chapter with new game-
writing contacts. And you’ll come out of this book with a clear path to your
dream job. But only if you put in the work. Are you ready for that? If you are,
let’s get started.
Chapter 1

Definitions

There is a challenge for writers who work in video games: to eschew the
writer’s customary godlike power to shape and sequence all events, to
instead “tell” as much of the story as possible through things that
might happen or not, might be seen or skipped, perhaps not even
noticed; to instead tell as much of the story as possible with the en­
vironmental set dressing through which players wander at their own
pace, through dynamic events that cue player-character response,
and—the game writer’s holy grail—through the player’s exploitation of
game mechanics. When the player acts, the game system responds
dramatically, and in the same second the player’s mind is hit with a
rush of narrative realization—the pleasure of epiphany—that is when
the video game writer has served the project well.
—Harvey Smith, Studio Director at Arkane Austin

Do you remember the exact moment you decided to write video games?
Remember that flash of epiphany? I remember mine. It was a sweltering summer
night in 2001 and I was at home, sweating my way through a video game with Bad
Writing. The heat made me cranky, so the stiff dialogue jarred me harder than it
normally would. I winced at a clunky line and thought, “I could write better crap
than this.” A lightbulb flickered on in my mind. “I really could write better crap
than this!” I figured I could write at least that badly. And that was that. My dream
was born.
But a dream is only the first step. My vague ambition remained just that; I had
no plans to turn it into reality. I was happily bartending, a job that felt a world
removed from the fantastical video games I loved playing in my off hours. But time
passed and tending bar lost its thrill. I grew restless. I wanted more for my future

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-2 7
8 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

than slinging drinks until I was old and bitter. I tried to imagine what else would
make me happy. What work could I stand to do every day for the next forty years
or so? And making games popped to mind. I didn’t even know for sure that “game
writer” was a real job. When I told people I wanted to write video games, they
condescendingly said, “I think you mean design them.” Which was a fair point
back then, but not exactly encouraging. Game writing opportunities have surged
in the past two decades as the industry has recognized the value of narrative and
looked beyond game designers to write story, but in the early Noughties, pure
game writers were rare. I searched for job openings but came up empty-handed.
I didn’t even know where to look. The few resources I had, gaming magazines and
a handful of websites, had nothing. Tumbleweeds rolled through my hopes. But a
lack of opportunity couldn’t stop me. Determined to write games, I went back to
school to get the right education for my goal.
I took some community college courses to get started and then transferred to a
small, traditional liberal arts college in New England. My big break came the first
week at my new school. I met the QA1 lead at the only video game studio in town
when he was in the act of advertising for testers. Pure serendipity! I told him I was
interested in video games, and he connected me to his studio. I applied for a testing
job, landed the gig, and there it was: my first toehold on the industry ladder.
My video game career had begun.
I put myself through college working as a tester, first for that studio, then as a
contractor for small game companies. I volunteered to write any game text I could at
every studio I worked at, until I finally joined the Guild Wars 2 narrative team as an
official writer. From there, it was a steady progression of industry roles until I ended up
leading my own team. Now, I can’t imagine doing any other kind of work. I love it.

Defining Terms
But I’m getting ahead of myself. You have to know what your goal is to achieve it, so
let’s define some terms! I won’t split hairs with these definitions, I promise. Outside of
academia, people aren’t as finicky about distinguishing terms, and you’ll sometimes
hear words like “story” and “narrative,” used interchangeably in AAA. There are
occasions when precise definitions matter, but for now you only need to learn broad-
stroke concepts. That said, I won’t start at square one. I’ll assume you already have
some fundamental knowledge of writing, whether that’s traditional writing such as
novels or interactive writing such as website content. I expect that you know what
video games are and that you’ve played some. And I hope you understand that writing
for games has come a long way in the last few decades. Modern video game stories can
be as rich and profound as any other art form. Creating them isn’t, as some of my

1
QA = Quality Assurance. These are the testers who find and report bugs in the game.
 Definitions ▪ 9

friends like to joke, just writing “the beeps and boops” of sound effects. It’s a craft
practiced by professionals who care deeply for interactive media. It’s also an absolute
bloody mess when it comes to standardization. I’ll lay out the basics here, but keep in
mind that there is no universal definition for many of these terms and practices.

The Basics
First things first: What exactly is a game writer? What do they do? These are
trickier questions than you might realize because every studio has its own
requirements and they overlap with other disciplines like narrative design. A
narrative designer (ND for short) and game writer can perform the exact same
work but go by different names, depending on the studio. On my path to senior
roles, I was a writer at ArenaNet, a narrative designer at Airtight Games/Square
Enix, and then a scriptwriter for Ubisoft. The work involved was largely the same,
regardless of my title. So, does that mean that a writer and narrative designer are
the same thing? No, not at all! Well, sometimes. Let’s just say it’s complicated.
That’s true for many narrative roles. A director at one studio might have the same
responsibilities as a lead at another. A senior at an indie might do the same tasks as
a mid-level writer at a bigger studio. The best way to explain this snarl of titles is to
walk you through what each narrative role on a AAA project does.

The Hierarchy
The video game hierarchy is structured like your standard pyramid. Entry-level
roles are concentrated at the base and creative directors, game directors, and studio
heads are at the tippy top. But one role stands above them all:

■ Idea Guy: This is the person whose sole job is to come up with interesting
story ideas for video games. They spend all day dreaming up badass characters
and explaining plot details to the team. Sometimes they draw pictures. No
game could be made without—okay, okay, I’ll stop. I’m just kidding. There’s
no such job. There’s no role that “only” involves dreaming up ideas. In games,
ideas are cheap. Every creative role involves an element of ideation. What
matters is your ability to realize those ideas. Even creative directors—the
people steering the game—need more than a strong vision. They need to know
how to align everyone with that vision to make a viable game. That’s why
you’ll see game developers’ eyes glaze over when you say, “I’ve got a great idea
for a video game!” Oh yeah? You and everybody else, pal. It takes vision plus
knowledge plus resources plus hard work plus time to make a game.

So, now that I’ve dispelled the Idea Guy myth, let’s talk about what the video game
hierarchy really looks like.
10 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

The AAA game-writing pyramid generally goes (in descending order): direc­
tors, leads/principals, seniors, mid-level roles, juniors, and interns. If you mapped
out those tiers, they’d look something like this:

The narrative pyramid.

It’s important to understand these tiers when you’re applying for jobs. I’ll
discuss this more in later chapters, but for now all you need is a sense of the
structure and how roles align with it.

■ Creative Directors: At the top of our project pyramid is the creative

director, the vision-holder for the entire game. They oversee the project
and keep all the disciplines pointed toward the same goal. They often have
business responsibilities, like adhering to a budget and presenting to share­
holders, and promotional duties like meeting with publishers and the press.
They’re also likely to be the big names on a project and have the final say on
everything in the game. Some famous CDs are Hideo Kojima, Tim Schafer,
Kim Swift, and Cory Barlog.
 Definitions ▪ 11

■ Narrative Directors and Narrative Leads: This role is top of the food chain
for all things narrative. They’re usually the conduit to the creative director
and own the narrative vision of the game. It’s important to note that
“narrative” in video games doesn’t just mean dialogue, characters, plot, and
all the other elements of a story. Narrative is also how that story is delivered
through the various systems and design elements of the game. Narrative
designers, dialogue designers, editors, and many other non-writing roles may
fall under this umbrella. Director roles also involve casting actors, negoti­
ating with recording studios and directors, and evangelizing the story to
publishers and the wider team. Some narrative directors are Richard Dansky,
Sachka Duval, Novera King, and Ann Lemay.
■ Worldbuilders and Lore Masters: I put this role near the top of the
hierarchy to reflect its responsibility and influence, but it’s usually either
combined with another role like Lead Writer or Principal, or it sits outside
the hierarchy entirely as an editorial force. The roles are fairly self-
explanatory. Worldbuilders create the broad strokes of the universe: the
culture, beliefs, regions, trades, etc. of the game world. Lore masters are
tasked with enforcing worldbuilding specifics in day-to-day decisions. Would
a magician believe in the gods? How sentient are lava monsters? Would the
people in this desert region have a water festival? All the nitpicky details that
keep the world consistent and believable. Nowadays, these roles have largely
fallen out of use as a stand-alone job. There was a staff “lore-brarian” at
Ubisoft Massive, but her work revolved more around intellectual property
(IP) needs and lore was one of many responsibilities on her plate.
■ “Story By” or Story Lead: Another title that often exists more as a credit
than an actual role. If the game is written by an established author (like Clive
Barker’s Undying or Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell) or if an outside writer is
brought in to write the story treatment, then this title is usually created to
capture that contribution. Just to make things confusing, however, Story
Lead is occasionally the same role as a Narrative Lead.
■ Lead Writer or Lead Narrative Designer: This role answers to the
Narrative Director and is responsible for realizing the narrative vision of
the game. That means they work with other disciplines on the characters,
dialogue, worldbuilding, and other elements to tell the story of the game.
The lead writer is responsible for guiding the team, nurturing their
writing, and making sure all narrative elements are tonally correct and up
to standard. They often write the so-called story bible for the game.
Narrative design leads oversee the design and implementation2 work of

2
In its most basic form, “implementing” a design means taking the design plan or words on the
page and entering them into the game engine (software like Unreal or Unity) so they become
playable.
12 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

their team and keep it aligned with quality standards. There may also be
a strong administrative element to the role with assigning tasks, setting
deadlines, and creating schedules and workflows. Leads are also line
managers: They have one-on-one meetings with the team, give annual
assessments, relay HR information, and are usually the ones responsible
for hiring. Sometimes the production or management part of the job is
split out into a separate role: “Story Manager.” You probably know a lot of
lead writers: Lauren Mee, Darby McDevitt, and Samantha Wallschlaeger,
to name just a few.
■ Principal Writer and Principal Narrative Designer: This path is for very
experienced narrative devs who don’t want to lead a team; they prefer to
develop their craft instead. Their expertise is respected, and they will
usually “own” a significant portion of the story. While they might mentor
less experienced writers, there is no built-in obligation to do so like there
is with lead roles. Their job is to write. Principals often act as the lore
masters for the game. This title isn’t widely understood outside the studio
environment, but some writers who qualify are Clay Murphy, Colin
Harvey, and Craig Owens.
■ All Senior and Advanced Roles: I created a catch-all category for senior
roles because there are too many to list out. Senior is more an indicator of
increased responsibility and authority than it is a discrete job. If
you’ve been doing good work in your discipline as a mid-level writer or
narrative designer, you’ll eventually get promoted to senior. This allows
you to have more say in the game story, to write major characters and
substantial pieces of the story, and to participate in external processes, like
recording sessions and storyboarding. Advanced Writer is a more liminal
role. Mary Kenney was an advanced writer at Insomniac Games before
her promotion to senior, and she describes the role this way: “It’s es­
sentially a mid-level writer who has a touch more responsibility than
a ‘writer.’ This usually means they ‘own’ more content from start to
finish and with less oversight. Advanced writers aren’t typically expected
to participate in meetings with directors or external partners, and they
aren’t expected to mentor other writers.” So you might become an
advanced writer on your path to a senior role, just like she did. Senior
writers and NDs are often well-known figures on social media, such as
Mary or Hazel Monforton.
■ Writer and Narrative Designer: This is where things start to get dicey.
When I asked online what the difference is between a game writer and
narrative designer, nobody could give a clear answer. Here are some of the
responses:

• Is it bad that I’ve done both and I still don’t know …? —Emma Kidwell
• You really woke up and chose violence this Monday. —Sophie Mallinson
 Definitions ▪ 13

• I don’t know and at this point I’m too afraid to ask.—Jacob Mills
• Game writers cry. Narrative designers cry systemically. —Bertine van
Hövell3

All of these “I have no idea” answers came from professional game writers and
NDs. While they’re clearly jokes, they surface a longstanding lack of clarity
about the roles. If the people doing the job aren’t sure of the distinction, then
how can anyone know? I wish I could leave this topic at “it depends on the
studio so read the job description carefully” and move on to the next chapter,
but as your mentor I’m obligated to at least distinguish the most important
elements of each role.
Veteran writer James B. Jones offered this explanation: “Personally, ‘game
writers’ do the actual wordsmithing while narrative designers approach the
story from a structural, mechanical, and design angle. Some folks do both.”4 That
definition roughly matches my understanding of the two roles: Writing is what.
Narrative design is how. And both roles do a little of each, no matter what. Let’s
dig into the specifics, starting with the writing side of narrative first.

■ Writer: Also known as scriptwriter. Or screenwriter. Or content writer.

Or … yeah. You get the idea. It’s the person who writes story and dia­
logue. The old-school combo role of designer/writer still exists at some
game studios in the form of quest design or narrative design, but these days
most studios bring in dedicated writers to craft a story and punch up
dialogue.
What game writers do depends on the studio. The overlap between writers
and NDs can make the roles hard to untangle. If you have to draw a
distinction, here’s a good metric: only one role has to write, by definition.
They type out the actual word-by-word writing of the game. Writers put
those snappy one-liners in the mouths of characters. They write the vil­
lain’s gloating monologue. They write the voiceover (VO) lines for that
memory montage that makes you cry. Their day-to-day work breaks down
into tasks that focus primarily on story as content—the lines of dialogue,
the descriptions of items and weapons, the complex characters that inhabit
the world, and the overarching plot. All the surface material of narrative
that players see and experience.

So, if that’s writing, what does a narrative design role look like? Well, if you ask
NDs, it looks like this:

3
@EmmaKidwell, @sophmallinson, @JacobWMills, and @lostagainb, Twitter, 2022.
4
@TheJamesBJones, Twitter, 2022.
14 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Narrative design in action.

It can definitely be like that at smaller (or understaffed) studios. But if all is
going well, narrative designers focus on the delivery of storytelling. They create all
the hidden design work that underlies the surface writing. Think of story as a
circus big-top tent. Narrative design provides the big tentpoles, the web of ropes
and pulleys, and the elaborate scaffolding that define and support the structure.
Writing is the colorful, fun fabric draped over that framework that makes it rec­
ognizably a circus tent. This is a drastically simplified explanation, of course, but
you get the idea. Keeping this circus-tent metaphor in mind, let’s look at the story
“scaffolding.”

Narrative Design Roles

To me, narrative design is a branch of game design, and maybe even of
system design. An ND designs, prototypes, tests, and implements game
systems—the systems that handle not only dialogue, but anything that
is “manifesting” the story.
—Sachka Duval, Narrative Director at Hinterland Studios
 Definitions ▪ 15

Narrative design is one of the most varied and least understood roles in games.
It’s also a relatively new role, in terms of a distinct position at a studio. As
the old designer-writer combo roles split into specializations of design/imple­
mentation and pure writing, communication problems arose between those
two departments. It turned out that when you have design working along one
track and writing working along another, their work gets disconnected. It
creates the notorious “ludonarrative dissonance,” that disconnect between what
the story tells you to do and what the gameplay allows you to do. A classic
example of this is when the story tells you to “hurry, hurry, the world’s about
to end! You have to save it!” But the gameplay lets you chop wood or chase
chickens for several hours as if there’s no life-threatening event happening at
all. Another famous example is Nathan Drake in the Uncharted games. He’s
charming, funny, likeable, a good guy—and an unstoppable serial killer. His
character must kill to progress the game. So how do you fix disconnects like
this? How do you bridge the gap between story and gameplay? The answer is
narrative design.
There are many types of narrative design: narrative systems design, narrative
design implementation, technical narrative design, and good old standard narrative
designer, to name a few. Let’s break those down.

■ Narrative Systems Designer: This role works on the delivery systems for
narrative. This includes conversation & dialogue systems (how characters
talk to you), UI5 elements (how you buy items, save your game, etc.),
procedural elements (dungeons that have different floorplans and enemies
every time you enter them), and much more. As Sachka said, this role is
design-centric. This book doesn’t focus on design paths, so I’ll give you the
details right here, and then that’ll be it for this role. Here’s a great breakdown
from Whitney “Strix” Beltran, the narrative director at Hidden Path
Entertainment.

Narrative systems and content design require the ability to work with
scripting. Whether it’s Unity’s visual scripting, UE5 blueprints, or
independent scripting languages like Lua or Python, those technical
skills are a must. Design thinking for narrative systems: How does the
localization pipeline for dialogue actually work in implementation?
What are best practices for structuring conversation systems? How do
we work world-state tagging into character personality? Procedural
narrative, how do?

5
UI = User Interface. That’s what we call all those menus in games: your inventory, storefronts,
pop-up windows with information about loading or saving, everything with text in it that
exists outside the context of the game fiction. To get fancy, UI writing is often called “non-
diegetic text.”
16 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

In the pre-production phase, technical narrative designers make

features. Like, say, a dialogue tool or a romance system. They will
plan, prototype, script, and implement this feature. They will keep
careful technical documentation (hopefully). Technical narrative
designers do not generally do world-building, character development,
story development, or writing. It’s desirable to have good affinity
and overlap in a pinch, but that is left to other roles on the team.
Sometimes this job is done by people with “gameplay designer” or
“level designer” as a title.

If Strix’s terminology isn’t familiar to you, don’t worry! It’ll all make sense by the
end of this book. The main point for now is that this role can be highly technical
and often doesn’t fall under the Narrative umbrella at all. But it’s critical for
providing the game’s storytelling framework.

■ Narrative Design Implementer: This is a less technical role than systems

designer, but it requires importing narrative elements into the game.
Implementers enter lines of dialogue into game tools. They might set up a
“tripwire” around an NPC6 that triggers a line of dialogue when players
get within a certain distance. Or they might place a note on an in-game
table for players to read as they’re passing through the room. They follow
the blueprint of narrative design to build the story inside the game engine
(software). Implementers often work with other disciplines such as Level
Design and Environment Art to set up the quest flow through a map.
When they’re done, you can play through the story as a game!
■ Narrative Designers: Narrative designers use gameplay systems to con­
struct the circus-tent framework that writers will cover with their story.
They may also structure the flow of quests—how the story is delivered
moment by moment. The overarching plot, key characters, and story
themes (the what) are decided higher up, but NDs decide how to relay that
story information. Say the story calls for a big, dramatic moment where a
dragon swoops down and snatches away your true love. Epic action scenes
like that are usually cinematics.7 A character wants you to make a choice?
That’s likely a conversation that branches into options at the end. The
narrative designer decides which method of storytelling—cinematic, con­
versation systems, etc.—works best for the needs of that scene. Their goal
is to deliver the greatest, most efficient narrative impact from each story
beat. This role overlaps with pure writing the most and is often viewed

6
NPC = non-player character. This is any character in the game that isn’t controlled by players.
7
Cinematics are the movie parts of video games. They’re also known as cutscenes or cines.
 Definitions ▪ 17

through the lens of narrative features. Eevi Korhonen, the senior narrative
designer at Housemarque, explains what that means.

I design narrative features, so any feature that is used primarily to

convey the story of the game, such as Xenoglyphs or Databank entries
in Returnal. I also do a lot of worldbuilding in collaboration with the
rest of the narrative team and the output of that is usually various
documents (or just informal chats) to be provided to art, cinematic and
audio teams.

Narrative features are the building blocks of the game story and create spaces for
writers to fill. This can be literal, when a narrative designer stubs in placeholder
text for a note that says something like “[information about alien attack
HERE].” The writers go through and craft the text of that note line by line and
implementers place the note in the game world. Sometimes one person does all
three tasks. That’s how interwoven narrative roles are.
I could keep going and define every variation of narrative designer out there,
but I think you get the idea. Writers and narrative designers both work on story-
related elements, and it’s tough to draw a clear line of demarcation between the
roles. But, in general, writers own text and story, while NDs own structure and
systems. Whew! Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s move to the next step in our
hierarchy.

■ Narrative Editor: Here’s a little-known fact: Many writers are terrible

editors. We can’t spell, our grammar is atrocious, we overuse em dashes,
get emotionally attached to commas, and guess our way through
hyphenation. No AAA game could make it out the door without an editor.
A good editor doesn’t just correct the textual elements of your writing;
they also provide notes on the content. When I was an editor at ArenaNet,
I wrote long notes of feedback on the story structure, like “You just opened
the gates to a beautiful city, and I want to explore it! Why are you sending
me back out into the countryside on my next mission?” Good editorial
feedback can turn decent writing into fantastic writing. It catches those
sneaky typos and makes dialogue shine. (Yes, I’m sucking up to the editor
of this book. Learn from me!) Editors are also liaisons to Loc8 and lore,
keeping tone, diction, and style in line. Most smaller studios hire outside
agencies to edit their work or trust QA testers to catch mistakes, but big
studios like Riot Games and Blizzard Entertainment have dedicated editors
working in-house.

8
Loc = localization. Pronounced “loke.” This team translates games into other languages and
cultures.
18 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

■ Junior Writer and Intern: I lumped these two roles together because they
represent that first step into the industry. Both roles allow inexperienced
writers to learn on the job for a modest wage. Entry-level positions like this
are rare in AAA now, which is a shame. When you’re fresh out of school and
just starting in the industry, a junior role can be a great springboard to full-
fledged writing work. Or if a hiring manager sees raw talent in your samples,
but you have no professional writing experience at all, they might agree to
take you on as a paid intern and give you that needed foot in the door. As a
junior, you follow a more senior writer and participate in their daily tasks.
You write barks9 and notes, item descriptions, and help process audio files
and scripts for recording sessions. The purpose of this role is to learn, so you
should get a chance to try a little bit of everything.
■ Contractors: If you’ve looked at the career pages of major studios and
wondered where all the entry-level jobs have gone, here’s your answer.
Contractors have largely replaced the junior writer and intern roles that used
to provide a foothold in AAA. As a project grows, studios will often bulk up
their workforce by hiring devs on contract. This arrangement is great for
freelancers, who can join a team for a defined period of time, do their job,
and then move on to another gig when the contract ends. But if you’re
looking for a permanent, in-house position, it’s tough to make the leap from
contractor to full-time employment (FTE). I’ll talk about contract roles more
later on, but think of them as cyclical, time-limited, or external staff at all
levels of experience.

If you put all these roles together into something like the organization charts you
find at studios, it looks like figure on the next page.

■ Other Disciplines: One key point that my handy-dandy diagram fails to

show is how the narrative hierarchy intersects with other disciplines.
Departments such as Audio, Art, Level Design, Loc, and QA work so
intimately with narrative that they intersect at every level and every role.
I’ve mentioned the close collaboration with Level Design and Art before.
Audio and Cinematics will help you realize the story through motion-
capture performance (aka mocap), music, and glossy cutscenes. Animation
will bring your characters to life. QA will catch your mistakes before they
go humiliatingly public, and Localization will make your wisecracks
funny in other languages. Production keeps the game on schedule so that
it actually ships. At every step of the process, you’ll have to take the needs
of these disciplines into account, and they’ll work with you to realize the
grand vision of the game.

9
Barks are short lines of one-off dialogue, like “I’m out of ammo!” and “Watch your back!”
 Definitions ▪ 19

The narrative hierarchy as an organizational chart.

20 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

AAA vs. Indie vs. Mobile

Narrative hierarchy varies from studio to studio. It can also look completely dif­
ferent when you’re in the independent (indie) or mobile branches of the games
industry. Most folks in indie games wear many hats because teams are smaller and
less specialized. It’s a great way to try out a bunch of different roles at once and
have greater control over your work. On one indie project, I was QA lead, writer,
editor, ND, community manager, and marketer. Whew! But I got to experience all
angles of the story that way. Many game writers, especially freelance writers like
Rhianna Pratchett, float between indie and AAA. In her words:

I like mixing things up with different styles of project. It keeps life

interesting. There are completely different challenges with every game
so you’re always adapting; always learning. In the indie space, you’re
often working with smaller teams, so that means you can have more of
a voice. And as writers in games that’s something we can often struggle
to truly get. But you’re also usually working with a smaller budget,
maybe doing multiple jobs and it’s more flying-by-the-seat-of-your-
pants style development. With AAA you get the “shiny”—the big
budgets, the big names etc. But those also come with big expectations
and multiple stakeholders. Situations like “story by committee” are
more commonplace.

Beyond AAA and indie, the mobile side of games can have an entirely different
cadence to their development process, with more frequent updates and shorter
development cycles. Many mobile games rely heavily on in-game advertisement
or monetization10 elements—like asking you to pay to avoid long waiting
periods—and that can be off-putting for writers. But every game needs to make
money somehow, right? Mobile games are simply more upfront about that need. I
got my start working on games like Hasbro’s Littlest Pet Shop, where you had to
buy a stuffed animal in the real world just to access the game. Talk about smart
monetization! My LPS game is long gone, but I still use the knowledge I gained
from writing its in-game newspaper. It’s all valuable experience, so don’t be afraid
to pursue opportunities outside of AAA to get a foot in the industry door.
Every branch of games secretly thinks they’re the best branch. However,
there’s a distressing tendency among writers to look down on other wings of our
industry. I’ve seen prominent indie writers sneer at “safe” AAA work and heard
AAA writers mock “clumsy” low-budget indie titles. Mobile games inexplicably
draw the most disdain, despite their incredible popularity and staggering

10
Monetization = how a game makes money. Mobile games often have a “freemium” model:
free to buy and play, but with ads, in-game purchases, and progression barriers to encourage
spending.
 Definitions ▪ 21

financial returns. These are not rational biases, so don’t get sucked into them.
Every type of game-making has its pros and cons. I like the deep dive into story
that AAA in-house work lets you have, but I know many writers who prefer the
faster pace of indie titles or the modularity of mobile games. It’s entirely a matter
of personal taste and values. My advice is to try them all on for size (if possible)
and see which one suits you best.

The Flow of Writing

Now that you have a better understanding of all the narrative roles, let’s talk about
how they fit together. How do writers take a story from an idea to a game you can
play? What does the flow of work through this hierarchy look like? In most AAA
studios, it looks like this:

Story flow through the hierarchy.

22 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

As you might expect, it usually starts with a concept at the top. The narrative
director and lead writer create the story. They propose or “pitch” story ideas until
one gets approved, then they plan out the high-level story beats, major themes, and
key characters. They might divide the story into chapters or substories. They work
with the narrative design lead and worldbuilders (among many, many others) to
determine the path of that story through the world. The principals and seniors
write the major characters’ biographies, map out their story arcs, and work with
narrative designers to “break” it into cinematics, conversations, and readable ele­
ments like notes, signs, and so forth. Then the writers come along and flesh out the
scenes with characterful dialogue. The final steps involve edits for clarity and
continuity, working with localization to translate text into other languages, and
checking for errors with QA. Along the way, writers will collaborate with every
other team on the project to achieve their storytelling aims. It takes an entire team
to ship a game, so good communication between disciplines is critical.

Creative Control and Collaboration

It should be clear by now that game writing is collaboration. Period. Games are
huge. Unless you’re working on a tiny project as an indie developer, you’re
working with other people to realize the world. That means you’re constantly
compromising to make the game work. Even the people at the very top of the food
chain, the creative directors and worldbuilders, have to compromise their vision.
These days you’re likely to work on an existing IP, so you might have little say in
the game universe or character arcs. Sometimes technology will limit what you can
do. Sometimes the project gets “scoped down”11 and content has to be cut. It’s a
brutal process. You can spend months creating a rock-solid storyline, with writing
that sparkles and characters you love, and then come in to work one day and learn
it’s all been scrapped. The game concept has changed, or there’s no budget for your
missions, or it simply doesn’t resonate with higher-ups. It’s not just “kill your
darlings” in the games industry, it’s often “watch the genocide of your darlings”
when entire regions get slashed. You have far less control than you’d have with, say,
a novel. Letting go of what you’ve created and buying in to the new direction can
be difficult. And as Rhianna said, sometimes there are so many chefs in the nar­
rative kitchen it becomes a “story by committee” process. But that’s the nature of
game development! Collaborating with creative people who feed off each other’s
ideas can elevate your work, making it better and more imaginative than anything
you could have realized alone. There’s a strange alchemy that occurs when

11
Scope = the scale of the project, measured in resources like game features (co-op play, boss
fights, journals, etc.) and staff. “Downscoping” reduces the scale of the game through
cuts—usually to features.
 Definitions ▪ 23

disciplines combine their creative power. They produce work that transcends the
sum of its parts. Work that is inspired, moving, and magical. But to achieve that
brilliance, you have to relinquish control and embrace a communal process.

The Right Path

With all of these role possibilities, how do you decide which path to pick? The
good news is that you don’t have to decide right away. There’s no “one true path”
into games and no set journey through it. There’s a great deal of crossover in the
roles and you’ll have plenty of time to try on different hats and see which one fits
best. To translate my personal credo into general advice, I’d say that you should
always remember why you got into the industry and make that your north star. If
you got into the industry to make games and you don’t care what game you work
on, then your path is easy. You can work in any branch of the industry on any
project. You’ll have abundant choice—even it means working on games that you’d
never personally play. If you got into the industry to tell your own stories, then you
might work for indies where you have more control. Or learn to code so you can
create a game from scratch. Or launch a Kickstarter. Do what it takes to own your
game stories. If you’re like me, however, your goal is to work on narrative-focused
AAA games with stories you love. Games that you’d want to play yourself. A goal
this specific takes strategy, hard work, and brutal self-honesty. You’ll have to
prepare well and be ready for anything the industry throws at you. You might have
to move at the end of every project and start over at new studios. You might have
to learn skills outside your comfort zone. Following your star will take you places
you can’t even imagine right now. But no matter your dream, no matter your
north star, all paths start with those first, small steps. So, choose your role. Define
your goal. And turn to the next chapter.
Chapter 2

Education

Broaden your horizons! Don’t just play games for inspiration—read

widely, go to the theatre, listen to radio plays. Be interested in
people and the world. Be a sponge for stories in all their forms. You
never know what might inspire you so give yourself a deep well to
draw from.
—Rhianna Pratchett, Freelance Writer

This year, more than 85 students will graduate from New York University’s
Game Center and start looking for jobs.1 Those students will join thousands of
other game-program graduates around the world to compete for jobs. Add to
that number all the graduates from previous years and game-writing professionals
who are switching roles for better opportunities. The result is that the number of
applicants vastly outstrips the number of open roles. Finding an entry-level job
in AAA is hard with such fierce competition. I’ll say that again for those of you
dealing with rejections: it’s hard. The odds are even more daunting when
you consider how few game-writing jobs exist in the first place. If you have your
heart set on writing for a top studio on one of their flagship games or for
your favorite, popular IP, you’re looking at maybe 5–10 narrative spots on the
entire team. I conducted an informal internet poll a few years back that con­
cluded there are fewer than 1000 prestige game-writing jobs in AAA globally.
Competition for these roles is intense, and it takes the right combination of
talent, skill, and plain luck to land one. So how can you compete in this
overcrowded arena?

1
Thanks to Clara Fernandez-Vara for her program statistics.

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-3 25
26 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

The Good News

The statistics for entry-level roles on prestige projects are as bleak as it gets—but
even those jobs aren’t impossible to get. And, if you look outside that narrow slice
of the industry, you’ll find plenty of opportunities for junior and mid-level writers
in games. All you need are the right skills and experience. The AAA hiring
managers and recruiters I interviewed expect candidates to have some industry
knowledge already. They don’t hire applicants with no games experience at all.
That’s the hard truth. Here’s where you groan and say, “Thanks a lot, Anna! I
already know that.” I get that it feels like a locked door, but there are ways past it, I
promise. I’ll explain how to get the experience you need to … get the experience
you need, but first let’s talk about getting the right training. What essential skills
do you need to succeed?

The Right Skills

Here’s the big question: “Is writing enough?” Is being a good writer enough
to secure one of those rare pie-in-the-sky roles? The answer is yes! You can get a job
as a writer, especially a contract writer for barks and UI text, with writing skills
alone. Some junior roles don’t ask much beyond an interest in games and a way
with words. I once worked with a senior writer whose tech knowledge was so
limited that he scribbled everything longhand and had a designer type it into the
tool for him. (A headache for everyone involved.) I’ve known brilliant writers who
can barely turn on a computer. They were all strong writers—they had to be—to
offset missing skills in other areas. So, yes, you can make a career in game narrative
with writing skills alone if you’re damn good at it.
But let’s be honest here: good writing skills are the baseline requirement for
game writers. If you want to be the best candidate for a role, you need to be better
than basic. You should pick up additional skills that offer you an advantage in the
industry and give a leg up on your competition. Here are some useful “extra” skills
for narrative jobs:

■ screenwriting ■ editing ■ narrative design

■ storyboarding ■ implementation ■ game design
■ film or theater ■ dialogue scripting ■ systems design
experience ■ language (translation) ■ level design
■ content writing ■ specialization (ex: ■ tools expertise
■ production military experience) ■ QA knowledge
 Education ▪ 27

This is a small selection of abilities that will improve your chances. The most
obvious “adds” are from disciplines that intersect with Narrative. I studied
computer science in college, and I have an editing and testing background, so
I have an advantage over people who “only” write. First-person shooter (FPS)
games often hire writers with military backgrounds so the soldiers’ dialogue
and characterization feel authentic. And it’s common for people to enter game
writing from related disciplines, like level design or cinematics. At Naughty
Dog, writer Josh Scherr started out as an animator before becoming a writer.
He began offering feedback on cinematics scripts, which led to helping out with
script contributions. From there, he was made part of the story development
process on the Uncharted series—although his full-time focus was still leading
the cinematics team.

Eventually, Neil approached me and asked if I wanted to move on

to writing full time. It was obviously a big transition, and I was
terrified at the prospect of leaving behind my field of expertise to do
something that I had never done professionally. But I also figured,
when am I ever going to get another chance like this? So, I said yes.
And much to my delight, it ended up working out. So that’s
the roundabout way that I got into a writing position. I didn’t
specifically go to school for it. I didn’t specifically apply for those
jobs. I didn’t explicitly work my way up through any of those
things. I got in partially through the back door and my own
pushing for it.

Josh was able to switch to game writing because he demonstrated a deep under­
standing of character and dialogue that translated well to narrative work. His skill
set transcended his own discipline and became broadly applicable.
Most in-house AAA writers who’ve reached senior level in the industry have a
Swiss-army-knife skillset. You’ll be on a team which also has a mixed bag of
talents, so you’ll need to fill in gaps with your skills or complement a colleague’s
weakness with your strength. The more experience you have with every element
of game writing, the better. Can you write a story treatment, character biog­
raphy, cinematic, branching conversation, marketing and trailer copy, pitch,
story “bible,” and design document on top of standard barks, scenes, and UI
text? Fantastic! Versatility is a plus. By the time you wrestle a project over the
finish line, you’ll likely write every single narrative item in that list and then
some. When employers know you can write a story from soup to nuts, they’ll
hire you before writers who are only familiar with item descriptions or barks.
And any talent or knowledge you can bring in addition to your writing skill will
give you an edge.
28 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Game Writing vs. Traditional Writing

Maybe you’re already a writer and you’re considering a move from your field into
game writing. I see that a lot these days, with writers entering games from media
like TV, film, and theater. If that’s you, then writer Toiya Kristen Finley2 has some
good news for you: “Writing is writing, and storytelling skills are storytelling skills.
If you have a solid foundation in narrative, your storytelling skills are going to
translate to any medium.” And if you know how to write for an audience, you’re
most of the way there. All that’s left is to adjust your usual writing technique
to the needs of this highly interactive medium. Game writing has some specific
constraints:

■ Nonlinearity: This can be a real challenge in open-world games! Players can

progress through your story out of its intended order (the “golden line” of
the game), so you have to plan for their whims and check in before critical
dramatic points. Checkpoints and hidden conditionals3 ensure players know
what they’re supposed to know so your plot will still make sense and hit the
right emotional beats. It also helps to think of game narrative in a modular
way, with self-contained scenes or segments of dialogue that players string
together like beads on a necklace to tell a story.
■ Interactivity: Games aren’t the only interactive medium, of course. Theater
has audience participation or collaboration, like Punchdrunk’s immersive
“Sleep No More.” Art installations such as teamLab’s “Graffiti Nature: Lost,
Immersed, and Reborn” incorporate drawings from viewers. Kpop has
rousing fan chants that turn live shows into call-and-response routines. I’m
not going to wade into The Discourse4 around this topic. It’s a pointless
debate. We can all agree that interaction is fundamental to the game ex­
perience without trashing other media. But what does it mean to center
interaction in a story? You’ll hear game devs talk about “player agency” in
reverent tones. For writers, that simply means allowing players to drive the
story and actively contribute to its unfolding—or at least letting them think
they can. This means making space for players to affect the world and
characters through their actions and decisions.
■ Synergy: Or harmony, or “ludonarrative consonance,” or whatever you want
to call it. It’s those moments when story and gameplay align perfectly to

2
Toiya’s full title is freelance writer and editor in general; game designer, narrative designer,
game writer, editor, narrative and diversity consultant in games.
3
Very simply, tags and conditionals help the game react to what players do. For example, IF a
player has met the character Poppy in the game (the condition), THEN a line of dialogue
about Poppy plays (the reaction).
4
You’ll sometimes see discussion around certain topics become fevered, industry-wide debates.
That’s the current discourse. My least-favorite discourse topic is “Are games Art?” because
come on. Of course they are.
 Education ▪ 29

produce an emotional response. It’s when, as Strix says, the “game feels good,
bro.” The “show don’t tell” rule in traditional writing becomes “play not
words” when translated to games. It’s more than avoiding walls of text or
empty dialogue or adding “press X to cry” interactions. It means investing
gameplay actions with feeling. Here’s what I mean: when your older brother
dies in Brothers: A Tale of Two Sons, the first thing you have to do is bury
him. You have to drag his body across the ground, push it into a grave, and
spread dirt over it. This could be comical, except that the game leans into the
mechanics of the moment. The player has controlled both brothers up to this
point. The older brother was on one joystick; “you” were on the other.
You’ve built up muscle memory in your hands as you built up experiential
memories with your brother through story moments. When you work the
controls without him for the first time, you feel his loss physically. You have
to learn how to function without him—to physically work the controls
without him—because you can’t progress in the game if you don’t. But
learning to move without him means accepting he’s gone. It means letting
him go. Every awkward move you make to bury him reminds you that he’s
not there moving the controls with you. It’s a gut punch. That visceral
connection between the story loss (your brother dies) and mechanical loss
(your brother is missing from the controls) combine in gameplay action
(burying his body) to create a devastating moment of grief. I cried my eyes
out. That’s what I mean by synergy. And as Harvey noted earlier, it’s game
narrative’s holy grail.

So, there you have it. Those are the biggest differences between games and tra­
ditional forms of writing. There are more, of course, but that’s enough to get
you started.
All media have unique restraints, but you’d be surprised how much they have
in common, especially games, theater, and film. I once worked with a Hollywood
screenwriter who had just moved to games. He said the transition was easy except
for how informational game writing is. Screenplays and movie scripts need only
entertain, he said, but game writing has to instruct too, so it can progress. The trick
is to entertain players while telling them what to do next.
But let’s say you already understand the demands of interactive writing. What
other skills should you add to your repertoire?

Tech Skills
Most of the big studios use their own in-house programs, which are often more
sophisticated than publicly available software. This is great news for two reasons: it
makes narrative work easier, and they won’t expect you to be familiar with it before
you start. In fact, there’s no industry tech standard for game-writing jobs that
30 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

I’m aware of, beyond being able to use email, documents, spreadsheets, and
production software like Jira or ADO.5 I never worked for a studio that required
any previous design or programming experience for their writers, but narrative
designers should be familiar with Perforce and game engines such as Unreal or
Unity in addition to their narrative skills. I learned Python, Javascript, and
Actionscript (remember Flash?) at university, but I haven’t used them for work.
Never. Not even once. They help me understand the behavior of the game and its
systemic limitations, but that’s about it. Familiarity with screenwriting software
is also an advantage, because in-house software functions in similar ways. Check
out Final Draft or Scrivener and conditional storytelling software such as Twine or
Articy to get started. At one studio, we actually wrote cinematics in Final Draft and
then imported the files into the studio’s proprietary game engine, so it’s useful to
know standard commercial programs.
Generally, the usefulness of tech skills depends on whether or not you need to
implement the story yourself. At companies without dedicated writers, you’ll be
expected to do light design work and implementation, so having that knowledge
would be a distinct advantage. But still not a requirement!

Programming Skills
“Do writers need to know how to program?” I asked a group of game writers
this question, and they unanimously agreed that programming knowledge is
helpful, but not necessary. The more you understand the underlying systems of
whatever game you’re working on, the better. They are the tools in your kit as
much as cinematics or diction are. But understanding how to write a good story
is much more important. Pacing, character development, plot—it’s the writer’s
responsibility to make sure these elements are in place so the story is sound.
However, NDs should “know some scripting software,” says narrative designer
Son M. “You don’t need to know all of them but having some in your pocket
will only help you! Especially when you’re in a small team and need some sort
of standardization (everyone does scripts differently).” The better you under­
stand your game’s mechanics and structures, the better you can use them to
tell your story. This is especially true in procedurally generated games (games
with randomized content) and branching narratives that offer players a choice
of paths. But no writing role in AAA requires programming to craft a mean­
ingful story. So, the short answer is that you don’t need it, but some knowledge
might be helpful.

5
These programs track features, tasks, and schedules and serve as a database of bug reports and
fixes.
 Education ▪ 31

Basic Education
So, how do you get these skills? What kind of education do you need? Where do
you even start?
First off, finish high school (or its equivalent) if that’s possible for you.
Remember my statistic about the five-year career average? You might want that
diploma for something else if you decide to leave the games industry. There’s no
need to study game design or game narrative at this stage. Take classes that provide
foundational knowledge in a wide range of subjects—the classic liberal arts edu­
cation. It’s safer to follow your interests at this stage and study what you love.
You can always specialize later.
When I was in high school, making games never crossed my mind as a possible
career. I played video games, but it was just one of many hobbies. I was far more
passionate about reading, writing, and drawing back then. I knew I’d be something
creative and impractical—like a writer or an artist—but I didn’t imagine a career in
games. I simply wanted to get paid for doing something I loved. Like reading. Oh,
how I dreamed of reading books! Forever! For money! So when my school required
that we follow someone around at their job for Career Day, I chose to shadow an
editor at a big publishing house. She was kind, but confused. “This is your dream
job?” she asked, over and over again, as she showed me how to mark up manu­
scripts. Shy, fifteen-year-old Anna nodded. “Yes.” Well, it was my dream job until
I saw how tedious it was. No dream could survive the fifth reading of a dense text
about flywheels and machined cogs.

And that’s how I became a bartender.

In all seriousness, writers draw on their entire life experience to create stories.
They are sponges for information and weird little facts. What they don’t already
know, they research. There’s a joke that if you saw a writer’s internet search
history, you’d toss them in jail, because it’s stuff like “how to crack a safe” and
“most painful way to die?” Important to know! And easy knowledge to obtain.
But you’ll need formal education on top of googling skills. Obviously, English
literature classes were critical for me as a writer. But I’ve also drawn on my
studies of history, politics, science, and, yes, even bartending to make con­
vincing, well-rounded characters. Maybe someday I’ll use my extensive flywheel
knowledge in a game. You never know! That’s the beauty of writing. To get this
breadth and depth of information, I advise you to read as much as you can.
Study great literature. Learn the foundations of telling a good story. Mary
Kenney lays it out for you:

Know the basics of storytelling. Self-taught is fine! I came to fiction

after college (I didn’t take a single creative writing class in college, egad).
32 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

I had to read up on all ye olde jargons of fiction writing—Save the Cat,

the Hero’s Journey, and so forth—by myself.
But in graduate school and even during my first years in the
industry, I caught a ton of shade for wanting to focus on storytelling
and writing in games. “Mechanics! Learn mechanics! It’s all about
mechanics!” Well, sure, mechanics are great, but so are characters,
dialogue, arcs, and themes. In my first couple of years, I could write
dialogue decently well, and I had a spot of coding experience, but
I had absolutely no clue how to plot a story or track character arcs.
Focus on learning those basics, too, and it’ll make you a stronger
designer and writer.

That’s the kind of education you should get as a budding game writer. Basic
writing knowledge. If you can’t string together a compelling sentence, you
shouldn’t aim for game-writing jobs. That should go without saying, but
believe me, it doesn’t. The harsh truth is that you can’t get a job as a writer
unless you can write. No, scratch that! You can’t keep a job as a writer unless
you can write. Some people lie their way past all the recruiting safeguards or get
crony-ed into positions they’re not qualified for (yes, it happens on rare
occasions), but sooner or later they have to do the work. And that’s when skill
and knowledge matter.

University
I was in school for seven years at three colleges, and I’ll be paying off those student
loans until the sun goes supernova. My college career is not typical, so I won’t hold
it up as an example. I especially don’t want to encourage other Americans to take
that path when you don’t need a fancy degree to get a game-writing job. Don’t
believe me? Here’s what recruiter Petteri Tuomimaa has to say about educational
requirements:

In the roles that I’ve hired for, education is not that big of a deal.
There are exceptions to this rule, based on things like being able to
move into the European Union. You need to have higher education
or a certain salary level to move to, say, Finland, which might be
difficult to attain from a gaming company. So, in that case, education
matters. But when you’re already in the target country, it’s not that
important. When you have the skills from formal education, that also
definitely helps, especially when you’re a junior. But if you’re further
along in your career, then I don’t think education makes that much
of a difference.
 Education ▪ 33

Don’t believe Petteri? A recent analysis of narrative job postings across the
industry showed that only one third of them asked for a degree, most commonly
a BA. And even then, it was fine to have comparable work experience instead.6
So for education, you should finish high school and get some kind of continuing
education if possible. There are some cases of entirely self-taught (no higher
education) individuals doing well as writers in the game industry, but it’s a
harder path and some doors might be closed to you. Most successful game
writers have completed college and have some real-world writing experience. If
you decide to go with a traditional college education like I did, I recommend
a focus on English literature and language, comparative literature, or creative
writing. But you don’t have to stick that close to writing! I know writers with
degrees in all sorts of majors—from theatre to engineering to psychology. It’s
more important that you learn to communicate your ideas well, manage your
time, and explore a wide range of media.

Advanced Degrees
It’s not necessary to get your master’s degree, but it’s helpful. Evan, a senior writer,
credits graduate school for jumpstarting his career. He went to undergrad for
English literature, and then MIT for his masters in comparative media studies.
He wrote his thesis on storytelling, “specifically in video games and speculative
fiction,” he said.

Going to grad school was useful because I reset my career and got a lot
of training in writing. The most important thing that came from it is
that I got an internship at Bioware and that was my foot in the door of
the industry.

Okay, you’re thinking, if a college degree is good and a master’s leads directly to a
job, then I should go for the highest degree possible, right? No. Nope. Definitely
not. One point that I heard over and over is that there’s absolutely no need to go
for a PhD. Take it from someone who knows, senior narrative designer Dr. Hazel
Monforton:

I would not recommend any aspiring game writer pursue a PhD, unless
they are really passionate about doing so. I can only speak to English
Literature PhDs, though I know people who are studying video games

6
Lassheikki, Christina. “Game Writers and Narrative Designers. The evolving role of story­
telling professionals in game development.” 2022, Master’s Thesis, Aalto University School of
Art, Design, and Architecture.
34 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

at the doctoral level. But it is not necessary professionally and will take
up a lot of time and energy, and the assumed thing is that you will go
on to teach and do research rather than leave academia. I don’t think a
PhD gives anyone an advantage in applying for game writing jobs,
at least not on the CV level.

In Evan and Hazel’s cases, the skills they learned were valuable and opened doors
to the games industry, rather than the degrees themselves. Hazel notes that people
believe higher education teaches you how to communicate clearly and concisely,
but that’s not true. She said her degree mostly taught her to recognize patterns.

This might seem very simple but it is a skill that does take years to
develop (and not something that only PhDs can do, of course.) Being
able to pick out literary techniques, their uses, their effect, and how
they connect with other elements of the story is something that I
honed while doing my doctorate.

You could learn those skills through self-education if the degree isn’t important to
you. However, if you think you might leave games someday and move into
academia—which is a popular exit ramp from the industry for late-career game
writers—then a doctorate might be an advantage. That one, particular case aside,
you’re better off getting into the industry as soon as you can.

Game Programs
Schools like Digipen and American University’s Game Lab offer game design
courses and creative writing and game-writing classes, so that’s also a good
educational route. I spoke with NYU Game Center Associate Arts Professor,
Clara Fernandez-Vara about her program. She explained that students learn
more than just using the tools for making games, they learn game design and
game development too, with classes in management and scrum7 to prepare
them for the real world of game production. Clara heads up the games studies
area, where students analyze games and learn how to think and talk about them
critically. If that sounds elementary to you, keep in mind that I’ve just spent two
chapters discussing basic industry terminology. As Clara observed, her students
likely won’t become academics afterwards, but “at least if they go to GDC, they
can understand their practice and explain it to others. That way they don’t look

7
Scrum is the production framework of games. It breaks down projects into short sections of
time called “sprints” and relies on iteration and frequent adjustments to stay on target for
goals. Producers run this process.
 Education ▪ 35

like idiots. It’s a skill, right?” On top of that, NYU’s program explores “labor
practices of the industry” to prepare their students for real-world game devel­
opment. Internships and practicums are also an integral part of modern game
programs and give students practical, hands-on training in the exact skills they
need for the industry.
It’s important to find the right program for you as a potential game writer. Not
all game design programs treat narrative as a separate discipline worthy of respect.
During my research, I stumbled across a few “narrative” classes that only taught
barks and item descriptions. Clara notes scathingly that they include “writing
because they’re thinking about it as ‘flavor text.’ And I’m like, ‘No, it’s not flavor
text. This is the core of the game.’ We have to build more interesting worlds.”
She’s right. You won’t learn the skills you need from programs that view narrative
as a “wrapper” for mechanics. Research game programs carefully to make sure they
offer the right classes and training for the role you want. Many game programs
offer a generalist curriculum for game-writing degrees. They teach you a little bit
about every aspect of game-making. But what’s the point of going for a degree in a
specific discipline if it’s not your focus? You know the saying about “jack of all
trades, master of none.” That time and money is better spent on a more tailored
curriculum that gives you the specialized skills you need. If you don’t learn game-
narrative skills in school, you’ll have to learn them on your own. Be aware of that
fact. Also, be wary of any game program that “guarantees” a job at graduation. The
games industry is incredibly competitive and even the top-tier design schools can’t
make that promise. It takes networking and sweat to land a games job, even with a
degree. Many grads go years before landing their first industry gig, so go into games
programs with your eyes open and have a backup plan to stay afloat during your
job search.

Alternatives to College
All this talk of education is great, but the reality is that many people can’t afford
college and can’t easily access specialized games programs. Game writer Sahil Bajaj
went all the way to the US for his education because “there is practically no game-
writing scene in Dubai,” but even that avenue is closed for many people. What do
you do then? Is it possible to enter the games industry with no formal education
at all? Good news! It is. You’ll face some challenges, but it can be done.

Online Education
If you don’t live near any game schools or if you live in a country or culture
where those opportunities aren’t available to you, then online classes are your
friends. Many schools have moved online, so you can take classes and get
36 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

certificates as long as you have computer access. Did you know you can get a
Harvard education from the comfort of your own home? Their online school
offers classes in literature and screenwriting and computer programming—if you
want to go the traditional college route, that is. If the Ivy League’s not for you,
check out Udemy, Coursera, or your preferred college’s continuing education
annex. If you want more specialized skills, many game programs offer their
curricula online too. Full Sail and the Academy of Art have popular online
programs. Some studios sponsor programs such as Ubisoft’s Pixelles Montreal
Game Incubator, a two-month game workshop for women and BIPOC. Susan
Connor’s game-writing hub, The Narrative Department, has moved fully online,
so you can take everything from Gamewriting 101 to more advanced screen­
writing classes from an established storyteller.
Many of the schools I listed have scholarships and funding available, so it’s
worth investigating the possibilities to see if you qualify.

Writer Beware!
This is the first of several warnings I’ll give you about predatory services. There
are many game programs, articles, courses, and online workshops for writers that
are terrible. They aren’t just inaccurate, they’re outright harmful. They’ll give
you “insider tips and tricks” that lead to stiff or formulaic writing. They promote
tools and structures that professional writers would never use. I came across an
article that, with every appearance of seriousness, said you should outline your
entire story before deciding what genre your game will be or what the world is
like. If you’ve never written a game, you might have no idea why that advice
leads to problems. Be careful! You could end up learning a slew of bad habits
you’ll have to unlearn.
So how do you avoid harmful advice? Check credentials! Before signing up for
a class, see if it’s accredited. Research the program and instructor. There’s a reason
I listed my bona fides in the introduction to this book. I want you to see what work
I’ve done and decide for yourself if I’m qualified to advise you. Make sure you do
the same with any potential instructor. Ask yourself these questions:

■ “Have they worked in the games industry?” If they’ve never worked pro­
fessionally as a game writer, all they’re teaching is theory. They don’t know
what it’s like to apply that theory in a development cycle, with all its con­
straints and crises. What works on paper doesn’t always work in practice.
■ “How long did they work in games?” If they’ve worked in games fewer than
three years, take what they say with a grain of salt. They haven’t seen enough
of the industry to assess how widely applicable their knowledge is.
■ “How long ago did they work in games?” This isn’t always a red flag because
many seasoned game writers leave the industry to teach. An experienced
 Education ▪ 37

veteran can teach you a lot—but not necessarily about the modern games
industry. Add another salt grain here.
■ “Have they done the job they’re teaching?” This is a pet peeve of mine. I see
devs teaching narrative classes who’ve never held positions in narrative.
Sometimes they’re designers, sometimes producers, sometimes even en­
gineers. Imagine the outcry if I tried to teach a class in their disciplines!
In your day-to-day job, these are the people who come to your team with
“suggestions” for making your story “better.” They’re usually wrong, and
they don’t know what they don’t know. They straight-faced say things
like “Have you ever heard of the Hero’s Journey?” and force you to Reset the
Sign.8 As instructors, they often promote hackneyed storytelling techniques.
Chug an entire shaker of salt for this one.

I’m not suggesting that credentials are everything. A class can still be terrible even if
the instructor knows their stuff. But it’s safer to stick to reputable institutions and
courses. Ask your friends and established writers online for recommendations.
Look through the syllabus and course materials if they’re available. Check out
review sites such as Rate My Professors to see what the experience was like for other
students. But take reviews with a dash of salt too! (Now you understand why game
writers are so salty.)
What if you don’t need a diploma or certificate and simply want the knowl­
edge? Well, then it’s even easier to educate yourself. Industry events such as The
Game Developer’s Convention (GDC) and Develop: Brighton host talks from the
top game devs in the industry and make those presentations available online for
free. (Okay, most of them are free.) You can learn about everything from basic
game design and writing to the latest advances in interactive storytelling and
technology. Many devs post tips on their blogs (Emily Short’s blog is a gem), and
some of us write actual books about game writing. Check out your library to see
what’s available or pick up a copy online. Some textbooks can be a bit pricey, so
consider pooling your money with other writers to create a small, shared library.

Internships
If you want to skip the college step completely and learn practical skills, then an
internship is a great way to get your foot in the door. What better way to learn the
job than by doing the job? The days when untrained interns fetched fresh
Monsters and snacks for devs are long gone. Interns are no longer glorified gophers
who don’t learn new skills. Nowadays, they perform tasks related to the career they

8
The overuse of the Hero’s Journey is a running industry joke. I’ll explain it in detail later,
along with The Sign.
38 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

want and earn wages for their work. The bad news is that internships still don’t pay
much and they don’t guarantee future employment. You could bust your butt and
do an excellent job but still be let go when your internship ends. However, if you
are, you’ll at least have that coveted industry knowledge and experience that
recruiters are looking for and can apply for fulltime work. So, it’s worth it for that
foot in the door. But be warned! Internships can be as hard to land as entry-level
game jobs. When indie company Die Gute Fabrik offered an internship, they
received over 3000 applications.9 The competition for AAA internships can
be even more intense.
Most major game companies offer internship programs. Electronic Arts (EA)
and Ubisoft have robust programs to provide professional training for interns while
they’re still in school. “Feeder” programs like Ubisoft’s are designed to spot and
train talent early and hire them into the studio. I doubt I need to explain the
advantages of getting trained for the exact job you want. Other major studios such
as Bioware offer onboarding tracks for recent graduates, and ArenaNet has a tar­
geted Narrative Mentorship Program. MassDigi’s Summer Internship Program
comes highly recommended for its focus on team-based game creation. If you’re
interested in working for one particular studio, ransack their website for intern­
ships and workshops.

A WORD OF CAUTION FOR INTERNS

Reputable companies like the ones I listed have excellent programs for
interns, and I encourage you to check them out. However, beware of any
program that isn’t crystal clear about your pay and responsibilities.
Unfortunately, sometimes the inexperience of interns gets abused, and
they’re asked to do menial work that isn’t part of their job. Sorting controller
cords, running errands, and photocopying should not be major responsibili­
ties. If you’re an intern or junior, remember: you’re there to learn game
writing, not be a flunky. On the flip side, if you’re asked to do more
challenging work such as writing screenplays by yourself or owning a part of
the story, you should be promoted to full writer and paid accordingly. Read
your job description carefully and know what your duties are. Push back in a
diplomatic way if you think you’re being asked to do more than you should.
But hopefully that won’t happen and you’ll have a happy foothold in the
industry. Onward and upward!

9
“2021 Game Writing Internship – What We Did and What We Learned.” Die Gute Fabrik.
Last modified April 5, 2021. https://gutefabrik.com/what-we-did-and-what-we-learned/
 Education ▪ 39

Grants
Sometimes you can receive government arts grants that will cover the cost
of your wages. Film Victoria in Australia offers lump-sum grants that, with
some budgeting, can cover several months’ worth of wages. Free labor is an
enticing proposition for studios! They don’t have to pay you, worry about
coming up with a program for you, or vet an army of applicants. They get a
worker for a decent length of time with little fuss. What’s not to like about
that? The easier and cheaper it is for a studio to bring you on, the more likely
it is to happen. Look outside of games to make opportunities happen inside
games. You’ll have to research and apply for grants yourself, which is no small
amount of work, but getting a foot in the door is a tremendous payoff.

Summary
So there you have it. There’s more than one educational path into the games
industry. You can pick the route that best fits your unique circumstances.
You’ll likely need a BA or an MA if you want to work internationally, but it’s
not a requirement otherwise. Education is critical for learning skills, but a
college degree isn’t a magic wand to zap away all obstacles. There are other
ways to get the knowledge you need. Read. Write. Get your work out on the
web where people can see it and give you feedback. This step is essential for
developing your skills and growing as a writer. Join writers’ circles and table-
read forums. And for eff sake, do more than just play video games. I heard this
advice over and over when I was interviewing people for this book. Writers will
call on their entire lived experience to create games. You need a wide range of
knowledge about all imaginable topics. Linguistics are useful for puzzles.
Historical knowledge always comes in handy—look at the Assassin’s Creed
games. Even weird interests you think are professionally worthless can turn
out to have value. In my case, I’ve been fascinated my whole life with the
strange and arcane. Stuff the internet calls “the unexplained.” I’m a storehouse
of trivia about eerie phenomena like the Bélmez faces and the Cuban Sonic
Weapon Conspiracy. I never dreamed that knowledge would come in handy
until I interviewed for a game called P7. Once I saw the game pitch, I realized
I’d inadvertently researched source material for that game my entire life. My
esoteric knowledge had a purpose! I poured it all into the project, every
obsession and oddity, until it became the shifting box of weirdness you know
as CONTROL. Everything you learn is useful, especially when it exercises your
imagination. As Rhianna said, give yourself a deep well of inspiration to
draw from.
40 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

CHALLENGE

Assess your writing skills and determine how they align with the specific
needs of game-writing. Identify any weak spots. For example, if you’ve
written mostly novels, you should strengthen your screenplay or interactive
writing skills. Make a list of what skills you need to work on.

■ Find three educational opportunities such as online classes, intern­

ships, game incubators, and other similar programs that teach the skills
you need and are attainable for you.
■ Contact all three programs to express interest and find out what
financial aid they offer.
■ Apply to your top two picks.

OR

■ Read any five books on game writing or narrative design. Here’s my

writer’s shelf:

My craft library.

■ Complete any exercises within the books.

■ Hang on to your work, because we’ll revisit it later when creating
samples for your portfolio.
Chapter 3

Finding Work

Remember that game writing is its own discipline, with challenges and
benefits unique to active-consumption storytelling. Only get into it if
you’re willing to learn (and learn to love!) the discipline for what it is.
—Sam Maggs, Narrative Lead for Digital Publishing &
Licensing at Wizards of the Coast

When I started out as a writer, I had no clue how to find work. If there was a
central resource for game jobs, I didn’t know about it. The ads on Gamasutra
(now Game Developer) and in the back of industry publications didn’t offer
much in the way of writing gigs. So when I looked for work, I pulled up a list of
the studios in my region from GameDevMap and cold emailed them all to ask if
they were hiring writers. Most companies never responded. The few that an-
swered had no writing jobs. I couldn’t find an open narrative role anywhere. It
was a depressing time to be a new game writer. The industry has changed since
then, thank goodness. There are more narrative jobs than ever, and now there are
centralized databases for finding them. Devs share industry tips and FAQs (how
this book started), jobs at their studio, and sometimes they’ll even collate big
Google docs of job openings and resources, like the one Jan David Hassel
maintains.1 There are Twitter hashtags and writers’ groups and recruiters that
bring jobs to you on a silver platter. So why the heck is it still so hard to break
into the games industry?

1
“JD’s Game Jobs List.” Jan David Hassel. Last accessed August 8, 2022. https://docs.google.
com/document/d/1CU1H-8ZQWUPIBrT3VaUjjSMpOrarfpfhI86q8Bkpr_8/edit

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-4 41
42 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

The game industry has a senior shortage and a junior oversupply.

—Sonia “Son M” Messar, Freelance Narrative Designer

Part of the answer lies in the statistics we discussed last chapter. There are more
jobs, but there are also more writers applying to them. Many roles never get
advertised because they’re filled by in-house promotions or word of mouth.
(Everybody at a studio knows a dev friend who “would be perfect for the job.”)
Yet, despite all those factors, writers still find work. How do they do it? How do
they get that first step inside the door? I asked a group of game devs:

■ While in school I went to GDC and realized I was terrifyingly unprepared

for a job in game dev, but met a lot of devs in the conference associate (CA)
program. In 2011: Applied to Bioware Austin for a junior cinematic design
contract, on the referral of a friend I’d made at GDC. —Ashley Ruhl
■ I got a job as a game programmer/designer working on an online card game
system. But it wasn’t until 2009 that I got my first freelance writing gig.
I got that and other gigs through friends in the industry that I met through
meetups, game jams, and conventions. —Chris Tihor
■ I had made a lot of small games and written a lot of stuff and had done
a fair amount of web dev throughout high school/college. EA came to
recruit engineering interns on campus and I went to hear one of their
engineers speak; he worked on The Sims! (I love The Sims.) I talked
with him for a while after his talk and he asked me what I would change
in the sims if I could. I had an answer for him, was asked to interview
for a design internship, and became an EA intern a few months later.
—Katie Chironis
■ I had planned to go into animation/film as a storyboard artist, but
then tagged along with some friends to GDC 2011 on a whim (mostly as an
excuse to travel with them.) A few companies actually liked my storyboard
portfolio and I got a couple offers, one of them Telltale! —Jolie Menzel
■ Went to game art school (4y). The first year I started navigating Twitter to
follow and network with game devs and artists. I started posting my art
and was reached out by a studio to do some work in my summer vacation
going to my second year. Then internship > freelance > Mojang. —Jasper
Boerstra
■ I started in games journo knowing beforehand that I wanted to transition
into games writing and made twines to pad my portfolio until I started
getting contracts. But a lot of my work has come from luck, people taking
chances on me, and more luck. —Emma Kidwell

See the pattern? Over and over, what works is a combination of networking and
pure luck. Let’s talk about luck first.
 Finding Work ▪ 43

Fortune Favors the Bold

You’re probably wondering how on earth you make good luck happen. Do you roll
in a big pile of four-leaf clovers? Nail horseshoes to your forehead? (Don’t do that.)
Can you really channel good fortune into your job search? Honestly? No. But
here’s the thing: some of it isn’t really luck. Opportunity rarely comes as a bolt
from the blue; most of the time, “luck” is the natural result of hard work. It takes
effort to position yourself so lightning can strike. Writers who succeed have built
an arsenal of skills, trumpeted their goals, and connected with working devs to land
that first role. Remember my origin story about meeting the QA lead for the only
game studio in town? I called my big break “serendipity,” but I worked my butt off
to be at that exact place in that exact moment. I made a plan to return to school for
game writing, earned funding for it, packed up my whole life to move to a new
town, played games so I was knowledgeable, connected with friends who knew
people at the only studio in town, had them introduce me to that QA lead,
mentioned I was looking for game work, and that’s when lightning struck. Not
entirely luck when you think about it that way, huh? If you’re following the advice
in this book, you’re already making your own luck.
Making your own luck also means putting your intent out there. I don’t mean
this in a mystical, manifest-energy-into-the-universe way. I mean actively spreading
the word. Let people know you want to write games. Share work online so it will
appear in web searches. Write thoughtful, game-related blog posts. Create some
Twine or inklewriter games. Showcase your public portfolio. Get your work out there
where people can see it. It’s good practice, in every sense. You could even write an
article for a prominent industry site like Game Developer or RPS. Hazel Monforton
got “discovered” as a writer when her article about Dishonored’s Outsider caught the
creative director’s eye—after she’d become involved in the game’s community and
networked with its creator. Another example of a “lucky” break. It doesn’t matter if
you write game reviews, industry articles, twine games, or start a blog. The main point
is to put yourself out there and keep reminding people that you can write and you
want to work. Position yourself well, so opportunity can come knocking.2

Networking
At this point, you’ve set your goal, built up your skills through
education—formal or not—and you’ve broadcast your ambition. Your next step
is meeting people in the industry. Networking is the single most useful thing you
can do to break into games. Your connections will know what projects are in

2
There’s a genuine element of luck to job-hunting, and I won’t pretend there isn’t. You can do
everything right and still not succeed. Some parts are beyond your control. Just make sure
you’re on top of the things you can control.
44 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

development at each studio. They’ll teach you industry vernacular. And, most
importantly, they’ll help you apply to roles at their studios. You need someone
on the inside who can vouch for you—or least pass along your resume. But don’t
just befriend established devs! Your peers are just as important. You will rise
together through the ranks and be industry leaders together in future. Make
friends with them now. It warms my heart when I see new writers sharing advice
and cheering each other on. You need support like that in any industry, but it’s
especially useful when you’re bashing your face against the glass wall around the
industry. Sahil puts it beautifully:

A group of peers is crucial. I’m telling you now, they will be the biggest
help to you in your career and it’s always nice to have someone to talk
to on your own level to learn from on a communal level.

So how do you build this network of devs and peers?

Social Media
I bet you already know the drill for making connections: put yourself out there and
network like wild on social media. Pick your platform of choice! Recruiters love
LinkedIn. Discord and Slack are great for in-depth conversations. You can even
look for work on Instagram if you want, although one recruiter said that ap-
proaches there are “questionable.” But devs and hopefuls alike said Twitter is the
place to be for games industry networking. It advanced my career, without a doubt,
by introducing me to a community of people I’d never have met otherwise. It
helped me find people who care about games and story, and it led me to some
enduring friendships. Scriptwriter Whitney Rowland points out that “it takes a lot
of work to dig through the chatter. And you’ve got to take everything with a grain
of salt—not everyone’s advice is helpful.” Twitter can also be a toxic cesspool,
especially for marginalized devs. (As I write this, many devs are moving to plat-
forms like cohost or into industry-focused discords like The DIN or GIG.) So how
do you navigate these treacherous waters to reach your goal?

Networking Strategies
Every game industry hopeful should be networking their nibs off long before they
start looking for work. Students should start while they’re still in school. Follow
people whose work you admire and chat with them about games. Your smartest
networking strategy is—wait for it—to be yourself. Yeah, yeah. I know it sounds
corny, but it’s the best way to make connections that will last and lead to long-term
work. Sahil’s Twitter strategy was “just being myself and friendly” and trying to
 Finding Work ▪ 45

meet people. His natural behavior eventually led him to make game dev con-
nections, which then led to work.

In 2021, a peer level friend who was working with Sweet Baby rec-
ommended me for a job, and I spent two months working on an escape
room with them. Since then, I got one of my current jobs as a referral
from my boss at Sweet Baby and another from a fellow peer. All my
work so far has come from being recommended internally.

What Sahil discovered is critical. One recommendation leads to another and

another and so on. That chain of connections adds up to steady work through
word of mouth alone. And you get that by being sincere and open about your
goals. Networking as a performance is rarely as effective.
When I started as writer, I thought networking was gross and fake. Why should
I have to suck up to people I don’t like just to get work? And if that’s how you’re
approaching networking, then yeah, it is gross and fake. People can sense when
you’re feigning interest. Believe me, we can tell when someone is being nice to us
because they want something. I’ve had messages asking for favors that turned nasty
when I said no. One dev received long emails that gushed about his “god-tier”
writing and asked for help—but got his name and key projects wrong. Whoops!
But when you approach networking with an attitude of “Hey, I’m just trying to
meet people and you seem cool,” then you end up making authentic connections.

Asking for Help

Every year, game programs send students out to ask professionals for help with
projects. When I first started getting these requests, it involved answering a few
questions about what it’s like being a game writer. I was always happy to donate an
hour or two to the task—some of my advice echoes through this book. But the
demands have increased over time, and this year I received a request for twenty
weeks of mentoring and project feedback. That’s five months of work, unpaid. I
respect the hustle, I sincerely do, but come on now! That’s not a reasonable
request.3 Writers will usually ignore absurd emails like that, but you’re okay to ask
simple questions or request advice. Many writers have FAQs on their websites.
Make sure you read those before contacting the dev with questions. They might
have already provided the answers you need. But if you approach a dev with
respect, they’ll answer with respect. Whitney’s message resulted in my writing this
book, so maybe follow her advice about discernment:

3
If your instructor tells you to ask a professional writer for five months of free work, send them
to me. I’d love to have a little chat with them.
46 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

I was careful who I went to directly. I only reached out to people when
it was clear from social media they were kind, smart, experienced, and
mentorship-minded. So my queries were humble and highly specific,
and in return their responses were encouraging and super helpful.

One final note on contacting devs: Do not send them story ideas or scripts unless
they ask for them. First of all, stop giving your work away for free. Second,
remember what I said about the Idea Guy. Third, we cannot look at them for legal
reasons around intellectual property rights. When fans send 200-page documents
stuffed with invented lore and story ideas and their own wild imaginings for games
I’m actively working on, I treat those messages like they’re radioactive. I don’t even
open them. So send fan mail instead. I love fan mail!

Networking Etiquette
Speaking of dos and don’ts, let’s talk networking etiquette. Nobody articulates it
beyond vague phrases like “show respect,” but we all know when the code is broken. A
lot of well-known devs, the ones you’re likely to follow at first, deal with some eccentric
and abusive behavior on social media and are wary of people they don’t know. They
can’t tell if you’re joking around or if you’re a dangerous person who’s going to show up
at the studio with an axe. (Yes, that happened.) I’ve watched fans get blocked by the
creators they love on Twitter because they treat it like a chan or WhatsApp chat. It’s
not. I want you to understand that the games industry—especially the game-writing
corner of it—is tiny. If you’re rude or abusive to one game writer on social media, a
thousand eyes are watching you. Everyone knows everyone, and word spreads fast. Be
smart from the start so you don’t spend your career running from your past.

HOW TO TALK TO DEVS

■ Good: Can you recommend any good Twine games?
■ Bad: Can you help me make my Twine game?
■ NO!: I sent you my Twine game. Can I get some feedback? I need it by
Tuesday.

■ Good: I saw you tweet about playing Hades. How did you like it?
■ Bad: I was digging through your tweet history & saw you mentioned
Hades two years ago …
■ NO!: I can see you playing Hades right now. I like that color on you.

Okay, I’m obviously being a bit tongue in cheek with the phrasing, but I’m
dead serious about the advice.
 Finding Work ▪ 47

You Are a Brand

Recruiters warned me that they google potential candidates and can be influenced
by what they find. Curate your search results so that you’re projecting the image
you want. You don’t want the first hit on a Google search to be your drunken
TikTok rendition of a sea shanty. Or maybe you do! I’m not here to tell you what
your brand should be. I’m merely advising you to look at it closely with the eye of
a prospective employer so you’re sure it’s what you want them to see. Of course,
you can always separate your accounts. Have your private locked account and
your public account. It’s up to you if the work account is private or your main, but
don’t cross those streams if you can help it.
Freelancers rely on brand more than in-house writers, because they are their
company. Toiya has this advice for standing out as a brand.

To simplify what “brand” means, it’s what one is known for, how
they present themselves, and how others see them. What about you is
memorable? For example, I know a writer who paints their nails before
every conference they attend. When I and others see them, we’ll ask
them about their nails. While that might seem kind of silly, it keeps
people from forgetting who that writer is. There are thousands of
writers and narrative designers in the industry, and it’s ridiculously
competitive. Anything that gets you remembered (you know, beyond
being an awful human being) is helpful. Considering that developers
fill the vast majority of jobs through referrals, you’re not getting re-
ferred if people don’t remember you.

Your brand goes beyond your signature look or quirk. It’s also the content you put out
into the world. Pick a few key interests and develop those into the public face of your
work. For example, my social media brand consists of about five key topics: games,
writing, cats, activism, and weird stuff. That’s it. (Kpop fell off the list three years ago,
alas.) But there’s so much to talk about with just those topics! The most important
thing, and this is critical, is that those are genuine interests. Focus on things you care
about. Tweet from a place of passion, and it will speak to people who share that passion.
If networking means talking to people, you might as well talk about stuff you love.
So, that was a lot of information about networking through social media!
I spent this much time on it because it’s the quickest and easiest way to meet game
devs when you’re just starting out. But it’s far from the only way.

Game Dev Organizations

A more traditional way to make connections is joining a professional organization
like the International Game Developer’s Association (IGDA), Writer’s Guild of
48 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Great Britain (WGGB), Women in Games International (WIGI), or the Game

Devs of Color (GDOC) community. Folks in the Seattle area probably know
about East and West Side Industry Nights, where game company folks gather and
network. It’s a good place to start. There are similar networking nights in any town
with a major development house. Join IGDA and get involved with their game-
writing special interest group (SIG). Join an online game writers’ group like the
ones on Twitter or Discord. Online social meetups for devs have exploded since
covid hit. See if you can connect to one of them. Contact designers and writers at
companies where you want to work and politely ask them for a short chat. They
might say yes! Also, look for connections outside Narrative’s tiny corner of the
game world. Toiya emphasizes that you can learn a lot from non-writers about
what they do and how to work with them. She notes that “the vast majority of
writers you know are not going to get you work. The more people you know, the
more opportunities you have.”

Conventions
Game conventions are essentially gigantic networking events. Devs come there
with a networking mindset, so they’re usually quite open for a chat. Follow ac-
counts for meetups like the Game Developer’s Convention (GDC), Game
Developers of Color (GDOC) convention, or smaller cons like NarraCon or the
East Coast Games Conference (ECGC). Most countries have regional gatherings.
Everything from the Nordic Games Conference in Sweden, to GStar in South
Korea, to Africa Games Week in South Africa, and Gaming Istanbul in Turkey.
It’s important to note that I didn’t mention cons like PAX or gamescom, and that’s
because they’re more for fans than developers. They’re a lot of fun, but for serious
networking and the chance to learn something at industry panels, try to attend the
developer-focused gatherings. Passes can be prohibitively expensive, so see if you
qualify for grants. Failing that, volunteer to work the con or arrange meetups
outside the convention center if you live in town. Many conventions offer a virtual
component these days so you can watch livestreams of speakers and panels and
mingle in chat rooms and lobbies. Not quite the same as going to the con in
person, but hey, you save money on hotel rooms.

Applying from the Middle of Nowhere

Some of you are reading my advice about networking and quivering with frus-
tration. It’s all well and good to make contacts on Twitter or join game-writing
organizations, but how does that help you when you live nowhere near a tech hub?
When your local IGDA chapter is a two-hour drive away? When there are no
studios nearby and no way you can move to work at one? Is a gamedev career even
 Finding Work ▪ 49

possible? Great news: yes, it is. In fact, the pandemic has made working from the
middle of nowhere easier than ever.

■ Remote Work: Increasingly, even the biggest studios are offering remote
work. Bioware, Bungie, and EA all offer remote writing work. Many mobile
studios and midlevel prestige studios like Failbetter Games have offered
remote work for years. Whitney made her big jump into games during the
pandemic, “partly because the online/work from home pivot for studios
opened up a lot more remote work options around the country (and the
world).” Her advice for people outside the big industry hubs is to get
“comfortable with talking about yourself, your goals, and your work … over
the phone or on video.” Competition for remote roles is fierce, because of the
wider candidate pool, but some chance is better than no chance.
■ Indies: If there’s no AAA studio in your neck of the woods, there might be an
indie team or two. Samantha Wallschlaeger started out in a “small Midwestern
town with no connections, so it was a long process of volunteering online for
indie projects and modding teams, and sending in application after application
to bigger studios.” After two years and “a lot of stubbornness” she landed a
junior role. Now she’s the lead writer at Crystal Dynamics.
■ Personal Projects: If there’s no game dev scene at all, you can start one.
Pitch a game idea and see if anyone online is interested. Crowdfund it
through Kickstarter or Indiegogo (easy to say, hard to do, I know), and work
on it as a side project to your main job. Start a local game night or find
collaborators for a game jam. Online collaboration is your best bet when the
local scene is dead.
■ Game Jams: These are a fantastic way to “find your people” and start
making valuable connections. It also gets you hands-on practice with your
craft and concrete work for your portfolio. To get started, check out Global
Game Jam or any of the jams on itch.io’s jam page.4

Find Open Positions

While you’re out there building your power network, you should also actively look
for job openings. This requires work, but not as much as you might think. Unlike the
dark ages when I was breaking in, you don’t need to search every individual com-
pany’s website for job listings. (Although, you can still do that if you want.) Behold
the miracle of centralized job databases! As I’m writing this book, the best place to
find game-writing roles is GrackleHQ. It’s free, searchable, and there’s no registra-
tion required. Other large job databases are GameDevJobs, GameJobsDirect,

4
“Game Jams on itch.io.” Itch.io. Last accessed August 8, 2022. https://itch.io/jams
50 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Indeed.com, and Indiedb.com. Work with Indies has a job board chock full of
opportunities. Here are some other boards and sites:

Job boards
■ GIBiz’s Job Board ■ HitmarkerJobs
■ RemoteGameJobs ■ @gamejobhunter
■ @xpgamejobs ■ @GameJobsCoFeed

Tara J. Branigan runs a job board for all game disciplines, and established writers
often share opportunities through their professional accounts. It’s hard to believe
now, but there used to be a weird sort of competition around job posts. If you saw
a post and other writers didn’t, then it sucks to be them! That was the attitude I
encountered when I started, anyway, which I found repulsive. I want to win a job
because I’m the best writer for the job, not because I beat other candidates to the
listing. I can’t take full credit for this recent trend of sharing job ads, but I’ve
always aggressively shared any opportunities that came my way. Now, it’s the
norm, hallelujah, so definitely follow people at your preferred studio to catch
openings they share.

Studio Career Pages

If you want to work for a specific studio, the best place to look for work is on their
website’s career page. Companies will usually post the job there first, and they’ll
have information about the studio culture and benefits packages. If you use
GrackleHQ, visit the studio’s career site for more information before applying.
Check out how the studio represents itself. Do their games interest you? Does it
look like a place you’d like to work? If you’re a marginalized writer, do you see
yourself represented there? Veteran designer Willow recommends “looking
through the company’s social media for posts referencing events such as Black
History Month or Pride.” The studio should appear to care about events like these,
by posting photos of the studio or staff participating in them. “Rainbow filtered
logos are cheap and easy, but the hurdles required to have an in-studio event and to
subsequently post that to social media” suggest base-level support. Affirming posts
from company leadership also say a lot about the studio’s culture.

Recruiters and Agents

Recruiters often get a bad reputation, which isn’t nice, but in most
cases it’s actually a great job where everybody wins. Sometimes a short
 Finding Work ▪ 51

message is the beginning of a process that can change the course of

someone’s life.
—Natalie Concannon, Director at Datascope Recruitment

Most AAA studios have recruiters who are dedicated to finding talent for the
company. Unlike smaller studios or indies where a dev might do recruitment work
on top of their regular duties, larger studios have staff whose primary responsibility
is finding the right candidate for each role. They message potential candidates
about job roles and actively try to match the right role with the right
person—and that person might be you! Make sure your LinkedIn profile is up to
date and that you have the “I’m looking” light turned on, and you’ll start showing
up in recruitment searches. Embarrassing story: When I first started out, I thought
recruiters were like agents. I thought they were there to help me, personally, find
work. But they’re absolutely not. Oh boy, are they not. I learned that lesson the
hard way. Think of them more as matchmakers. They have a good-looking job and
they’d love to find a charming dev who’s a perfect fit for it.
Agents exist in games, though, and are helpful in certain circumstances. When
writers I spoke to had agents, it was usually from their work outside of games. Son
M has several agents.

I have an agent for my prose work, an agent for my comic work, and
an agent for my TV work. None of them represent me in games.
It’s actually incredibly uncommon to have an agent represent a
game writer.

She notes that things might change in the future because she sees more agents
representing entire indie studios. Because those agents represent studios and not
individual writers’ work, “getting an agent (who makes money off the commission)
seems difficult. Nevertheless, having someone there to negotiate your salary is always
a wonderful thing.” I heard similar sentiments from Rhianna Pratchett, who got her
agent through film work and “transitioned them into representing me for games as
well as there are very few specific game-writer agencies out there.” She recommends
getting an agent if you can, and calls out Linx as a possibility in the UK.

Contract Jobs and Staffing Agencies

We don’t talk about contractors. Every AAA studio I’ve worked at has narrative
contract roles, from QA editors to seasoned senior freelance writers who get
contracted per project. I was a contractor. I work with contractors right now. Yet,
contract roles are weirdly absent from conversations about working in the games
industry. I’m not sure why this is, because these limited-term roles have largely
52 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

replaced junior and entry-level roles in the industry and are an excellent way to
break into games. Smaller narrative subcontractors such as Talespinners and Sweet
Baby Inc. can help you build your skills and fill out your resumes with credits.
I strongly recommend pursuing opportunities with them if you get the chance.
Sahil got some of his first work by reaching out to Sweet Baby, and credits them
for helping him grow.
However, I won’t pretend that contract jobs are all sunshine and roses. If you
contract with a studio through a large third-party agency such as Aquent,
Aerotek, or Parker, they take a big chunk out of your pay. This means contract
wages may be quite low. It also means you technically don’t work for the studio;
you work for the agency. This matters when it comes to things like references,
benefits, perks, health insurance (in the United States), and even attending
company events. The leap from contract to FTE can be extremely difficult if
you’re not embedded in a studio, and your role on any project is precarious.
Many contract jobs have legally mandated “breaks” where you can’t work at the
studio for a short stint. During those breaks, contractors must find another job
or go on unemployment. I encourage you to research contract work so you
understand all their pros and cons. Contractor jobs are abundant and far easier
to get than rare in-house junior roles. They’re often the reason you see entry-
level positions that require three years of experience or more. It’s not as para-
doxical as it seems from the outside, because the studio may be trying to
“convert”5 a contractor who’s been doing the job for several years already. If
you’re unable to break into the industry through traditional routes, contracting
work can smash through that wall and get your foot on the ladder. But enter any
contracting work with realistic expectations; there’s no guarantee it will lead to
anything except more contract work. My advice here is to do your research,
talk to people who work for staffing agencies, and see what your options are.

How to Use Resources

Now that you know what to look for and where to look, start your job hunt! Sites like
GrackleHQ collate information gleaned from trawling job pages and list them
chronologically. Enter your role keywords and you’ll get a list of available industry
jobs with the amount of time since they’ve been published. It’s a useful tool to help
you decide whether or not to apply. If you see a position has been listed for 225 days,
it’s likely either filled already or the studio is having trouble filling it. Useful infor-
mation, either way! Sites like Indeed or Glassdoor require registration and tend to
have more commercial writing jobs—roles such as content writer or communications

5
Convert = hire as an FTE. When this happens, the contractor stops working for the third party
and signs a permanent contract with the studio itself.
 Finding Work ▪ 53

editor. But Glassdoor has useful information about the company, including feedback
from candidates, information about their hiring processes, and critically, salary
ranges for roles. Keep in mind that companies curate these sites to keep them gen-
erally positive. Sometimes rejected candidates and unhappy employees go there to
retaliate. Bring out your salt-shaker again!
The search keywords you enter will vary by role, but I get good results from
the following terms: game writer, narrative, interactive writing, content writer,
narrative editor, story designer, and worldbuilding.

Red Flags
In this age of headlines about game industry scandals and abuses, it’s hard to know
which studios have welcoming environments. Maybe you decided to become a game
writer because you love Textbox Studio’s6 games, but now you’re heartbroken to
read the headlines about its toxic atmosphere and aren’t sure it’s for you anymore. Or
perhaps it’s made you wonder if other studios are terrible places to work and their
scandals haven’t been made public yet. It’s a fair question to ask. If I’m not familiar
with the studio, I’ll check Glassdoor and ask around in writing groups to see what
people think about it. Follow some people from that studio on Twitter—not just the
high-profile folks, but people doing the job you want to do. How do they talk about
their day to day? Are they always tired and drained? Do you see them posting about
work on weekends or after hours? Do they all seem to have financial woes when the
company is doing well?7 These are signs that you should look deeper into the studio’s
culture. There are many studios with great reputations that are not so great behind
the scenes. Or they may be wonderful places to work for some people, but not so
great for others. You won’t know for sure if it’s right for you until you work there.

Inside Job
Companies often prefer to hire from within because they know what they’re
getting. If a candidate is already familiar with the game and development pipeline,
they can hit the ground running. As we saw with contract work, many writing jobs
are never advertised because it’s so easy to find qualified candidates already in-
house. Or writers tell their friends who are also writers. At this very moment, I
know of four writing jobs that aren’t advertised on the game companies’ websites.

6
Textbox Studios is fictitious. I created it for the sole purpose of illustrating points in this book.
You’ll see it again!
7
Companies release annual financial reports and representation data for their investors. Read
them. That’s who you’re working for.
54 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

They’ll be filled without the general gaming public ever knowing the slots were
open. That’s why networking is so critical. You need someone on the inside.
Some studios have employees “do the job before they do the job,” which means
they’re doing the work of one role while still officially occupying another role. For
example, a mid-level writer might take on senior work to show they can handle it
before the promotion goes through. That’s what you’re competing with. Your
rivals aren’t just other hopefuls or industry writers looking to change gigs. You’re
competing with someone who might already be doing the job. That’s how I got my
first pure narrative role.
When I started at ArenaNet as a contract QA editor, I used every opportunity to
remind my employers that I had game-writing experience. I introduced myself to the
writers and made sure they knew I was interested in joining their team. I volunteered
to write the story bible for Guild Wars 2 so they wouldn’t have to hire an extra
contractor for that. Every time they needed anything involving writing, I raised my
hand. When they needed to staff up, I was an obvious choice. The whole hiring-
from-within thing worked in my favor there. (Although, somewhere a contractor was
cursing my name.) Another time, the writing team went into crunch and needed
some temporary workers. We had a tight schedule so there was no time to go through
a formal job search—a process that can take months. So instead of listing the job
openings on our website, we looked through the pile of resumes we already had from
previous searches. They included some speculative applications writers had sub-
mitted on the off-chance that something would turn up someday. One writer also
turned in a friend’s resume with a personal recommendation. We ended up hiring
two junior writers from that pile of existing applications. Their resumes were in the
right place at the right time. Like I said, it all comes down to luck and networking.
Get those lined up and the rest falls into place.

CHALLENGE: GROW YOUR NETWORK

■ Choose a social media site—Twitter, Discord, LinkedIn, whatever you
want—and connect with three professionals who currently have the job
you want.
■ Read everything they post for three weeks and see what information they
share. Don’t contact them! Just observe their posts. At the end of that
time, ping them with your most burning question related to their ex-
pertise. For example, if a writer has been posting about screenplays all
week, you might ask them if they can recommend good sites for reading
game screenplays. At worst, they’ll ignore you. At best, they’ll point you
toward a valuable resource and you’ll have established a small connection.
■ Repeat until you have a large enough network that you see job posts go by daily.
Chapter 4

Applications

Continuing your writing will make you a better writer, especially if

you’re getting feedback from people. Even when I was underemployed
or unemployed, constantly writing on my own projects really helped
me focus on what was important. It kept me going and understanding
that even if I don’t get everything I’m applying for, I can still keep
working on my own projects and keep progressing. I definitely rec­
ommend always having a side project going when you’re trying to
break into the industry.
—Evan Higgins, Senior Scriptwriter

So, you’ve done your homework, networked your sass off, checked all the job sites,
and followed up every opportunity. Finally, you see a job post that sounds perfect.
It’s your dream job! You’re ready to go for it! Now, all you have to do is convince
the studio to hire you.

The Job Post

You are looking for a certain kind of writer. You’re not just looking
for somebody who can write. You’re looking for somebody who is a
good match.
—Mikko “Mikki” Rautalahti, Narrative Director, Roleverse

Every word in a job listing gets scrutinized ten times over before it goes live.
Recruiters assemble job posts, but they consult with hiring managers and pro­
ducers to make sure they understand what’s needed for the role. What work will

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-5 55
56 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

candidates do? What are the must-have skills? How much wiggle room is there
for non-games experience? Once the recruiter and team align on the role needs,
the recruiter writes the post. Narrative teams often write up their own posts and
hand them off for recruiters to adjust with necessary studio and legal informa­
tion. This includes steps to apply, instructions for submitting samples, infor­
mation about the studio and job benefits, and all those required legal disclaimers.
Many companies run posts through language checkers to avoid biased termi­
nology. Once the ad has been written, analyzed, checked, and approved by
various departments, it’s posted online and recruiters start spreading the word.
They post ads on the studio page, LinkedIn, third-party career sites, and job
boards—any site that might reach their target audience. The job post is en­
gineered to focus on a core set of skills while attracting the widest possible pool
of candidates. The ad found you, so hurrah! You’re part of the intended audi­
ence! But do you have a shot? How do you know if you’re the writer they’re
looking for? Let’s look at one of those ads.

A writing job post.

 Applications ▪ 57

Read through the ad carefully. It can be hard to read between the lines of job
posts, so here’s what it all means, in plain English:

■ Hey, we’re making a sequel to our game. It helps if you’re familiar with it.
■ We need a writer who can work with our team on stories for the game
and various ads and websites, so be versatile.
■ We want you to work fulltime in the studio.
■ Someone must like your writing enough to have paid you for it. For years.
■ This is a creative role.
■ Must be able to kill your darlings and keep creating.
■ Must like video games and writing.
■ Must play well with others.
■ A college degree would be nice.

Pretty simple, right? It’s not so intimidating when you strip away the jargon. If it
still seems daunting to you, keep in mind that the ad describes the ideal candidate.
All of those bullet points are negotiable, so don’t be afraid to apply even if you
don’t tick every box. But maybe you match their ideal candidate better than you
think. Let’s dig into the details of these requirements. If you look closer at the
criteria, you’ll see they fall into three distinct categories:

■ Experience
■ Skills
■ Job requirements.

Let’s talk about what’s expected for each of these categories.

Experience
You might know the job title, but how do you know if you have enough experience
for it? That’s tricky to gauge, especially if you’re trying to translate your title as an
indie dev into AAA terms. I know an experienced writer for indie games who
recently tried to make the leap into AAA. She applied for a narrative director spot
at a major US studio. She knew a role like that was a long shot, but was still
shocked by how fast the rejection came. She didn’t realize how great a leap that
director role was from her current senior role. For an intensely anticipated game
like that one, her competition was the best narrative talent the industry can offer.
And, sure enough, when the studio announced their pick for director, it was
someone with decades of experience leading similarly high-profile projects.
Sometimes studios have a specific person in mind for high-profile roles like that
and write the job description to attract them. There’s no way a writer can know
58 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

that from outside though, so they have to take a chance. Recruiters are generally
sympathetic to the situation but said that applicants frequently try for roles that are
simply beyond their reach. I heard about college students applying for senior roles
and people with absolutely no writing, design, or industry experience shooting for
coveted director roles. I chalk up many of these ambitious applications to honest
mistakes. People simply don’t know the studio hierarchy. It’s hard enough to parse
when you’re working in AAA, but it must seem opaque and random to people
outside the industry. And, let’s be honest here, some of those long-shot applica­
tions are from writers who know they’re rolling the dice. No guts, no glory, right?
But it’s best to go for a role you can actually land. So how can you know if you’re
aiming too high? How do you look at a job post and determine if you have enough
experience for the job? The key section is “what we expect from you.” These are the
core requirements for the role. Let’s take another peek at that ad.
One thing jumps out right away: there’s no “senior” or “junior” modifier on
the job title. Look back at the hierarchy in chapter one, and you’ll see this is a mid-
level position. Mid-level means you don’t need the know-how of a senior writer,
but you shouldn’t be a blank slate. I see a lot of film, indie, and mobile game
writers make the switch to AAA at the mid-level. It’s the sweet spot for crossover. If
you’ve shipped an indie game or worked on a TV series, simply explain how your
experience translates to AAA game development. It’s that easy.
You’ll hear people say looking for work is a “numbers game” and there’s some
truth to that. The more applications you send out, the better your odds of finding
the right job. Be smart about it though, and don’t carpet bomb the industry with
your resume. I encourage you to apply for any job you think you can handle, but
be realistic. The chart of ad requirements on the next page says it all.1
As you can see, you’re unlikely to get writing roles without some sort of similar
experience. The more responsibility a role has, like lead and director, the harder it
is to sell a lack of industry experience. No studio’s going to look at your Twine
game, say, “This kid’s a star!” and hand you the keys to a multimillion-dollar
project. It’s too risky. The brutal truth is that AAA projects attract so many ap­
plicants that they’re spoiled for choice. When you’re looking at thousands of
resumes per role, you can reject all but the top 5% of candidates and still have
an excellent selection to hire from. To secure a game-writing position in AAA
you need experience as a writer in some field: games, film, TV, something. Even
if you’re an amazing writer, you’ll be competing with other amazing writers who
also have experience. I get how frustrating that news is, but I won’t sugarcoat it.
“But, Anna,” you say, “How am I supposed to get experience? All the jobs I see
expect you to have it already!” It’s true. Welcome to the AAA experience paradox.

1
Lassheikki, Christina. “Game Writers and Narrative Designers. The evolving role of story­
telling professionals in game development.” 2022, Master’s Thesis, Aalto University School of
Art, Design, and Architecture.
 Applications ▪ 59

Key requirements in job posts.

60 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

The Experience Paradox

As Son M explains:

I knew I wouldn’t be able to step into games myself without some sort
of work history. Introducing the cycle of needing experience to get
more experience.

Ahhh, there it is in a nutshell. You can’t get a job without experience, but you can’t
get experience without a job. So how you do break free of this catch-22? We discussed
some strategies for that in the last chapter, like QA or contract work. You can transfer
internally from technical writing or level design or any narrative-adjacent discipline
that might be less competitive than game writing at the entry level. But internal
jumps require you to have a foot in the industry already, and, uh, that’s the hard part.
Another strategy is to have comparable experience outside of AAA, preferably work
that uses a similar skillset. Let’s go back and take a closer look at the job description to
see what sort of work you’d be doing. Are you already able to do this kind of work? Have
you done this kind of work in another form, perhaps in another medium? Maybe you
never wrote a screenplay for a AAA game, but you wrote an entire feature-length script
for a competition. Or you wrote a play in college. Or you wrote a smaller-scale version
of the exact type of game the studio is making. Then you have experience! If you
combine that with work on an indie team or in AAA in another discipline, you can craft
a compelling case that you’re able to handle the job. “To beat that experience hurdle, I
did what any indie inevitably does,” Son M said. “I decided to make my own game and
studio.” Her indie work was fulfilling and made her “genuinely happy,” but it also put
skills and experience on her resume that could directly translate to AAA work when she
was ready for that transition. That’s how you do it!

Onsite vs. Remote

Now, let’s look at what the role requires besides experience. As you can see, this is not a
remote position. I know, I know. It would be great if every company offered remote
work, but currently they don’t. Things are starting to get better though! I used to be very
discouraging in this section of my FAQ, but now I don’t need to be. As terrible as the
coronavirus pandemic has been, it’s forced many companies to reexamine onsite
requirements and acknowledge that remote work is a feasible solution. So why doesn’t
every studio just go remote? There are reasons for it, ranging from legal issues to tax
agreements to simple time differences. When I was working in Finland, we had a
contract writer based in Seattle. It was difficult to coordinate meetings and writers’ room
sessions because of the vast time difference. That poor writer went nocturnal to keep up
with our development cycle. Senior staff is often expected to be at the studio leading
meetings, driving schedules, and coordinating with other teams. Some companies have
tax incentives and government requirements that force them to hire within the country
 Applications ▪ 61

first. (An obstacle to keep in mind if you’re looking at international roles.) I know there
are rebuttals to every point I raised and maybe more companies will listen and go remote
in the future. But the raw truth is that if a studio insists upon an onsite
writer—whatever their reasons—and you can only be remote, you’ll likely lose the job.
But you won’t know unless you ask, so at least talk to the studio and find out if remote
work is possible. Be clear about your needs from the start. If the job clearly states the role
is “onsite only” and you need to be remote, don’t wait until you get an offer to say that.
They might be able to accommodate you for a short period, but they’ll eventually want
you in the studio. If not you, they’ll go with another candidate who’s willing to relocate.
Established writers have some bargaining power in this situation. I know two US writers
who successfully negotiated hybrid and remote work arrangements for jobs that were
meant to be onsite. So, it can happen. But if you’re a new writer, you’re better off not
wasting everyone’s time. And hey! Maybe you enjoy travel and experiencing new cul­
tures. In that case, onsite work is no barrier for you and more opportunities are available.

Communication and Collaboration

Let’s go back to that job listing. What are some other requirements? It says commu­
nication and teamwork are important. That means being a team player, rolling with
development changes, and being able to handle constructive criticism are non-negotiable
parts of this job. Making games is a collaborative process. Narrative—especially in story-
driven games—unites all departments, from programming to PR. You have to com­
municate your ideas clearly, accept feedback with grace, and make needed changes
without getting huffy or hurt. I’m not saying you’ll have group hugs with your team all
day, but you need to get along with them and not be precious about your writing. If
you don’t like working with other people, then AAA games aren’t a good fit for you.
Collaboration and communication are a part of this, as writers must evangelize the story
to other teams and prevent what I call “narrative drift.” That’s where communication
breaks down and people end up working on material that uses an outdated version of
the story as its source. This can mean wasted work for them and wasted time for
everyone if it has to be redone. In a worst-case scenario, there’s no time for redoes and
narrative has to find a way to use the work, even though it no longer fits into the story.
If you’ve ever played a game and encountered a scene or a section of dialogue that felt
tonally off from the rest of the story, that’s most likely narrative drift. The only cure for
it is constant communication. It’s no surprise then that “the most important single skill,
mentioned in 51% of job ads” is communication. “Outstanding, excellent, exceptionally
strong, enthusiastic, clear, continuous, collaborative, effective”2 communication is the
glue that holds projects together. It’s a bedrock requirement.

2
Lassheikki, Christina. “Game Writers and Narrative Designers. The evolving role of story­
telling professionals in game development.” 2022, Master’s Thesis, Aalto University School of
Art, Design, and Architecture.
62 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Writing Skills
Back to the job ad! Another requirement is that you “write well.” I know this seems
painfully obvious, but this is where most applicants fall down. Yet, it’s the most
critical part of the job. You must write well, in English (or whatever the primary
game language is), and be able to prove it. Maybe you’ve done a lot of design work,
or you’re a master at production scheduling, or you’ve memorized every line from
Disco Elysium. Cool, cool. How’s your writing? You must be able to demonstrate,
through samples and a writing test, that you can write a compelling game story.
Some ads won’t explicitly call out this requirement because they assume you
wouldn’t apply for the role if you can’t write. But I know from personal experience
that some candidates will apply with no writing ability. None. I’m not talking
about the ability to write interactive stories either. It’s not screenwriters who are
moving from TV or film into games or indie writers moving into AAA. Those are
people who are skilled at writing in their own media and are interested in ex­
panding their repertoire. If that’s you, don’t hesitate to apply! But if you’ve never
written professionally, if you have no work to show, or if you’ve never received
feedback on your work to know if it’s any good, then please. Think hard before
applying. Amateur writers make the process harder for everyone. They slow the
process down, as Petteri notes.

A lot of people want to work in the industry and that’s the problem.
It’s easy to write. Pretty much everyone in the world writes some­
thing. And that makes you feel that, okay, because I can write, it
means that I can be a writer. That’s not the case. But not everyone
knows it, and it means that there’s a huge amount of applications for
writing jobs.

He explains that having to plow through so many unqualified applicants jams up

the process and forces recruiters to prescreen applicants with requirements like
industry experience and game writing skills. “And then it’s impossible for you to
break into the industry.”
This is why it’s so important to get objective feedback on your work. If
you’ve only scribbled your thoughts into a notebook and never shared them, you
can’t know how good or bad your work is. You have to put it out there and find
out where you need to improve. That’s the only way to become a good writer.
Learning to accept critique also helps with that “don’t be precious” requirement.
It’s scary, but it’s the critical first step. If you haven’t done this yet, stop
right now and do it. Go. Get some feedback. Come back to this section when
you’re ready.
 Applications ▪ 63

As the sign says.

Hey, you’re back! Great. Now that you’re confident you have what it takes to
write professionally and have work to share, let’s continue.
Where were we? Oh, right. You’ve looked over the requirements and they’re a
good fit for you. You have the necessary skills and experience and you’re ready to
apply. What’s next?

Online Forms
Mikko “Mikki” Rautalahti lays out the challenge:

The first hurdle is that you have to make a first impression that says “I
have my act together enough that I can do a simple thing and follow
the instructions that are given.” And if you can’t do that, it’s kind of
horrible, but it’s a sign of something. It’s not an absolute judgment of
you as a person, but it means that there are criteria. And you didn’t
meet the criteria.

Keep reading the ad to find out what you should you do next. Most ads will direct
you to an application process. Even if you apply through a studio’s website, you
might find yourself using third-party software—something like Taleo or Jobvite.
There it’s just a matter of filling out an electronic form and submitting a resume
64 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

and cover letter. That’s easy enough, right? If you’re going through an agency
recruiter, it’s even easier. Natalie Concannon explains that they contact the studio
for you and “often pitch your application over the phone or write a little paragraph
themselves.” They sometimes have information about the project genre and
timeframe that isn’t on public-facing posts, and that’s a real advantage for
unannounced projects. But if you’re applying on your own, here’s how you do it.

Step 1: Instructions
Go ahead and set up an account if it’s for a service like Taleo. Save your account
information, because a lot of different studios use the same services and you can
reuse your login credentials. Quickly click through the application to see what
materials they’re asking for. You’ll usually need the following:

■ Resume
■ Cover letter
■ Samples.

You should have a template for these ready to go when you start applying for work, but
don’t worry if you don’t. You’re not submitting them yet. Page through the appli­
cation form and make a note of any critical information like deadlines or unusual
requirements like work visa documentation. Then read the application instructions one
more time. Know what’s expected of you and follow the instructions carefully. Don’t
give recruiters an easy reason to bin your application. If you’re unsure of any
instructions, ask for help. Your network will know what to do, so lean on them.
Now, close the form and get ready to do some homework.

Step 2: Research
If you’re lobbing the same application materials at every studio without doing any
research, then you’re already at a disadvantage. You should find out everything you
can about the project and studio and tailor your application to match what they’re
looking for. Jump on your favorite search engine and start digging up information.
Here’s what you should find out about:

■ Project: What game is the role for? If the ad doesn’t say then check the
studio website to see if they’ve announced the project. If they have, then
watch the trailer, and click through the press materials. You’re looking for
genre, tone, and release date. This information will come in handy when
you’re tailoring your resume and choosing your writing samples. The release
date might tell you where the game is in production and what sort of work
you’ll be doing. The game is slated for release in late 2022 but they’re hiring
writers in January 2022? Odds are the game is in full production and the
 Applications ▪ 65

cinematic writing is done. They likely need help with barks and UI text to
get it over the finish line. But if you see no release date or announced project?
Potentially, you could be entering during pre-production and have a chance
to build the world and create a story from the ground up. Of course, this is
speculation. Every project is different and there’s no way to know for sure
until you talk to the studio, but timeframe can give you an idea of what skills
to emphasize in your application.
■ Studio Culture: You should have done a background check on the studio
already to know if it’s the kind of place you want to work. Now you should
be doing research to see who the big names are at the studio. Are they people
you’re excited to work with? What are their past projects like? Look through
their website and see how they’re representing themselves. Look at the pic­
tures of the devs on the site. Remember that these images are carefully
curated to present a specific image. What is that image? Do they have a
group photo on the “About Us” page that is all white men? Then you might
not feel comfortable there as a woman or a Black man. Read through all the
text. Blogs are a goldmine for discovering what’s important to a company.
What values are they emphasizing? What is the studio’s vision? What are
they putting out there into the world? Note any key words or ideas they use.
“Innovation.” “Collaboration.” “Groundbreaking.” “Traditional.” “Global.”
Keep those concepts in mind for when you write your cover letter.
■ Salary and Benefits: Sadly, very few job posts state the salary range for the
role. But use your resources: Glassdoor and the gamedev Google docs are
good places to see what that role pays. We’ll discuss salary negotiations in a
later chapter; here, you’re just checking to see if the role pays enough to
interest you. The last thing you want is to go through the entire hiring
process only to learn that their offer is far below what you need to survive.
Get a sense of it now before applying. Salary information is rare, but
companies usually post benefits and perks on their websites. It says a lot
about a company if they offer generous PTO or mental health days or shares
in company stock. If the job is onsite in another country, you’ll definitely
want to see mention of a relocation package. Again, you’re not looking for
specifics now—those can all be negotiated later on—but you do want to get
a feel for what working at this studio would be like.

Once you’ve done your research, you should have a good sense of what the
company cares about and what they want from this role. You’re ready to apply!

Step 3: Custom Fit

Recruiters are your primary audience so tailor your application materials for them.
Only a small percentage of applications get sent on to hiring managers. Writers
have asked me what I thought of their application, and I’ve had to admit that I
66 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

never saw it. So don’t worry about managers yet! At this first step, you’re trying to
impress the recruiter. You’re trying to show them that you have what it takes to get
this job—and you don’t have much time to do it. Several recruiters mentioned a
“thirty-second rule.” What does that mean? It means they should be able to grasp
the essentials of your application at a glance. You have thirty seconds to convince
them you have the right skills or your app goes in the bin. Petteri recommends that
you “spend a lot of time on the application, not a lot of time on a cover letter, and
a lot of time making sure that all the documents that you include are the best
possible.” Forget the advice about stuffing your application with keywords to pass
some sort of software scanner.3 Focus on convincing a very real, very human
recruiter looking at your application that you’re worth hiring. I’ll walk through
how to do exactly that in the next few chapters. For now, make sure you’ve filled
out every form, provided every bit of requested information, and met the deadline.
Hit send and whoosh! You’re on your way. Good luck!

Timing
People often ask if there’s a best time to apply for game-writing jobs. The answer is
no, because every project is different. However, there are some bad times to apply for
work. Several recruiters said you shouldn’t apply during the April-May rush. That’s
when a fresh crop of graduates flood the market with resumes. You might get lost in
the crowd. And don’t apply right before the winter holidays (Christmas, Hanukkah,
New Year’s, etc.) because many studios are closed and devs are on vacation. Your
application might sit there for weeks or hang at a crucial step. Also, if you’re applying
to European studios, many of them semi-close during July when everyone goes on
summer vacation. You probably don’t want to apply at the end of June. . This isn’t a
hard “don’t.” I’ve applied during all those windows and had no problems. But be
aware that the application process might move slower at those times, and be patient.

Ghosting
But let’s say you didn’t read my book in time and sent in your application to a
Swedish studio in July. Or you got an encouraging response from a recruiter and
then they disappeared on you. What then? Across the board, recruiters said it
wasn’t deliberate and didn’t reflect anything the candidate did. “It’s not a
malicious thing,” Natalie said. “Recruiters are often just very pushed for time.”

3
You can do the trick where you put a block of keywords at the bottom of your resume in white
text so they’re invisible, if you absolutely must. But a successful resume will have human eyes
on it, so keep that in mind.
 Applications ▪ 67

Another recruiter explained that sometimes technology fails and emails get lost.
Sometimes your assigned recruiter goes on medical leave or vacation and your
application simply slips through the cracks. Petteri once found a request for
feedback that got filtered incorrectly and lost for three months. He still answered
it, but ruefully said that “this person probably hates me and thinks I wear an evil
mustache. You know, like I want to torment them. Just give the benefit of the
doubt.” I’ve heard stories of candidates receiving rejection emails years after
submission. Unfortunately, it happens. A decade ago, I applied for a writing job
at Irrational Games, and I didn’t hear back from them for months. I’d long given
up by the time I received a rejection email from them that began, “Hi Matt!
Thank you for your interest ….”4
Those are extreme cases, but mistakes happen. Here’s how you handle those
situations.

■ Application with no response: If you sent in a general application and never

heard back from the studio, there’s not much you can do. Some studios
don’t send rejection notices for the big slush pile of applications. My strategy
(defense mechanism?) for this reality is to assume every application is a no.
Send in the form, hope for the best, but keep moving and submitting to
other studios. The old “fire and forget” strategy. If it’s a yes, you’ll get a
pleasant surprise when you hear from them. If it’s a no, then you haven’t
wasted any time on a dead end. Either way, there’s no need for communi­
cation beyond the application.
■ Application with response: If you’re waiting for a response from a recruiter
who contacted you about your application, it’s fine to ping them if they go
silent. Don’t assume the studio is trying to send you a negative message. It’s
probably just an oversight. Wait until it’s been no less than a week, ideally two
weeks, and then email to nudge them. If you still don’t hear back, nudge them
again after one more week. If you haven’t heard back after two reminders, let it
go. It’s awful when it happens, and it’s not a great way to have your hopes end,
but you don’t have a choice. Pushing the issue will make you look bad. One
recruiter describes “daily spamming” from angry candidates, and another
received threatening messages. Terrorizing recruiters is not going to get you a
job. Don’t do it. Just let it go and move on to other possibilities.
■ In the Hiring Process: If you’re fairly deep into the hiring process when you
get ghosted, it’s safe to ping the studio with reminders. It’s also okay at this
stage to gently remind the studio that you have other opportunities. Don’t
hesitate to ask questions or nudge recruiters, as it’s rare to ghost candidates at
this stage. But mistakes can happen! I had one studio disappear for two

4
I maintain that they never rejected me, and they’ll write to offer me a job any day now. Any
day … .
68 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

months after (what I believed was) a good interview. I was disheartened, but
after a few reminders with no response, I gave up. Out of the blue, they got
back to me, and I learned that the old recruiter had left without handing off
my information to the new recruiter. We resumed the interview process, and
I got the job. Petteri says slips like this aren’t uncommon, but still
unfortunate. “I’m sorry for everyone I’ve ghosted in my life,” he said. “But it
happens.”

Reapplying
What if you’re turned down for one job, and then the studio posts another job that
seems like a better fit? Should you apply? Yes! If you were rejected for a senior role
and they post a mid-level job, go for it! But don’t do the reverse. Unless the studio
specifically said that you were overqualified for the mid-level and asked you to
apply for the more senior role, you won’t get hired for a more senior role than the
one you were rejected for.
What if it’s been a few months and you see that the company is still hiring for
the job you got rejected for? Should you reapply? Wellll … maybe. Petteri suggests
contacting the recruiter instead of reapplying. “Say, ‘Hey, I applied for this job
four months back, but it seems like it’s still open. What’s the situation?’ And then
they’ll probably tell you that ‘Okay, I didn’t find the right kind of person yet.’” In
those cases, it’s up the recruiter to decide how to proceed. The job description
might have changed or the role needs might be different. Maybe you’ll look more
appealing than you did before they interviewed fifty less-qualified candidates with
no success. There’s absolutely no harm in asking.
It’s also fine to apply for the same role if your situation has changed subs­
tantially. If you were rejected for not having any interactive writing experience and
you worked on a successful indie game since then, reapply. If your samples were
underwhelming before, but now an NDA has been lifted and you have much
better work to show, reapply. Any significant change to your skills or experience
that aligns you more closely with the requirements is a good reason to reapply. But
outside of substantial changes to your skillset, recruiters recommend waiting six
months to a year before applying for the same role again.

Speculative Applications
What about the method I used when I was a baby writer? Sending unsolicited
emails to every company in the region to see if they have any openings that
aren’t listed. Seems like a good plan, right? You can let them know you’re in­
terested, maybe include a link to your website or resume, and see what happens.
I know many people who got jobs that way. I got jobs that way. Petteri doesn’t
 Applications ▪ 69

discourage it, but he suggests being selective. “Instead of doing the shotgun
approach where you’re just applying to everything, pick your battles. Maybe start
with one or two companies that really speak to you. That’s something that helps
breaking in.”
Unlike job posts where you know there’s a role to be filled, speculative ap­
plications are a shot in the dark. You might never hear back. You might hear back
months later. You might hear, “We’ve got nothing now, but we’ll keep your
resume on file.” All you need is one studio to say yes, and you’re on your way.
Petteri agrees that it’s worth trying spec apps but says breaking in is “tough, and
I’m sorry for everyone that needs to make that jump. It’s a kind of brutal industry
in that way.”

Rejection
Listen, my friend. You’re going to hear a lot of nos in your career. You’re going
to meet a lot of people who don’t like your work. You’re going to have more
doors slam in your face than will open. You’re going to know that job you
applied for is perfect for you—but nobody else will see it, and you’ll get rejected.
It’s terrible. It’s painful. It’s easy to get angry or feel like giving up. I know. I
know. And I know it sounds weird, but you’ll learn to roll with it. You’ll learn
from it without letting it destroy you. It will still hurt, so let yourself hurt. Curl
up in a fetal position. Scream from a mountaintop. Eat a tub of ice cream. Be
kind to yourself and do what you need to feel better. Then pick yourself up, and
come back fighting. Ask yourself, “What can this teach me? How can this
rejection make me better?” Find ways to take what you’ve learned and apply
them to your next attempt. Do what Whitney did. She looked for patterns in her
rejections.

I started tracking my application progress (meaning: immediate form

rejection vs. personalized rejection vs. ‘we’ll hold on to your applica­
tion’ vs. interview request). I was constantly updating and improving
my application materials based on these successes/failures. An incre­
mental education.

Eventually, her efforts paid off and she landed a scriptwriting job at Ubisoft. That
can be you.
Rejections aren’t personal. Only one writer can get that job you applied for.
One writer out of thousands. For whatever reason, you weren’t the one this time.
It doesn’t mean you’re a bad writer or a bad person. A lot happens behind the
scenes during hiring. Schedules change. Hiring priorities shift. One dev told me
that he was emailing an offer to a senior candidate when the role got axed. I was
in the final interview stage with one studio when their entire project got
70 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

cancelled. You might be unlucky and end up competing with an industry

rockstar for the role. Or it could come down to simple bad timing. Sweet Baby
Inc CEO Kim Belair points out that when companies get 700 applications and
find the right candidate early, that means your work “didn’t even get read
because you were number 650. It’s so demoralizing.” There are a million factors
outside your control. Don’t take it personally and keep looking.

Feedback
You might be asking, “How the heck will I know why I was rejected? I just got a
form email thanking me for my interest.” Rejections early in the hiring process
don’t often come with feedback, it’s true. But that doesn’t mean you can’t ask
for any. Don’t be afraid to ask the recruiter (politely!) what you can do to
improve your chances. There’s no guarantee they’ll respond. Some do, some
don’t. In some cases, your application might get rejected before it was seen by
anyone qualified to assess it. But no one will hold it against you for asking for
feedback. The further you get in the process, the more feedback you’ll get. I
always write up brief feedback for initial screenings, more detailed feedback for
writing tests, and a personal email for long “onsite” interviews. It’s my under­
standing that this feedback doesn’t always get to applicants in the rejection
email, but it’s there if you ask about it. Not every hiring manager writes feed­
back, and I want to be clear that you shouldn’t expect or demand it. It’s
incredibly time consuming to write up that much feedback and most leads
simply don’t have the time. We’re also cautious not to say too much for legal
reasons and because some candidates want to … argue about it. But you won’t
know unless you ask.
Sometimes, a company will tell you to apply for a more junior role or wait until
another project starts hiring if it’s a better fit. Sometimes, they’ll give good, detailed
critique that lays out exactly what parts of your application or writing need work.
And sometimes, you’ll get feedback like this rejection note one writer shared
with me:

Thank you for your patience. I shared your sample with our lead writer, but
I return with disappointing news. He’s appreciative of your effort but doesn’t
see your skills or level as a good fit for the team’s current needs.
Now I must add insult to injury and say that I don’t have detailed
feedback for you. We’re moving at a fast pace to finalize the game right
now and unfortunately can’t spare time for individual evaluations. However,
the lead writer mentioned issues like a lack of dramatic development
and exposure, lack of tension, loose pacing and plot progression, poor
 Applications ▪ 71

characterization, stylistic issues, on-the-nose dialog, show vs. tell, and failure
to evoke emotion as his reasons for declining your application. If I get more
specific feedback from him in the future, I’ll send it along.
I know this isn’t the outcome you hoped for, but I appreciate your
willingness to attempt this challenge. I’m sure your future holds many more
opportunities, and you will continue to grow throughout your career.
Perhaps our paths will cross again in the future. Let’s stay in touch! 5

This is shameful feedback. Shameful for the studio that sent it. The critique is
too vague and high level to be constructive, it doesn’t help you grow, and it’s
inexcusably cruel. Bizarrely, I hear that it’s the studio’s standard rejection
response. Your only takeaway from a rejection like this should be “whew, I
dodged a bullet!” Be glad you found out early what they were like and avoided
mental scarring.

After Submitting
But enough about rejection. You’re just getting started! You’ve found a promising
role, checked out the company, and learned the ins and outs of applying to studios.
Of course, you can’t send an application off by itself. You’ll need to send a resume
and cover letter too. Let’s talk about those next.

CHALLENGE
■ Find three jobs you’re interested in and break down the ads to answer the
following questions:
• What level is the role?
• How much experience is needed? Do I have that or comparable
experience?
• What are the essential skills? Do I have any skills that match or are
similar?
• Where does the job take place?
• If remote, what is the time difference? If onsite, do they offer a
relocation budget?
• What materials are they asking for? Do I have them? Can I get
them?
• What are the salary and benefits for the role? Is that enough to
live on?

5
Some details have been changed to protect the candidate’s identity.
72 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

■ Research three studios and answer the following questions:

• What type of games do they make? (genre, tone, etc.)
• What is their studio culture like? Are people like me there?
• What are the studio’s values? How do they align with mine?
(Ex: They incorporate NFTs into their games, and I’m opposed
to them.)
• Is there a deadline for the application?
• How do I apply?

Keep this information handy for the next few chapters.

Chapter 5

Resumes

Is your narrative in tune with the player fantasy or is it in opposition?

Does your narrative match the gameplay? Does your cutscene have
anything do with what the player has done? Context is everything.
—Kim Swift, Senior Director of Cloud Gaming,
Xbox Game Studios Publishing

Time to write a new resume! Most writers don’t sit down and craft an amazing
resume from sheer willpower alone. They go online for some tips first. A quick
search yields hundreds of sites and services that promise to craft a “competitive,”
“polished,” “job-winning,” and “PERFECT” resume. The advice is clear: Stick to
the facts. Sell yourself! Have a bold mission statement. Mission statements are old-
fashioned. Include your hobbies. Don’t include non-work information. Focus on
skills, not experience. Recruiters only care about experience.
Okaaay, maybe it’s not so clear. I see more conflicting and just plain bad advice
about resumes than I do about anything besides game writing itself. When every
site claims to have the secret formula to success, whose guidelines do you follow?
If you’re looking for a magic bullet, then I’m sorry. There isn’t one. You can
follow every rule on those resume sites, use their custom templates, spend a
fortune on custom content, have epiphanies with their career counselors, and
still not get a job. Why? Because it all comes down to individuality. Your
individual experience as a writer; the individual requirements of the role; and the
individual assessment of the recruiter. One recruiter might prefer a short, spare
list of jobs in chronological order. Another recruiter might want details on your
so-called soft skills. What recruiters want may be different from what hiring
managers are looking for. It all depends on who’s looking at your resume for
each job. You have no way to know in advance what they want, so what the heck

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-6 73
74 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

are you supposed to do? It’s a confusing process. To get answers, I interviewed
hiring managers from every corner of the games industry and recruiters from
some of the top AAA companies in the world. And I drew on my two decades of
experience on both sides of the hiring process. I found conflicting advice, yes,
but I also found clear patterns. (And strong opinions!) There’s a core of infor­
mation that everyone wants and then there are nice-to-haves. I’ll break it all
down step by step, so you can craft a resume that gives essential information but
still lets your unique qualities shine through.

Essentials
Resumes are simple when you get right down to it. They say who you are and what
you’ve done and give enough accomplishments to extrapolate what you might do
in the future. They’re lists of basic information presented in a way that says “Hey!
I’m perfect for this role. Hire me!” It’s the presentation of this simple information
that gets tricky. If you’re applying for a game-writing or narrative design role, your
resume should tell the story of who you are. If it’s a garbled mess and difficult to
parse, then you’ve failed to communicate your story. It doesn’t speak well to your
talent as a writer. Writers are communicators. This is your area of expertise. Show
that in your application materials! Now, before you go and turn your resume into a
short story or start fictionalizing your work history, let’s talk function and format.

Function
When a recruiter is examining your resume, they’re trying to answer a simple
question: Can this person do this job? Petteri can see if a programmer is qualified
by simply looking for keywords. “If I’m looking for someone experienced in
Python, for example, and they don’t list Python, and the cover letter doesn’t say
anything about Python—that’s instant rejection. I’m not looking for a senior who
doesn’t have that.” But for writing jobs, it’s more difficult to quantify skills.
Software proficiencies don’t cut it. “’Yeah, I know how to use Google docs and a
keyboard so hire me.’ No. It’s not that simple.” What he’s looking for is evidence
you’ve utilized your writing skills in previous jobs, and that might look different
for every candidate. That’s great news for you, because it means you have room to
make a case for yourself. No keywords or specific programs needed. As long you
include enough information for recruiters to assess your qualifications, you’re
golden. Here’s the essential information your resume should contain:

■ Your name (I’m not kidding. People forget.).

■ Contact information (important!).
 Resumes ▪ 75

■ Relevant job history.

■ Relevant skills and their context.
■ Education, certification, or professional membership if relevant.
■ A link to your website if you have one.
■ A link to your online portfolio if you have one.

That’s it. That’s all recruiters need. Simple, right? Yet it’s so easy get confused
when you’re assembling this information into a document.

Format
It bears repeating that resumes are there to show your suitability for a role,
ideally through a track record of doing similar work at similar jobs. Your brief
for this assignment is to tell studios why they should hire you in succinct terms.
That means fitting a persuasive history into a condensed format that showcases
your strengths. If you need to explain or clarify a detail of your experience, do it
in your cover letter. That’s what cover letters are for: explanation. Resumes are
for facts. The ugly truth is that recruiters and hiring managers don’t have much
time to spend on your resume. It would be wonderful if we could kick back with
each application and read through the materials at leisure to understand the
candidates. But that’s almost never the case. Most hiring managers are lucky to
grab a few minutes here and there to look through applications. They need to
read as many as they can in that time, so your resume should lay out critical
information as cleanly and clearly as possible. If they scan your resume and don’t
see the necessary skills coupled with relevant experience, they’ll move on. It
sounds harsh, but you have to understand that they look at hundreds of ap­
plications for each job and can’t spend a lot of time deciphering a messy resume.
To get a sense of the scale, think about this: one big West Coast studio posted a
writer role and got over a thousand applications every day for it. For one listing!
Imagine what it’s like to wrangle dozens of roles at once. When they’re under
pressure to get promising candidates to the hiring manager as quickly as possible,
they have to get through those resumes fast. That’s how you get the thirty-
second rule. I know it’s discouraging to hear that, but you should know what
you’re up against.
Your resume must make a good impression to get past this first hurdle. It must
lay out essential information in a clear and convincing way. The good news is that
there’s no “correct” format for resumes. The bad news is that some formats are
more effective than others, and it’s easy to go horribly astray. So, with the time
constraints in mind, let’s look at formatting possibilities.
Here’s how a traditional resume lays out that essential information.
76 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

The Classic

A classic resume.

You can see that this snippet covers all the basics in a simple, bulleted format. Your
most recent role at the top followed by your previous roles in reverse chronological
order. You can include a summary at the top and sections for education and
additional skills, but those are optional. So what are the pros and cons of the classic
format?

Pros
■ It’s easy to read. The format is widely recognized, so recruiters can scan it
quickly and get the info they need. It won’t get binned for being hard to
understand. It’s also easy to cut and paste into online application forms
and job sites like LinkedIn.
■ It shows career development. If your first job was junior writer and your most
recent role is lead writer, then recruiters know that you’ve grown in ability and
responsibility. It shows a clear career trajectory and suggests that you’ve earned
the role you currently have through your performance at previous work.
■ All the critical information can go into the bullet points: your work
experience, your skills, promotions, accomplishments, and proficiencies.
It’s simple and easy.
 Resumes ▪ 77

■ It provides context for your skill set. Hiring managers don’t need to extra­
polate how you’d perform in a writing role from a skill you listed. They
know you’re a good fit for the role because you’ve previously used that skill
in a work context. Other studios trusted you to do that type of work, so they
probably can too. It’s a form of endorsement.

Cons
■ It’s common. Basic. There’s nothing eye-catching or engaging about the
format. You’re forced to rely on the content to stand out. This works great if
you have an impressive work history to put on display, but it spotlights a lack
of experience for industry beginners.
■ The chronological order exposes career gaps that you’ll have to explain away.
This can be especially hard on parents and anyone with chronic medical
issues.
■ It amplifies discrimination. If you worked at a studio with issues like cro­
nyism, sexism, racism, or other discriminatory practices, you might have
been unfairly denied opportunities, promotions, and titles. This can translate
to a less impressive career trajectory, even though you have the necessary
skills and experience.

I use this style of resume because it’s easy to update and add to my LinkedIn
profile, and I have enough job experience to fill out the page. But I remember what
it was like first starting out and how desperate I was to fluff up my bullet points
with any information that made me look better qualified. I cringe to remember it,
but I even put my college grade point average on some of my early resumes. (Don’t
do this! I promise no one in the industry cares, and it screams inexperience.) Most
people are familiar with this traditional form of resume, and it has a long history of
successful use, so I won’t dwell on it.
The Classic isn’t exciting, and it’s understandable that inexperienced writers want
a more appealing layout. They try out colorful templates from Canva or FlowCV and
follow the advice of career gurus to emphasize skills over experience. Many resume
services hype a sort of “deconstructed” resume these days. The format gets this name
because it pulls apart the information in the chronological format—the skills and
experience—and lists them in separate sections. Here’s an example.

The Deconstructed
It’s easy to see why this format is popular with students looking for their first jobs
in the industry, as it allows them to focus on what they can do rather than what
they’ve done. It’s great for hiding gaps in your career or plumping a slender job
78 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

A deconstructed resume.

history into a nice meaty resume. So, what are the pros and cons of a format
like this?

Pros
■ Highlights your strengths. If you know how to do something, like use
Perforce or manage a project, then you can list that here—regardless of
whether or not it was professional work. If you learned leadership through
managing a group project at university, then it’s still a valid skill to list.
Because work history and skills have been decoupled, you’re not limited to a
professional skillset.
■ Surfaces soft skills. You can create categories for “soft” skills that often go
overlooked, like collaboration and communication. It lets you lean into your
strengths.
■ It’s more visually interesting than the standard resume. You can add a nice
pop of color to draw readers eyes to the broad categories of skills.
 Resumes ▪ 79

Cons
Oh boy. When I bring up deconstructed resumes to recruiters and hiring man­
agers, they all get the same look on their faces. It’s an expression I can only describe
as “sour.” With hints of rage. They clearly have a problem with these resumes, so I
asked them to break down their dislike for me.1 Here’s what they said:

■ No standardization. They’re hard to understand at a glance because

recruiters aren’t sure where to look for the information they need. It takes
time to decipher the layout and answer a simple question like “what did this
candidate do at their last job as a writer?” Remember that thirty-second rule?
This resume violates it.
■ There’s no context for the skills. One manager called it a “mix-and-match”
resume because she kept trying to match the job information in one column
to the skills in another—without success. It’s difficult to get an idea of how
the candidate will perform on the job from these resumes. Compulsion
Games Narrative Director Lisa Hunter noted that she “had to fish through
the whole CV looking for games.”
■ They’re deceptive. Lisa also said this resume is “one of the sneakiest
I’ve ever seen. It’s clearly designed to conceal a lack of game experience.”
One recruiter looked at it and rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid,” she said.
Everyone I spoke to said the format made them suspicious. It makes
them look for what you’re hiding rather than focus on what you’re
highlighting.
■ It treats all skills equally. Leadership skills are leadership skills, right? Well,
not exactly. It’s great that you led a team of five designers to victory for your
school game jam. Definitely mention that somewhere! But that’s not the
same as leading a team of professional writers through an entire AAA game
development cycle to release. Are you a good communicator because you
persuaded a team of designers to go with your pitch or because you per­
suaded your dog to “fetch”? It matters! And you need to show that you
understand the difference. It’s okay that you haven’t used your communi­
cation skills in a professional capacity yet. They’re still valuable skills. Just be
honest about the context.
■ It’s fluffy and repetitive. Look how much extraneous material is in here.
There are skills, proficiencies, and jobs that have no relevance for a game-
writing or narrative design role. Fantastic that you love kayaking, but why
include that in a resume for a game-writing job? “It would need a heck of a
cover letter to explain” why you’re a good fit for the role, Lisa observed.

1
I can’t share the resume I showed to the recruiters and hiring managers because that poor
applicant! Instead, I borrowed a template from a kind volunteer and imitated the particular
deconstructed resume as best I could.
80 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Sachka Duval agreed. There’s “no experience, no visible knowledge or

interest in games, and very little that says the person has their own ‘universe’
to bring to the table.”
■ The information gaps are red flags. The resume lists narrative design
and scriptwriting work for “multiple companies,” but doesn’t say which
ones. Uh … that’s not irrelevant information. “I’m going to assume that
they’re concealing that information for a reason,” one hiring manager said,
describing the omission as “bizarre.”

Overall, this format seems designed to highlight positives and conceal negatives,
which is a reasonable goal, but it overcompensates and ends up feeling fluffy,
unfocused, and dishonest. I asked all my recruiters and managers if they’d interview
this candidate for the role based on this resume and every single one said no,
even though they thought the applicant sounded interesting personally. “Vagueness
almost never conceals experience and competence,” Lisa said. “If someone has
written a vague CV, I don’t quite trust them to write documentation.”
Also, please stop putting these weird little charts in your resume. They’re
useless. Nobody knows what they mean but you. What the heck is 90% of writing?

An indecipherable graph.

So what should you do? How do you highlight the good stuff you’re bringing
to the table without undermining confidence in your ability to perform the job?
Fortunately, they told me exactly what they’re looking for. So, straight from
recruiters and hiring managers themselves, here’s what they want.

Content
Across the board, the golden rule was “make it easy.” Make your resume easy
to read and easy to understand. Make the reason they should hire you easy to
see. Look through the job post and pull keywords for the role. Remember
that job listing in Chapter 3? Here’s where you speak to the requirements it
listed. If you were applying for that job, some critical phrases to include in
 Resumes ▪ 81

your resume would be: collaboration, communication, experience, transmedia,

screenplay, writing and design, imaginative, interactive storytelling, marketing,
and short fiction. These keywords will get you through any automated resume
scanners and jump out for recruiters. In fact, all the recruiters said a variation of
this. It doesn’t have to be experience doing that exact job or even be work in
the games industry, but you need to demonstrate how your skills apply spe­
cifically to the role you want.

KISS Them
One recruiter specifically invoked KISS (Keep it simple, scribes!). They said that
their ideal resume would be

clear and simple. I want the information to be easy to find, where

I don’t have to hunt for it, and I can easily understand where
you’ve been, what kind of position it was, and what you’ve done. Also,
it should be something that loads well, regardless of format.

So, that’s what you want to do. Create a resume that borrows elements from the
previous two formats. It doesn’t need to be as plain and straightforward as The
Classic, but it should be more focused and grounded than The Deconstructed.
Let’s look at what it needs to get right.
Petteri was emphatic that layout doesn’t matter “as long as you include
important information about your skills in a way that doesn’t require much
thought work and as long as they are not super jumbled up and difficult to
understand.” Natalie agreed, but gave some pointers for a recruiter-friendly layout:

■ Your resume should be laid out simply, with the most important information
at the top “above the fold.”
■ I would like a short paragraph summary at the top, then I want to see your
most relevant experience/why we should hire you for this job/what makes
you the right choice?
■ Keep the layout simple and easy to read, you should be able to get all the
most important points after a few seconds looking at a resume.
■ Writing candidates sometimes include a lot of text. A resume should be
short. Most of the time they aren’t being read all the way through.
■ It might make sense to not start with a timeline of your experience, if you are
changing direction or a lot of your experience is not directly relevant to the
role you are applying for.
■ Be very careful of being different for no reason, if you are doing something
unusual then there should be a reason.
82 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Her advice gives us an excellent outline for the format. But what about that last
bullet point? Don’t you want a resume that stands out from the rest?

How to Stand Out

Obviously, the best way to stand out with your resume is to have an impressive
work history on successful projects. But barring that, how do you get recruiters and
hiring managers to notice you without getting creative with your format? Eevi
Korhonen recommends focusing on what makes you special as a candidate. What
can you bring to this role that nobody else can? “Always try to bring forth your
unique experiences and interests. You never know if your interest in knitting or
exotic animals happens to be a match for something we’ve been wanting to explore
in our narrative.” However, Eevi adds that “a candidate would have to be a true
unicorn to stand out without any experience working on games.”
Hiring managers think of teams holistically when we hire. What skills do you
have that other team members don’t have? Here’s where your wider knowledge of
game writing comes in handy, that Swiss-army-knife skillset we discussed before.
Make sure your list of skills and proficiencies is comprehensive so a manager can
understand what you’re bringing to the table. Your experience playing romantic
sims might be exactly what the team needs!

An Ideal Resume
So if we compile all this advice into one resume, it might look like the one on the
next page.

Pros
■ A quick and easy read. It sticks to the golden rule and delivers all the critical
info in under thirty seconds. One glance tells recruiters that you have the
skills and experience necessary for a game-writing role.
■ Nothing is extraneous. Everything in this resume points toward a game-
writing role. It includes skills from outside games, but also highlights how
those skills would apply in game-writing-relevant work. No more fluff!
■ It provides context for career gaps without trying to disguise them. This feels
more honest and opens a door for discussing them in your cover letter. You’ll
get fewer suspicious looks and eyerolls from recruiters with this resume.
■ You can add a pop of color in the text without cluttering up the layout with
patterns. You’ll stand out more than with a Classic resume, and it’s more
legible than a Deconstructed.
 Resumes ▪ 83

An ideal resume.

Cons
■ You’ll need to tailor this resume for each role, carefully picking out keywords
from the job listing. That can be time-consuming if you’re applying to every
open job, but it’s ultimately more efficient because your chances of an
interview are better.
■ It’s hard to hide a lack of experience. This part will take some thought, but it’s
genuinely okay to list work outside the industry for mid-level roles. Focus more
on finding the parts of your past work that apply to the role you’re going for.
84 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Notice that the header says “an ideal resume” and not “the ideal resume.” That’s
because it’s not prescriptive. Interpret the advice from our recruiters and hiring
managers in whatever way works best for your experience and feels comfortable.
I am 100% sure that you can write a better resume than this example I tossed
together for you!
You heard it from recruiters themselves that format doesn’t matter, so ex­
periment with various colors and styles as much as you’d like. If you “have a
passion for graphic design,” then feel free to show it. My only advice is to not let
it overshadow or interfere with the information in the resume. That’s the
important stuff.

LYING TO WORK

As you’ve probably gathered by now, recruiters and managers can tell when
you’re bullshitting and will hold it against you. Nobody likes being lied to.
It’s fine to show your best side. We expect you to present your work in a
flattering way. Writers are good at shading meaning and you should
absolutely find ways of phrasing your resume to showcase your talents.
Just make sure that putting a good spin on your experience doesn’t cross the
line into lying.

DON’T
× List a skill you don’t have
× Say you wrote something you didn’t
× Say you worked somewhere you didn’t

This is a small industry, and the world of game writing is even smaller.
Everyone knows everyone. If you claim you were a writer at, say, Ubisoft
Montreal, then I guarantee that someone will have a contact there they can
ask about you. If you get caught lying on your resume, it’s almost an insta-
rejection. If you’re lying about that, what else are you lying about? Who
would trust you with their top-secret game story after that? I’ll choose honest
inexperience over fake credentials any day.
Tara J. Branigan said she’s seen an increase in dishonest resumes:

There is a trend I’m seeing right now in game development

resumes and cover letters that I dislike, that is the idea of
“whatever gets you an interview is best.” Intentionally misleading
or otherwise stretching the truth to get the interview may get you
that first introduction, but under false pretenses. For some
teams, this is not only not going to get you the job you applied
 Resumes ▪ 85

for, it is going to reduce your chances for future opportunities.

The fields I work in are heavily communication and trust based.
If the first impression is that you are being willfully deceptive,
that is a huge red flag. With so many candidates applying for
roles, is it worth the risk?

If you lie to get a job, you’ll eventually get caught out. More companies are
instituting trial or “probation” periods to make sure the job is a good fit, and
that’s usually when it becomes clear that someone fudged their resume. Even
if you think you can “fake it till you make it,” you’ll be expected to do work
you’re not ready for. Wouldn’t you rather start a job with realistic
expectations for your performance? Also, you’re not safe from consequences
even if you manage to pass your probation. One hiring manager “had to let
someone go who was doing a great job but hadn’t quiiiite finished his
diploma program listed on his CV.” It’s much safer to tell the truth.

Beware Resume Services!

Why warn you about something as commonplace as resume services? Kim Belair
says:

Whenever I see someone paying for that kind of mentorship or paying

for that kind of service, I always say, ‘Who are these folks? Why are
they charging money for it?’

It’s an unfortunate thing, but desperate writers are vulnerable—and people

will swoop in to take advantage of their vulnerability. An entire industry has been
built to craft the perfect resume that will “get you past the gatekeepers” and help
you find work. Many of these career coaches have no familiarity with the games
industry and don’t understand its specific requirements. Do your research before
paying one of the companies for their advice. Be wary on these points:

■ Qualifications: What are their credentials? Are they qualified to advise you?
Go look at that credentials checklist in chapter two and apply the same
standards here.
■ Uniform Solutions: One size does not fit all. If they don’t work in the
games industry—and specifically game narrative—they don’t know the un­
ique requirements of the discipline and can’t give you accurate advice. What
might be great advice for a corporate or general tech job doesn’t work for
games—especially for creative roles. An engineering lead isn’t looking for the
same things as a writing lead. If the service promotes one “job-winning”
86 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

template for every discipline, run away! I’ll talk more about this in the next
chapter.
■ “Career Coach”: I became extremely skeptical of this title while re­
searching this book. Anyone can call themselves that. It’s meaningless.
There’s no required training or regulatory agency to set standards for these
services. None. Coaches are often very nice, upbeat people with good
intentions, but that doesn’t make them experts. If you want a cheerleader
for your efforts or someone to make you “feel seen” as an applicant,
then by all means get a career coach. But understand the limitations
of that role.
■ Us vs. Them: Some services promote a hostile or adversarial attitude
toward recruiters and hiring managers. “We will get you past Them.”
Beware this attitude! Your best ally for getting a job is the person hiring
you. I’ve seen recruiters fight hard to secure an interview for candi-
dates who made a good impression. Why start that relationship with
resentment?
■ Magical Thinking: Some of the advice I’ve seen is plain nonsense. It
plays into the belief that if you want something badly enough, you can
will it to happen. They offer instructions that read more like FBC
incantations.2 More on this in the cover letters section, but get your
salt shaker ready.
■ Dubious Results: It’s infuriating when a resume service crows about
getting candidates interviews and you, as a hiring manager, know a writer
got that chance despite their bad application. Many leads said they’ve
learned to look past the “deconstructed” resumes these services encourage
and see what candidates are truly offering. Or if the resume is too
mangled to decipher, they simply go to the applicant’s LinkedIn profile.
Candidates secure interviews because of the content of their resumes, not
the format.

I had long discussions with devs across the industry about predatory services and
schemes for hopefuls. I found a deep concern, dismay, and fury at the people who
use newbie writers as stepping stones for their own careers. These “helpers”
especially love to target marginalized writers, who are already vulnerable and who
don’t have access to the same networks and safeguards as their more privileged
peers. Protect yourself. If someone offers to help you, ask what they’re getting out
of it. Don’t take everything they say at face value. I could rant about this for a
while because I hate seeing new writers exploited, but instead I’ll end here with
a final warning from Kim Belair.

2
Yes, I referenced my own game. It won’t be the last time!
 Resumes ▪ 87

People who make a business out of the dream of being in video games
are so toxic. One of the most toxic things about our industry is that
we always act like it’s a dream job. Don’t get me wrong, anyone who
gets creative space has a dream job in that way. But it’s a job. I see it
as predatory when a solution feels like a quick fix or pretends it’s a
meritocracy.

Many resume services prey on the dreams of desperate game writers. Be careful. Be
smart. Don’t pay for advice you can get for free. And even when the advice is free,
check their credentials and make sure they’re not misleading you. They might be
doing more harm than good.
I hate to end this chapter on such a stern note, so here’s a picture of my cats,
Nixy and Kijeu.

Kijeu and Miss Nixy.

88 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Now that you know who’s really writing this book, let’s talk about using cover
letters to make your resume sing.

CHALLENGE

Write a resume tailored to each of the 3 job roles you broke down in
Chapter 4. Make sure each resume includes the following information:

■ Your name in large letters

■ Contact information
■ Your experience that relates to the specific job you’re applying to
■ A list of skills related to the specific role you’re applying to
■ The keywords you’ve pulled from the job listings.

Save the three resumes as pdfs in this format: FirstnameLastname_Studio

nameResume. I sometimes add the year for my own tracking purposes.
Examples: JohnSmith_DoubleFineResume, NonaMagley_TextboxStudios
Resume2022.
And now you’re ready to send those babies off!
Chapter 6

Cover Letters

Is it bad that I just don’t like cover letters? They rarely actually tell you
much about people and far too often are used in ways that make my
face scrunch.
—Ann Lemay, Narrative Director, WB Games, Montreal

“Do I even need a letter?” The short answer is yes. All the recruiters I spoke to
recommend writing them. Natalie thinks they’re a polite and helpful gesture, while
another recruiter says seniors rarely need to send them, but juniors should if the
application doesn’t have questions to fill out. “When you’re just starting, if written
well, it could help differentiate yourself or explain elements not in your CV.”
They’re both right, but … I’ll be honest. I kinda hate cover letters. In my past few
years as a hiring manager, I’ve moved decisively into the “no letter required” camp.
Very few cover letters do what they need to: give information that your resume
can’t provide or persuade me to change my mind after seeing your work history.
The vast majority of them are stiff, awkward, and—frankly—boring to read. I’m
perfectly happy to assess you based on your resume and samples, so if you don’t
want to write one, feel free not to. I’m sure you have plenty of other things you’d
rather do instead. Many modern application systems don’t even have a place to
add cover letters, so take advantage of that tech quirk.
However, not everyone feels the way I do. Strix relies on cover letters as a hiring
manager.

If someone doesn’t try, that’s a chuck-out-able offense. If they can’t

meaningfully reify their resume and tell me that they understand the
position and how their skillset fits, then that’s a big strike in my book.
I also try to get a sense of personality from the letter.

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-7 89
90 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Knowing that it depends on the hiring manager, it’s probably safer to send one. It
doesn’t matter to managers like me, so focus on writing your letter to managers
who want them.

Purpose
Your cover letter should convince a company they need to hire you, above all the
other candidates. It puts a face to the cold, hard facts of your resume. Remember
that your cover letter and resume are a one-two punch. They should inform and
play off each other. Your letter needs to do one (or better yet, all) of these things:

■ Explain or clarify your resume.

■ Add information that doesn’t fit or belong in your resume.
■ Dazzle!

If it’s not doing that work, then don’t waste anyone’s time. Take that time back!
Go eat some chocolate or invent a new TikTok dance. But if you want to use this
opportunity to make a case for yourself, here’s how you do it.

What to Say
So if you decide to write a cover letter, what should it say? Career guides tell you to
sum up your resume and explain its bullet points in more detail. That’s bad advice.
Whatever you do, don’t do that. Make sure you’re providing new information that
hiring managers can’t get from the resume.
Use the cover letter to tell recruiters who you are. Introduce yourself. Talk
about why you want to work at that studio specifically or on that particular
project. Tell them why they should hire you. What can you bring to the job
that nobody else can? Why should they hire you over the other 2000 candidates
who applied? Here’s your chance to tell your story and make your case. Use
your cover letter to give a glimpse of what you’re into and how you write. Talk
about your love for creative puns or what your lifelong obsession with horror
movies brings to your writing. Tell them why their latest DLC1 is the best part
of the game. Information like that doesn’t belong in—or fit into—a resume,
but it’s the kind of stuff hiring managers want to hear. It helps them under-
stand what interests you.

1
Downloadable content = additional material for a game that’s added after the game is pub-
lished. This can be anything from new weapons to entire levels and new stories.
 Cover Letters ▪ 91

Twice the Reading

A major rule of writing is to “know your audience.” In this case, your audience is
twofold. You need to impress the recruiter and the hiring manager, who have
different tastes and requirements. The recruiter wants to understand your resume
better and the hiring manager wants to understand you as a writer and potential
colleague. So how do you walk that line? It seems impossible to balance these
(often opposing) needs and sell yourself to both audiences. But that’s the essence
of game writing, isn’t? To educate and entertain as wide an audience as possible.
So, you got this! Let’s break it down.

Audience 1: Recruiters
When you’re writing to recruiters, you’re explaining who you are as a potential
employee. They’ve seen your resume, so they know you’ve held, say, three
positions at three different studios and have the basic skillset for this job. What
they want to know is what your job history doesn’t say. Why is there a two-year
gap between jobs? What part of your job do like best? Where do you want to be
in five years? Why are you applying for this job? Petteri says that your motivation
is especially important, so be sure to include that in your cover letter. “Let’s say
you’re applying for something like Fable. You want to write for Fable. Okay,
why? I’d say something like ‘I’ve played through all the Fable games, and this is
the genre I’m interested in. I’ve also heard good things about Playground
Games.’” And then you should build on that and explain all the reasons why.
Recruiters like to know that you’re interested in their studio specifically and not
just any studio or any job. “Instead of saying ‘You know, I’ve been trying to land
a writing gig for ages. I’ve applied for all different kinds of things,’” let them
know why you took the time to apply for this job. This is especially important if
you’re switching industries. It’s a subtle bit of flattery, but it also lets recruiters
know that you plan to stick around and they won’t have to fill your job in a few
months when something better comes along. So, motivation is important. After
that, you should bring up any additional skills or talents that might be useful for
the role but don’t fit on a resume. Petteri is interested in your “educational
background or marketing skills, or what you liked about being a games jour-
nalist. The storyline there.” The story of your career is a good place to jump off
and discuss audience number two.

Audience 2: Hiring Managers

Picture this: You’re a hiring manager having a hectic day. You’ve been running
from meeting to meeting, putting out fires, and trying to catch up with emails
92 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

in the few spare minutes you can find in-between. You finally grab fifteen
minutes to look at some applications for a scriptwriter role. You perch at your
desk to read them, trying to ignore the pop-ups alerting you to upcoming
syncs and missed chats. You pull an application and look at the resume first.
It’s solid. There’s some good experience in there, but nothing that really stands
out as a “must hire.” You see they included a cover letter, so you open it and
read this:

Dear Hiring Manager,

My name is Nona Magley. I’m interested in your scriptwriter role on Bubble
Time. I have two years’ experience as a game writer and a year of writing
articles for a nonprofit website. I can write all kinds of game text, from barks
and conversations to menu text. I think I’d be a fantastic asset to your team
because of my education, work history, and love of video games. As you can
see from my resume ….

Now imagine you read this instead:

Dear Textbox,
Holy crap, you’re making a Bubble Time game! When I saw your script-
writer role, I knew I had to take a shot. I’ve loved the series ever
since Bubble the Clown danced at my 5th birthday party. I even designed
a match-three game around the “floaty boat” song when I was in design
school. I’ve honed my skills as a game writer for three years, hoping that
I could write for a funny platformer like Bubble Time someday, but now
you’re making the real thing.

Which letter grabs your attention more? For me, it’s the second one. It’s high-
energy and hyperbolic, and an interesting read. It gives you a sense of the writer’s
style. You might smile; you might cringe; but I bet you’re not bored. And that
matters when you’re writing for entertainment.
In both letters, you’re getting roughly the same information—what they’re
applying for, their experience, basic knowledge of game terminology—but one
hooks a manager’s fractured attention better than the other. If it were me, I’d skim
the first letter and then go back to the resume for a more concise version of the
same information. But I’d actually read the second letter because it tells me what a
resume doesn’t: who the candidate is as a writer. The writer’s voice isn’t buried in
formal corporate-speak.
 Cover Letters ▪ 93

I’m aware that this advice directly contradicts most of the advice about
cover letters out there. But here’s the thing: that advice is generally not aimed
at writing roles. For that first letter, I used the recommended template from a
popular career service. The format is fine but utterly forgettable. It might
work okay for programming roles or in more corporate settings, but for game
writing, it’s a sad blob of vanilla pudding. Writing is our craft. You should view
every bit of writing in your application as an opportunity to show off your
skills. Think of it as a writing sample the manager is guaranteed to read. Have
fun with it!
Many new writers, especially marginalized folks, don’t realize you can play
around with the format of your application. As Strix notes,

Cover letters are basically a vibe check. Which makes them both good,
and dangerous. From a diversity perspective, minorities are less likely
to be able to execute on the vibe check unless they’ve had good
mentoring, as we’re generally left out of this kind of soft knowledge
instruction otherwise.

If you treat your cover letter like a writing sample, you put the focus on “here’s
what I can do” rather than the limiting “here’s what I’ve done” history of a resume.
That’s a distinct advantage for writers who haven’t gone to expensive game schools
or landed high-profile internships. Now that you know hiring managers will give
you room to express yourself, seize the opportunity.

NOTE

If you are uncomfortable taking this kind of risk, and I recognize that many
people are, nobody will hold a standard form cover letter against you. It
won’t hurt your chances. Just make sure it’s relaying information above and
beyond what’s in your resume.

Letter Dos and Don’ts

So! Now that you know what both your audiences want, you can write that letter
and make it interesting. But do so strategically. Here’s what your letter should do:

Clarify
A recruiter’s goal is to match the right person to the right job. That’s great when
you’re the right person! But you often won’t be. Only one candidate can get each
job, so recruiters and hiring managers have to make tough calls sometimes.
94 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Having insight into your circumstances could make all the difference. If there’s
something on your resume that seems odd or detrimental, but you can explain,
do that. Is there a weird two-year gap between jobs in your resume? Instead of
trying to conceal it (we’ve heard how well that goes over with hiring managers),
explain it in your cover letter. Maybe you went back to school. Maybe you took
time off to care for your elderly father. Maybe you were burned out and needed a
break from the industry. Here’s your opportunity to explain that gap. Obviously,
you want to put the best face possible on it. I don’t recommend going into detail
or sharing personal information: “I took time off from games because I got
burned out from working eighty hours a week at Studio Crunchtime.”2 It might
be true, but it’s more information than you need to give and it sounds like you’re
criticizing the studio. If you badmouth Studio Crunchtime, the recruiter might
wonder what you’re going to say about their studio. Don’t go there. Keep it
professional.
Also, keep the explanation short and basic. Here’s a good way to address that
resume gap: “In the years between Job A and Job B, I focused on family obligations
and worked on several personal projects ….” That’s enough to sketch in the sit-
uation without getting into your personal business. It paints you as responsible,
compassionate, and yet so committed to games that you continued to make them
in your own time. There’s a lot going unsaid here, and that’s fine. You’re making
the important points, and now that gap in your resume has some context.
Other resume elements that might need clarification are dual roles—when you
were performing the responsibilities of two roles for whatever reason. I was lead
writer at a studio where the narrative director went on medical leave. I was acting
director for five months until she returned, so my job title for that studio could
easily read “Lead Writer/Narrative Director,” which might need some clarification.
You don’t have to explain the title, to be clear, but you can. Just keep the
explanation to one brief sentence in your cover letter.

Be Understanding
On a poignant note, I asked all the recruiters the same question: “What can my
book do for you?” And across the board, the main thing recruiters wanted was
for readers to know they’re human. They make mistakes; they forget. They’re
“human.” Most recruiters spoke anonymously or entirely off the record for this
book from fear of backlash. It’s heartbreaking, but I understand why. I’ve seen
candidates go on angry rants about how inscrutable or unhelpful recruiters are.
Some of that comes from sour grapes or frustration at not getting a job they
want—and partly from an adversarial mindset. Many applicants don’t think of
“them” as real people. I imagine that’s why there are so many dishonest

2
Studio Crunchtime is fictitious. Or is it …?
 Cover Letters ▪ 95

application materials: deceitful resumes, hostile responses, guarded answers. But

recruiters are just doing their jobs. They’re compassionate. They know what it’s
like to have sick parents. Or to go back to school after taking a hiatus. They
aren’t monsters, and they don’t have it in for you. They’re professionals who
have a genuine interest in people. You’d be surprised by how far a little honesty
will get you. But—and always keep this in mind—they are not your buddies.
They aren’t there to support you personally or listen to your problems or help
you find work. It’s possible to build a relationship with recruiters over time.
One recruiter said that she enjoys seeing candidates grow and fill out their
resumes with stronger experience. But it’s not the kind of friendship where you
ask for favors, remember that.

Mention Additional Skills

If there’s something the studio should know that doesn’t belong in your resume,
put it here. You’ve played every game they ever made? Tell them. You run a blog
dedicated to the lead character of their IP? Tell them! Their latest game is set in
Scandinavia and you majored in Norse mythology? Tell them. You were in the
army for four years and they make a combat game? Definitely tell them. Any aspect
of your personal life, interests, or hobbies that isn’t directly related to games work
experience but gives you an edge, make sure you tell them about it. Every tidbit of
information helps them understand what you’re bringing to the table.

Dazzle
As I noted at the top, the best cover letters act as an audition for the role. I’ve seen
two cover letters recently that changed my mind about the candidates. One started
out “Holy shit, you’re making my favorite game!”3 and told the story of the ap-
plicant’s personal relationship with this beloved game series throughout their life as
a writer. By the end, I believed they had unique insight into the series lore and was
ready to see their samples. The other compelling letter was a standard “why you
should hire me” note, but it was structured so well and told with such wit that I
skipped the candidate ahead to the writing test without seeing their samples. In
both cases, they used the cover letter to show me what they could bring as writers.
Show don’t tell, right? They used the opportunity provided by the cover letter to
give me a sample of their work. And it was Highly Effective.

But Dazzle Sensibly

Don’t go completely off the map with your cover letter. It’s a risk that might pay
off, but it’s still a risk. If you’re going to use the letter as a writing sample, it might

3
Yep, it inspired my second example letter.
96 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

get rejected like a sample would. If it’s clear that you’re trying to dazzle the reader
but your writing is stiff or florid or way! too! punchy! then you’re doing more harm
than good. Mikki warns against getting “too cute” with it too. “If you’re turning it
into some kind of exasperating puzzle that I have to go through to figure out who
you are, I just kind of go ‘no.’” He says that unconventional cover letters are hit or
miss for him.

If you’re like ‘I’ll tell you two things about myself, but if you want to
know more, you have to interview me!’ then I will never find out more
about you. Because the purpose of the letter is for me to find out
enough about you to want to interview you. I am not enticed by this
mystery, and I literally have 200 other people like you here, so I don’t
have time to spend on this.

So, to sum all of this up: Be creative, but don’t play games. Provide all necessary
information and explanation. Let your voice shine through, but keep the letter
brief and engaging. Anything that doesn’t work to sell your writing or make your
case should not go in the letter. In fact, there, are a lot of things that shouldn’t go
in your letter.

What Not to Say

This could be an endless category because I’ve seen some wild things in cover
letters, let me tell ya. But I’ll break it down into sections and try to keep it brief.

× Resume Rehash: I’ve covered this, but it bears repeating. Or not repeating.
New information only.
× Lies: Ann Lemay notes that “many people lean on ‘sell yourself’ in these
letters, but then make it … Too Much™ or just flat-out get advised to lie.”
The advice I gave for your resume applies here too. Present your best self, but
be honest. If you never played the game you’re applying for, don’t say it’s
your favorite game. If you made a game on your own, be honest about the
fact that “Couch Games LLC” is a one-person show. There’s nothing wrong
with that. Publishing your own game shows initiative. Pretending you’re a
big company that hired you to write a game is … weird.
× Templates: Josh Scherr fervently hopes that your cover letter doesn’t just fill
in a template. Cover letters are annoying but important to him. They’re “a
way of personalizing yourself. So I don’t want something that looks like
somebody just filled in a Mad Libs. You know, ‘Dear [recruiter]. I am very
[adjective]. Your game looks [adjectives]. I would like to [verb] on it.’” Those
are the letters he discounts “regardless of how much experience they have.
Because if they can’t be bothered,” why should he?
 Cover Letters ▪ 97

× Sexism: Tara says, “Here it is, the year 2022, and I still have people writing
in on job applications with ‘Dear Sir.’” Address your letter to the studio.
Even ye olde “To Whom It May Concern” is better.
× Creepiness: Tara also begs you not to “write your cover letter as a creepy
ransom note complete with cut-out fonts and vaguely threatening wording
should you not be given the interview. I really wish that was not an actual
example, and yet ….”
× TMI: There’s a line between personable and personal that you should be
careful not to cross. Don’t talk about your long history of depression or your
battle with drugs. Don’t confess your secret fetish for pineapple. This is a
form of job interview, so keep a professional distance.
× Intimacy: Don’t talk about the recruiter, especially their appearance or
habits or relationship status. I wish I didn’t have to mention this, but
it happens sometimes. Don’t ask your recruiter on a date or flirt with
them, thinking it will help you get a job. If flirting gets you the job,
you probably don’t want to work there. As we discussed before, the
recruiter isn’t your friend so don’t get too familiar, even if it’s the 100th
time you’re applying for the role. Follow their lead, and take the same
tone they take.
× Namedropping: You should never—no, wait!
✓ Namedropping is okay! If it’s relevant and true. Are you best friends with
Hideo Kojima? If he’s willing to give you a recommendation, then
that’s worth mentioning. If your “friendship” with Kojima is actually
that you made eye contact once at an industry event and he doesn’t even
know your name, then maaaaybe you shouldn’t namedrop him. But if
you’re applying for a job and you worked with the narrative director
before—say so! If one of the writers suggested you apply—definitely tell
the recruiter. Mention anyone at the studio they can ask for more
information.
× Aggression: Petteri says the big dealbreaker for him is when a candidate
applies “direct pressure on me or someone else on our team. Saying ‘I really
need this’ and showing entitlement. Like saying ‘I’m like the biggest fan of
your games. If you don’t hire me, you’re insane.’ When you’re extremely
passionate, that can materialize in different ways, but always try to be
friendly, always try to be kind and not entitled.” If you really are a super fan,
you’ll probably keep trying for a job there. And even if you get turned down
at first, you might build up experience and qualify someday. “But if you mess
things up at the start by being aggressive or super demanding, then they
might have a bad feeling about you from the get-go. That might not even be
true about you anymore! So, yeah. Don’t do that.”
98 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

HALP!
Right now, you’re probably confused and overwhelmed and paralyzed by choice.
Do I use a template or not? Do I sell myself or not? Do I even need a cover letter?
Where do I start? Don’t worry, I got you! I won’t give you a template, but I’ll give
you a guide. Here’s what your letter should do:

■ Address the studio. (“Dear Textbox Studios” or “Dear Textbox.”)

■ Explain why you want to work for them in particular and not just any studio.
■ Explain why they should hire you for the job and not any other candidate.
■ Explain any issues with your resume.
■ Show your personality.
■ Showcase your writing skills.
■ Be interesting.

All of this information should fit into two to three short paragraphs. That’s it.
That’s the entire letter. Not so hard, huh?

YMMV
Your takeaway from this chapter should be that you can’t please everyone.
What one person likes, another person won’t. What recruiters have to consider
is different from what the manager is looking for. There’s no one “right”
or “perfect” letter that’s going to tick all the boxes and guarantee you an
interview. My best advice is to tailor your cover letter to the hiring manager
and write a message to the recruiter in the application form. If you’re
following enough game folks on social media, you should know people from
that studio and have a sense of how they talk to each other. Maybe the hiring
manager is on Twitter? Their tweets or posts might give you a sense of what
would go over well in a letter to them. Be respectful, be clear, be creative, and
have fun!

CHALLENGE
■ Take your current cover letter and throw it out. Look at your resume and
ask the following questions:
• Do I need to explain any gaps or oddities?
• Is there any important information that’s not on here?
■ List the information you need to explain.
■ Add any information that will help sell you: personal references, interests,
passions, etc.
■ Decide on your audience: recruiter or hiring manager.
 Cover Letters ▪ 99

■ If you don’t want to risk making your letter a showpiece, write a friendly-
but-professional letter that hits all the essential information in under three
paragraphs.
■ If you’re confident your writing is strong enough to make this a show-
piece, then write your essential information in a compelling, entertaining
way. Tell your story!
■ Paste your cover letter into the appropriate space of the application
or email.
■ OR if there’s no place for that, include it as an attachment with your
resume and samples.
■ Save the letter as a pdf. Label it in the same style as your resume:
FirstnameLastname_StudionameCoverLetter. Example:
NonaMagley_TextboxCoverLetter.
Chapter 7

Samples and Portfolios

The player’s imagination is the most powerful storytelling tool we

have. It’s our responsibility to figure out the best ways to encourage
and engage the imagination.
–Toiya Kristen Finley, freelance writer and editor in general; game
designer, narrative designer, game writer, editor, narrative and diversity
consultant in games

Here it is, my most-asked question1: “What kind of writing samples do I send?”

It’s a tricky question to answer because each studio is looking for different things.
The short answer is “give them 2–3 samples that best suit the project you’re
applying to.” The long answer involves thinking about tone, format, audience,
time limits, and project needs. I know that sounds complicated, but it all makes
good sense, I promise. Let’s walk through it step by step.

The Purpose of Samples

If you’ve read my book this far, the purpose of samples should be obvious. This is
where being a writer gets real. You can talk about writing on social media all you
want. You can talk about journals and Scrivener and how to make a Twine game.
You can be an armchair critic and rant about why you hate the movie Predator or
love the game Prey. You can debate which Final Fantasy is best or dissect RDR2
down to the last horsehair. You can take McKee seminars, memorize Save the Cat,

1
Well, aside from the general “how do I break in?”

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-8 101

102 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

and read every game-writing manual in print. That doesn’t make you a writer. A
writer has to write. And here, now, with samples, is when you prove you can.
Once you’re an established game writer, you’ll have a body of work that speaks
for itself. Studios will recognize your name and associate you with certain games in
your portfolio. After a certain point, they’ll come to you and ask if you’re interested
in heading their project. But until your star ascends, you’ll have to show samples
like the rest of us peasants.

Know the Project

If your samples demonstrate your writing ability, then you should send in your
strongest work, right? Nope! Not necessarily. Your best writing might be a bad
match for what the game needs. Your first step when selecting samples is to know
what kind of game you’ll be working on. If you’ve done your research about the
studio, then you’re already prepared for this exercise. You know the studio’s ide­
ology and what projects they’re working on. If you’re applying for Space Opera:
The Game, send science-fiction samples. If it’s an epic fantasy, show them your best
Tolkienesque work. If Textbox Studios is making an “open-world RPG” and they
haven’t released any project information yet, go look at their website. Mikki
suggests looking for the thread that runs through their work. “Studios tend to have
certain styles. If you’re applying at Naughty Dog, it’s going to be totally different
than if you’re applying at, say, Avalanche. They just make very different kinds of
games.” Look for commonalities in their projects, a similar tone or themes. That’s
the studio’s signature style. Say they’re known for a series of dark-and-gritty
detective games with realistic cinematics. You can guess that their “unannounced
RPG” will likely have a similar dark-and-gritty style and realistic cinematics on top
of standard RPG features like branching dialogue. It might even be a sequel to
their hit game, Shoot Me. What does that mean for you? It means you should dig
through your samples and find work that suits a project with those characteristics.
Tone and style are critical, so look for pieces with a serious tone and contemporary
language. If you don’t have work that matches, then send the closest thing. Don’t
send fantasy writing or your favorite comedic one-liners for a project like this, even
if you think it’s your strength. You want to show the studio that you can write
what the project needs. Make it easy for them to picture your writing in their
game. That’s the goal.

What to Include
Most studios will tell you exactly what they want from you. If we look back at the
job ad in Chapter 4, we can see that the studio requests “2–3 short writing samples,
 Samples and Portfolios ▪ 103

including at least one screenplay sample.” But if they don’t tell you, or say
something like “a few samples of your best work,” then use your knowledge of their
project to select pieces from your portfolio. You’ve already matched the tone of
your work to their signature style, now you want to match the project’s genre.
Choose work that suits the needs of an open-world RPG: branching dialogue or
ambient scenes.2 If they’re making a story-driven AAA game like The Last of Us,
then sending a screenplay sample is critical.
“But, Anna,” you say in dismay, “I’ve only written barks and item descriptions.
I don’t have any dark, gritty screenplays.” That’s absolutely fine! Matching your
work to the project is ideal, but it’s not required. Send whatever you have. Hiring
managers are usually writers too. We remember what it’s like to be a junior. We
know you don’t have a wide range of samples yet. We just want to see what you
can do. Ann Lemay has interviewed junior writers on “the strength of a really good
poem, just as much as a TV script (dialog), or a section of fanfic (long form
narrative, can respect an IP).” She looks for potential in her juniors and “an un­
derstanding of what makes a good conversation, a good moment, a good story.”
Nobody expects a junior to write independently or at the level of an established
senior. We’re applying different criteria to samples from seniors. So if all you have
are barks, then great. Send them. You can also include some unvoiced samples if
you want. Maybe “a short email, weapons descriptions, or a short bio.” That’s
enough to get a sense of your abilities, and you’ll have a wider range of work to
share in the future. For more experienced writers, Ann recommends including

ambient conversations (4–6 lines, make them pop with interesting

topics), barks (yes, boring to write but every writer has to do these) and
one or two cinematic scenes (3–4 pages tops each). Show you can write
ANY kind of game writing.

Range is important, but don’t dump the entire contents of your portfolio into an
email and call it a day. You definitely want to curate your selections. If you can’t
figure out what the studio wants, it’s absolutely fine to ping the recruiter and ask
for guidance.

Who’s Reading?
Writing for your audience can also give you an edge in the process. This is
another place your studio research will come in handy. If you learned that a

2
Ambient scenes fill out the open world to make it feel alive. If you walk by some NPCS, and
they’re gossiping to each other about an upcoming archery competition, that’s an ambient
scene.
104 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

popular writer recently announced their role as lead writer on the game or you
saw an interview with the project’s narrative director, use that information to
your advantage. Find out what other games they worked on. Look for a signature
style in their work. Do they say in their interview that they enjoy reading bark
sets? Have they tweeted about their love for puns? Take those insights to heart!
Those people will likely be the ones evaluating your samples. Learn what they’re
looking for. For example, Josh Scherr wants to hear “an interesting sounding
voice, and that’s not something that’s easy to define.” He had one applicant who
wrote their samples with a unique diction “that made it stand out. It didn’t read
like something I’d read before. Or they take typical ideas and put their own
interesting twist on them. Or they’re funny, or they’re concise. It can be a lot of
different things.” If you can find a fresh take on a classic trope, that will defi­
nitely get you noticed by me and Josh. Other hiring managers might focus more
on the game beyond your samples. Kim Belair looks for an awareness of other
disciplines.

It’s the difference between someone who does a mission design and
understands the constraints of a mission versus someone who does a
mission design and just goes all creative and has a lot of great ideas. It’s
clear that the person with great ideas doesn’t get what’s going to
happen to those ideas as they go through the development process.

She looks for writers who use only core mechanics or limit dialogue to one
scene because “it’s showing that on-the-job utility and teamwork.” And she
looks for a writer who approaches their work holistically, because they’ll have to
work with other disciplines. Detailed insight like Kim’s is exactly what you’re
researching. Leads share explicit advice like this to help, but also to make our
lives as hiring managers easier. So, take those tips and run with them! Of
course, it’s not always possible to find out who’s leading a project or what they
want to see in writing samples, but do your best to find out. It’s valuable
guidance.

Time Limits
You might be scratching your head over this parameter, unless you know the rule
of “one screenplay page equals one minute of recording time.” But that’s not
actually what I’m referring to here. I’m talking about time limits for you and
your reader. As we discussed in previous chapters, most hiring managers
unfortunately don’t have a lot of time to spend vetting samples. You have to
make a good impression fast. It’s not as brutal as the recruiters’ thirty-second
rule, but you’ll want to hook a manager immediately and keep them reading.
That means submitting samples that get to your best writing right away. “If you
 Samples and Portfolios ▪ 105

send us a 120-page screenplay, we are probably not going to read the whole
thing,” Mikki admits. He recommends that you limit your submission to three
samples and edit them down to

what you feel is your best work. Sometimes we get 20 things, and
they’re all like 60 pages long, and … well, you’re prolific! But I don’t
know what to look at, and I have to look at 300 other things.

Editing is crucial. If you spend two pages throat-clearing or setting up characters

and scenarios that don’t pay off in the sample itself, nobody is going to see the
brilliance of your plotting or character development. Cut to the chase—literally.
Trim the sample so that readers will get to the exciting or well-written bits right
away. Think of the sample as a complete work. It’s not just a snippet from a bigger
story. I mean, it could be exactly that, but ideally it also stands on its own.
Remember that readers won’t see the other 85 pages of your screenplay to
understand how the seeds you’re planting bloom into glory by the end of the story.
Your reader is seeing a few scenes at most, so make sure you contextualize them.
Help readers understand how brilliant you are by framing the work in these few
sample pages. If you have the time, craft the sample so that it feels complete. A
short quest or cinematic scene with a beginning, middle, and end is great. If you
can, do all your narrative set up within the writing itself. Maybe a line or two that
explains why the characters are where they are at the start of the scene. That’s the
most elegant way to do it, but it’s not the easiest thing to pull off without awkward
exposition. Especially if you need to get that application in fast or produce samples
by the next day. If you’re pressed for time, it’s completely fine to write a brief
introductory paragraph explaining the scene and characters. And I mean brief. A
few sentences, tops. Framing like this is absolutely vital for barks. I can’t tell you
how many times someone has sent me an excel sheet of barks with no explanatory
notes at all. Look at this:

Combat barks with no context

Soldier Watch out!

Soldier Got a live one!

Soldier I’ve been hit!

Soldier Man down!

It’s nice that you can write standard combat barks, and there’s even a hint of
progression, but that doesn’t tell readers anything about how they’re being used
in-game or what this moment means to the larger narrative. And to be blunt, this
106 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

sort of generic, low-tier writing isn’t going to impress anyone. An impressive set
of barks would showcase the character’s voice, react to an in-game occurrence,
and reflect an aspect of the world. But short of that, at least set the scene and
give prompts. Here are the same barks with some added context:

Scene: A soldier stands inside the door of a bustling 1940s canteen.

It’s his first time out on the town since he returned from the front
line, so his social skills are rusty. He keeps falling back into military
habits.

Combat barks with context

Role Line Note

Soldier Watch out! Someone spills a drink on him

Soldier Got a live one! Sees an attractive NPC

Soldier I’ve been hit! (suggestive) The NPC is very attractive

Soldier Man down. (glum) Gets rejected

Now, aren’t those more interesting to read? They won’t win any awards, but at
least your reader understands the work they’re doing in the game. The same
thing goes for conversation lines. If I can’t tell who the characters are and what
the context of their conversation is, it loses all of its depth. Just keep the
introduction short and sweet. There’s no need for lengthy character bios or a
half-page of plot summary. Give readers enough information to appreciate the
scene and no more. You saw how I sketched in the scene for our lovestruck
soldier above, but here’s another example:

Two visitors surprise Marjorie in the dining room of her manor house.
It’s the anniversary of her daughter Lily’s death. She wants to be alone with
her grief, but her guests are clueless. They unthinkingly brought a bouquet
of lilies as gift.

That’s all you need! Now I have the critical information and might understand the
subtext of a line like “Get those flowers out of here!”
 Samples and Portfolios ▪ 107

Project Needs
Trimming and rewriting samples lets you tailor your work to the project. Is it a
game with branching conversations? Then match your samples to that require­
ment. Is it a text-based game with lots of expository writing? Then revise an ex­
isting sample to meet that need. I’ll tell you a little secret. As a freelancer, I applied
for so many game jobs and needed such a wide variety of samples, that I wrote my
own game. I created some characters, mapped a plot, and wrote out the entire
game story. I didn’t write every last conversation and cinematic, but I wrote en­
ough of them that I had raw material for every sample need that might arise. My
game and characters were admittedly bland—I won’t be pitching that game to
studios as a possible project anytime soon—but it was a good foundation for all my
samples. I knew the characters, understood their motivations, knew exactly how to
enter and exit each scene, and had a big picture in mind that helped me with
subtext and foreshadowing. I knew what the characters were supposed to know in
every scene. Then, whenever I applied for a job, I’d grab a relevant part of my game
and tweak it to match the style and tone of the studio and project. If you don’t
already have work that’s a match, it’s the best way to create samples fast. However,
I only recommend this method for confident, experienced writers who have the
time to invest in tailoring samples. It means that you’re submitting raw work and
that’s risky when you’re less experienced. You want to submit your strongest work
that aligns with the project, remember? That means work that’s been feedbacked
by critical eyes and polished to a high gloss. New writers should choose polish over
a custom fit. Stick to samples you’re confident in and adjust them slightly or frame
them with a short intro to align them with the preferred tone as much as possible.

HOW TO MAKE A SAMPLE FROM EXISTING WORK

1. Let’s say your brief is “2–3 pages of a dramatic screenplay” and you
already have a longer screenplay ready to go.
2. Pick one moment to showcase. To meet the brief, this should either be
a high-action moment or an intense character-focused moment. (Ex: A
team breaks into a high-security lab and discovers a big secret.)
3. Cut the scene down to its key beat. (The moment they discover the secret,
right?)
4. Frame this beat with the information you need to understand it: backs­
tory, setup, payoff, and climax/aftermath.
a. Backstory (Why they’re going to the lab)
b. Searching the lab (setup)
c. Finding a monster (payoff)
d. The monster breaks free and comes after them (climax)
e. They escape the lab. (aftermath)
108 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

5. Make the sample just the good stuff: the search/reveal and the climactic
chase scene.
6. Write a 2–3 line summary of the backstory and setup, just like the ones
I did for the barks before. Put that at the top of the screenplay as a note.
Instead of bios, reveal character through dialogue.
7. Rewrite the scene to focus on the reveal and chase. Match the tone
and style to the project. (This lab scene is versatile and works for scifi,
horror, thrillers, romances like The Shape of Water, or even a comedy like
Ghostbusters.)
8. Include a single line at the end to indicate what happens in the next
scene. Voila!

The more you practice reworking your samples, the better you’ll get at it.
In fact, it’s good practice to make up briefs for yourself and try to fill them. I like
to give myself writing prompts like a funny picture or gif and then write, say,
three ambient scenes about it. Or a short cine. Whatever method you use, keep
writing! The more you practice, the more work you’ll have to polish into
portfolio pieces.

Interactive Samples
Many studios request interactive samples these days. Some studios specifically
ask for short Twine games as samples. Why do they want them? To see if you
understand the specific needs of interactive writing. In the past few years, there’s
been increasing overlap between the entertainment industries. Game writers
are working on Netflix shows and comic book IPs, and there’s been a flood
of writers from other media entering games. Some types of writing transfer
easily to game writing. If you’ve worked in theater or written screenplays, you’ve
probably got a good understanding of what writing for games requires. But
some other forms of media make for tougher transitions. You can be a talented
novelist, for example, but you might struggle with voiced dialogue. What reads
well on the page doesn’t necessarily translate to the spoken word. Some prose
writers make excellent game writers, to be fair! Cassandra Khaw, Antony
Johnston, and Rhianna Pratchett, to name just a few. But to write games,
you’ll need to show that you understand the specific demands of interactive
writing and how it differs from traditional media. The best way to do that is by
making your own game, of course. But if you don’t have time to learn Unity,
you can whip up a short interactive sample with Twine.
 Samples and Portfolios ▪ 109

Twine Samples
I’ve played many Twine games as a hiring manager, but, I’m sad to say, few good
ones. I get it. It’s difficult to write a compelling interactive story that plays in
under five minutes. But that’s usually how much time managers have to spend
on it. Some games ask interesting questions of the player or make good use of
conditionals. Bravo for those! But most of them don’t. Basic choices and con­
versation options aren’t going to dazzle a hiring manager. (“Open the door:
Y/N?” is common in these samples.) The worst is when a writer submits their
exploratory work, and you can tell they’re being silly and messing around to
figure out how interactions function. I’m glad one of us having fun! Okay, that
was mean. But I want you to feel my frustration. There are incredible Twine
games out there: The Uncle Who Works for Nintendo, Depression Quest, Howling
Dogs, and With Those We Love Alive, to name just a few. (Not to mention
multimedia games like 17776 that transcend their simple formats in mind-
blowing ways.) They’re works of art. I don’t expect your Twine game to be
anywhere near that level, but I do expect more than a few jokey options and a
“thanks for playing!” If you don’t want to put effort into it, then please don’t
include a Twine game just to tick a box. Make playing it worthwhile. Otherwise,
include a flowchart or script instead. Please.

What about Fanfiction?

The old-timey days when fanfiction was scorned by the mainstream are long gone.
Archive of Our Own contributors have won Hugo Awards, and Marvel movie stars
ship their own superhero couples. Hazel Monforton credits fanfiction for landing
her first industry job.

My best piece of advice is “write fanfiction.” I wouldn’t be where I am

without having written a lot of fanfiction about the franchises that I was
eventually hired to write for professionally. It is great practice for writing
in-house styles and for thinking deeply about characters and where you
might take them. Fanfiction asks questions and tries to answer them.
“What would a character do in X situation?” “What would happen if a
character was Y?” “What if characters A and B kissed?” It’s usually that
last one, but there’s a lot of interesting things happening in fanfiction
around big franchises.

That’s solid advice from an expert, folks. Hazel also reminds you “to remove your
fanfiction from the internet once you’ve been hired.” But to be serious, absolutely
submit fanfiction as a sample if you think it’s good work. I’ve read some extra­
ordinary fanfiction—better than published work in many cases. As both Ann and
110 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Hazel noted, it’s important to show that you can write in an existing game uni­
verse. That’s what game writers do. Our individual voices disappear into the house
style and character’s voices, so it’s important to show you have that adaptability.
You might get lucky and work on the franchise that inspired you.

The Dos of Samples

We’ve already covered most of the dos for samples. Tailor your samples to the project
and house style. Know your audience. Get to the good stuff as fast as possible.
Provide context for the scene. Submit polished work over risky reworks if you’re
inexperienced. Keep your total samples at ten to twelve pages maximum unless told
otherwise. Put a fresh spin on old tropes if you can. And if you have to submit
samples as an attachment, put them all together in one PDF. That about covers it!

The Don’ts
I wish I didn’t have to include this section, but I do. Over the years, I’ve read some
truly astonishing samples—in every sense of the word. We writers put ourselves into
our work in ways we don’t realize. Our speech patterns, our observations about life,
all our rich and varied experiences infuse our work. But we also betray our world­
views in our writing, so think carefully about what you send. It’s fine to have your
friends read your samples, but try to get some objective feedback from readers who
don’t know you. An online writing group is great for that. Ask them how you’re
coming across as a person through your writing. Do all your samples sound angry?
Are there no female characters at all in your three samples? Are your characters racial
caricatures? Is there pointless profanity sprinkled through the work? Those are the
kinds of things you should watch for. I see these problems mostly with younger,
inexperienced writers who are trying to mimic the voice of an established writer they
admire. They might see a character who swears a lot and think he’s funny, so they
write their own character that swears a lot. Only they miss a critical trait of the
original character that gives the swear words meaning. So, their character swears
pointlessly, where the original swears a lot only when he’s nervous—as a tell. One of
those is empty profanity, the other reveals character. Be careful with that stuff!

Plagiarism
Also, and this pains me to say, don’t plagiarize. I’ll say it again: don’t steal other
people’s work. I’ll say it one more time: don’t take other people’s work and try to
pass it off as your own. Not only is it unethical, but you’re going to get caught.
The games industry is small, and the AAA game-writing space is tiny. Everybody
knows everybody. And everybody knows everybody’s work. Your hiring manager
 Samples and Portfolios ▪ 111

will likely recognize stolen work. Heck, I once had someone submit my own work
to me as a sample. They took one of my Guild Wars 2 quests the IGDA had posted
as an example, tweaked the wording and changed the format slightly, then sub­
mitted it as a sample of their work. To me, the person who wrote it. I wasn’t
expecting such brazen theft, so it actually took me a moment to recognize that it
was my work. But after squinting at it for a bit, there was no mistake. It was mine.
I sent them a blistering email telling them to stop. Then I pulled my samples from
the IGDA site so nobody else could rip them off. Lesson learned!
Oh, and they didn’t get the job.

Pornography
Yes, people submit it. No, it’s not forbidden. But think deeply before submitting
straight-up pornography. Is it relevant to the project? Is it your best work? Will it
read well in the bright light of day? If you decide to submit pure smut, definitely
submit additional samples to prove you’re not just a, uh, one-trick pony.

Okay, that’s enough. I don’t want to discourage you! All of this sounds very
complicated, I realize, but it’s not. Stick to strong work that aligns with the studio’s
needs and you’ll do just fine.

Showcasing Your Work

So you’ve got a handful of samples you like, and you’ve matched them to the studio
style. What’s next? How do you showcase them in a way that gets you noticed? If the
job post asks you to email the samples or attach them to the application, then collate
all three samples into a single pdf. If they asked for two to three short samples like our
example job post did, your final pdf should come in around ten to twelve pages
maximum. That’s enough material to showcase your skill and demonstrate that
you’re capable of writing at the level they need. I know some studios ask for more
work than that, and that’s fine. Give them what they’re asking for. But most hiring
managers I spoke to don’t have a lot of time to spend on samples and will scan the
material just to get a sense of what you’re bringing. In all of my years of reviewing
work, there have only been a handful of times when I got so caught up in the story
that I wanted more. That’s how you should leave a hiring manager—wanting
more—so shorter samples are still good. Keep that in mind when preparing samples.
You might be reading through this chapter with a sinking heart. It’s so much
work! Adjusting samples to suit the studio’s style. Trimming and reworking your
existing samples. And then cramming all of that into a pdf. Who has time?
And how do you share your Twine game or other interactive samples? Is there
a better way to show your work? Fortunately, the answer is yes. You can create an
online portfolio.
112 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Set Up Your Portfolio Site

Now that you can create perfect, fully contextualized samples, you should set up a
portfolio to show them off. Don’t wait until you’re applying for jobs to create your
portfolio! Have samples and a way to host them ready to go. Opportunity could knock
at any time. Keep your work in a safe place, update it with recent work over time,
and have the space ready to show hiring managers before you apply for a position.
It doesn’t matter where you put your portfolio. Wordpress, Wix, and Squarespace
offer templates that are easy to fill in and post. But you can also use Dropbox or Google
docs if you just want a place to stash your work. When you’re posting the samples, break
up the text or links with images or videos. Make it easy and enjoyable to read. I want to
see what your work looks like on the page because that’s the format we’re working in at
a studio, but I also love seeing links to videos of how it actually plays. Some game
writing looks dull on the page because it’s doing its job. But see it working in-game with
all the other storytelling elements available to interactive writers, and it can suddenly
come alive. A smart portfolio shows me that transformation. An even smarter portfolio
walks me through the process of creating the final product.
Portfolios are an opportunity to tell your story. Your resume tells me what
you’ve done. Your cover letter tells me why I should hire you and not somebody
else. Your writing samples show me what you can do. And your portfolio shows me
your journey. It’s the story of you as a writer, so tell it with care.

Your Story
It makes me sad when I open a portfolio and there’s a bunch of folders jumbled
together in there all willy-nilly. If you don’t want to arrange your portfolio, then at
least suggest a few samples in your cover letter. That way I go into the portfolio
knowing what to look at. If I look at something else then that’s on me, right? Or
you can arrange your samples chronologically and cross your fingers the hiring
manager goes for the more recent work and not your student samples. In those
chaotic portfolios, I usually read a few samples at random, but I have no way to
know what’s your best and strongest work. It’s a lost opportunity. “People get
afraid to put themselves in the portfolio,” Kim says.

Every piece you include in a portfolio, it’s great to go ‘Here’s why I’m
including it. Here’s what it’s saying,’ because sometimes you’ll get
someone who goes ‘here’s a cut scene that I wrote’ and you’re like,
‘okay, buy why did you choose to include it?’

She wants to understand the decisions you’ve made about your work. Her favorite
parts of the portfolio are when writers speak in their own voices through their notes
and comments. “That’s where you’re not writing in the character voice, you’re
 Samples and Portfolios ▪ 113

writing in the voice that I’ll hear on Slack every day.” A well-crafted portfolio can
humanize your work and show your personality as a potential colleague. My
favorite portfolios walk me through the writer’s growth. I like seeing how far a
writer has come. Look at the projects page on my website, for example:

My public portfolio.
114 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

My most recent (and notable) projects are at the top, with my current
project in the spotlight. As you travel back in time, you’re basically reading my
resume, right? Humble beginnings on small browser-based projects all the way
through to the big AAA games I work on now. The thumbnails link out to the
game websites. That’s my public portfolio. I also have a site for a private
portfolio and that’s where I keep my samples under lock and key. (See my
plagiarism story.) This is the space that I curate and use to tell the story of my
work. Here’s a small slice of what it looks like. This is the index that lists all of
my samples.

My private portfolio index.

Here’s some of my older work. As you can see, it’s grouped by date and
project. I have scripts available for download in pdf format and video versions
of key scenes.3 My strongest work is at the top of the page, so it’s the first

3
I reverse-engineered many of these scripts from videos of published gameplay or blogs, and the
story bible entry is a single page with key information altered. It’s more for tone and layout.
No NDA violations here!
 Samples and Portfolios ▪ 115

thing people see if they start randomly scrolling. It’s not entirely in chrono­
logical order, although it could be. My work has definitely improved over time
and my strongest work is my most recent work. But do whatever feels right to
you. It’s okay to express yourself! Sometimes Kim sees a portfolio “that is a
completely different form, but the person’s put something really great down
and I’m willing to go and figure out the shape of this.” Sweet Baby Inc. offers
portfolio reviews as one of their services, so she’s seen a lot of them go by. And
she’s noticed that some writers follow a strict, dictated format, even when it
doesn’t work for them.

They’re afraid to freestyle. And if I’m going to keep it 100, my

portfolio for years was not super gamey. I was starting out in video
games, so it had prose and different forms of writing. And I was
showing that I can adapt to different voices, and I can adapt to dif­
ferent responsibilities, and I can write small, and I can write big.

She was telling the story of her versatility as a writer. Another approach is the
one taken by Amy Shaw, who did a piece on portfolios for Sweet Baby’s website.
“She’d done a portfolio that was originally for a spy, open-world game. And her
portfolio focused on that one fictional game.” Every sample in her website
illustrated different aspects of that one game. And at the end, if you look at her
portfolio, she’s shown that she can write everything you need for a video game.
“I know the mechanics. I know bios. I know that it takes a bunch of building
blocks. And I’m going to show you how those building blocks come together in a
mission design.” Just like resumes, there’s no one-size-fits-all solution. Be wary
of anyone who wants to force you into a template. You’re a storyteller. Tell
your story!

Unreleased Game Samples

If you have work from unreleased projects and you’ve scrubbed it 100% clean of
any identifying markers, go ahead and include it in your portfolio. Here’s an
example.
I found a picture that captures the style and mood of the game,4 and I titled
the piece by genre rather than naming it. Now the sample looks like any other
professional sample in my portfolio. Presto! It’s that easy.

4
I replaced the unreleased project artwork with a copyright-free image for sharing in this book.
116 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Example of an unreleased project entry.

Here’s Your Mnemonic!

If you put all my advice together, you get a nice, writer-friendly acronym: PROSE.
It stands for polish, range, order, style, and ease. Follow these steps to create a solid
portfolio.

POLISH
Your portfolio should showcase your skills, so only include your best, most pol­
ished work. Never include unedited work. You can’t see your mistakes, but
employers sure can. I know this seems obvious, but I’ve seen some sloppy samples
over the years. It looks unprofessional.

RANGE
Show the hiring manager that you understand all the writing needs of a game: dialogue
and cinematics, of course, but also barks, objectives, item descriptions, letters, codex
entries, and various other bits of text. I’ve written song lyrics and poetry for games, so I
include links to that material too. You never know what the needs of the project might be,
 Samples and Portfolios ▪ 117

so cover your bases. Have samples of each type of writing, from screenplays to UI strings.
Here’s where you include links to your interactive writing, too, like Twine games.

ORDER
Decide on your presentation. It’s tempting to list your work chronologically, like a
resume, but that might not be the best presentation of your history. Maybe your
last project wasn’t successful, but the one before that won Game of the Year. You
want to lead with the stronger work, right? If the studio likes it, they’ll read more.
But if it’s not great, they’ll never skip down to see the dazzling cinematics you
wrote for a project three years ago. The important thing here is to guide readers
through the story of your work.

STYLE
You will end up writing for some wildly different IPs in your career. Each project
has its own style and tone: comedic, cyberpunky—even New Weird. Your samples
should show that you can write to order in any of these styles. If all I see in your
portfolio are high fantasy cutscenes, then I might not hire you to write for
a thriller.

EASE
Above all, make your portfolio easy to access. Many studios will ask you to submit
a few short samples as pdfs. Give them what they ask for, but also include a link to
your full portfolio so they can read more. Make it easy for them to find and read all
your work.
As the person who wrote these guidelines, I promise that it’s okay to break
them. Just like resumes, or cover letters, or samples, or game-writing itself, there is
no one true way to share your work. Arrange your work alphabetically if that’s
what works for you. Only list your One Perfect Sample if that’s all you think you
need. It’s your story, tell it the way you want. Tell studios who you are as a creator
and what journey you took to reach their door. Show them what you can offer, the
depth and breadth of your skill, and how well you’ll fit into their project. Tell them
that story, and you’ll land the gig. Good luck!

CHALLENGE

■ Create three samples that display your best work. For this challenge,
create a five-page screenplay sample, a contextualized conversation,
and a sheet of contextualized barks.
118 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

■ Combine all three samples into one pdf and save it in the following
format: FirstnameLastname_StudionameSamples. Ex: NonaMagley_
TextboxStudiosSamples.

OR

■ Create a space online to hold your samples. It can be a webpage, a

dropbox, or a space on google drive. Whatever you prefer.
■ Arrange the samples in a way that tells your story as a writer. Link to
videos from the project. If there’s no video of your work specifically,
link to a trailer that gives the game’s flavor. MAKE IT CLEAR that the
trailer is for tone and isn’t your work
■ Ask a friend to look through the portfolio and samples and give you
feedback. What does it say about it you? Have them tell you in their
own words.
■ Check your portfolio for PROSE and you’re ready to go!
■ Add a link to your portfolio on your resume and mention it in your
cover letter. If you use one portfolio for multiple applications, tell each
studio which samples to look at.
■ IMPORTANT: If your portfolio is private, include the password in
your cover letter.
Chapter 8

Interviews

Don’t try to “game the system.” Always be your authentic self.

—Petteri Tuomimaa, Senior Recruiter, Noice Inc.

You’ve filled out your application, sent in your tailored resume, and linked the
studio to your dazzling portfolio. You check your email and there it is: the
interview! They want to schedule a chat with you. Pat yourself on the back:
You’ve done well to get to this point. You’ve made it out of the slush pile of
applicants and now have the opportunity to make your case and sell yourself in
person. But interviews are nerve-racking, even when you’re confident in your
social skills, and they’re agony for introverts. Don’t worry! I’m going to walk you
through the whole process and give you some tips to make it all easier. By the
time you’re done with this chapter, you’ll be ready for anything.

Types of Interviews
If you think about it, an interview is a strange interaction. It’s an artificial
process, that’s nothing like the work you’ll do on the job. (Unless you’re a
recruiter.) Both sides of the interview process have a tough task: trying to decide
from a few hours of contact what years of work together might look like. On the
hiring side, we’re trying to see how you approach ideas and briefs, how you
respond to critique, how you think about the writing and game development
processes, how you navigate disagreements and setbacks, how creative you are,

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-9 119

120 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

how combative you are, and how enjoyable it would be to work with you. It’s
like a vertical slice1 of your character.
The first thing to know is that there’s rarely a single interview. The process is
different at every single studio—actually, that’s so important I’ll say it again: The
interview process is different at every studio. But after talking to various studios and
recruiters and having seen both sides of the process during my career, I’ve noticed a
standard pattern of progression. It looks like this:

■ Phone Screen: This is a short, get-to-know-you chat based on the materials

in your application. It’s usually a half-hour call with a recruiter to discuss
your skills and find out if your expectations for the role match the
company’s.
■ Manager Interview: If your application looks good and the recruiter believes
you’re aligned with the company on salary, benefits, etc., then they’ll
schedule a chat for you and a hiring manager.
■ Follow-Up Interview: If the hiring manager was on the fence about you,
there might be a short follow-up interview for you and another person on the
team. Maybe a principal or a senior writer.
■ Team Interview: If you make it to the team interview, you’re a serious
contender for the role. You’ll meet the team you’ll be working with and learn
more about the project.
■ Onsite: At this stage, you’ll meet members of other disciplines, such as
producers, designers, and artists. You might have a chat with the studio head
or creative director.

I’ll say it one last time: Every studio has their own, individual hiring process. I’ve
applied to places where I interviewed first, took a writing test, and then got the job
without another step. I’ve interviewed at places where I went all the way to the
onsite and then took a writing test. It all depends on the studio. But if you prepare
for the interview process outlined earlier, you’ll be ready for any version of the
process they throw your way. So, let’s walk through all of the interview types step
by step.

The Screen
This step used to be a short phone call, but nowadays it’s a quick Zoom or Teams
meeting. Whatever the format, it’s a routine part of the recruitment process. If
you’re invited to a screen, that means that you’ve successfully ticked the

1
Vertical slice = the section of the game shown to publishers/investors as a project milestone.
It’s like taking a core sample of the game. The VS might get polished into the shiny demos you
see at E3 and other industry events.
 Interviews ▪ 121

requirement boxes and the recruiter believes you’re a viable candidate. Sometimes
they’ll ask for more information about your experience or clarification about some
of your skills, but they’re generally trying to get a sense of who you are as a
developer. What do you want out of this job? What are your salary expectations?
Are you able to relocate? The recruiter wants to make sure that you and the studio
are aligned on all these important issues before they take the conversation further.
After all, what’s the point of going all the way through a rigorous hiring process
only to discover at the onsite that you need double the salary they can offer? Better
to find out now at an early stage before any more time is wasted on either side. Go
into your phone screen prepared to clarify your expectations and availability.
You’ve done your homework on the studio and the role long before this, so you
should have a solid idea of what the studio is about and whether you’d be a good
fit. I have a whole chapter on contract negotiations later, so definitely read it before
your phone screen and be prepared to start the salary discussion.
The most important point is to be upfront about what you want. This is the
time to put your cards on the table and learn if the studio can match your ex­
pectations. Recruiters have access to information about salary bands and benefits
for the role that your hiring manager may not know. Ask them! Seize this
opportunity to ask hard questions. Is salary important to you? Ask about the salary
range for the role. Are you interested in growth? Ask what career development
options are available for the role. Does diversity matter? Ask about the company’s
D&I initiatives. Willow recommends asking about employee resource groups
(ERGs). If that feels too risky, then ask about outreach programs. You learn
valuable information and it also shows you are interested in the company as a
whole rather than just the job itself. The recruiter expects you to be curious and
have a lot of questions, so go ahead! You can learn a lot about the studio culture
during these phone screens, so don’t miss your opportunity.
Another thing to keep in mind during this interview is that you’ll be talking
about a subject you’re an expert on: you! Nobody knows your experience and
strengths better than you do, so share what you know. Here’s your chance to
explain gaps in your work history or fill in more detail about past roles. In Petteri’s
phone screens, he likes to “discuss a bit about the company culture and the project
and hygienic things like moving or maybe compensation expectations.” He
describes it as “laying the foundation” for your relationship with the studio and
making sure no “big question marks pop up later in the process.” After that, the
recruiter will likely open the floor for questions. They won’t ask tricky questions
about game narrative because that’s not their field. They’re only learning if you fit
the role well enough to pass on to the hiring manager. Just relax, have a nice chat
with them, and find out more about the job. The first interview at any company
can be a little intimidating, but there’s no reason it should be. Remember that the
recruiter wants to hire someone, and they’re rooting for you to be that person. If
you’re not an axe-murderer, then you’ll do fine. (If you are, uh … maybe you’ve
got bigger problems.)
122 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

In or Out
The phone screen is when you should ask about remote work and relocation.
Don’t assume you know what the company wants. Many ads say “remote
work possible,” so now’s your chance to find out what that means. You have two
goals here:

■ Be clear about what you want.

■ Find out what the studio wants.

If you only want to work remotely and they only want someone who can be
onsite, this is where you bow out. I’ll repeat what I said before: You are unlikely
to get the job if they want you onsite and you can’t do it. Maybe they can’t
compromise for legal reasons. Maybe you can’t compromise because your family
is settled and your kids are in a good school. Now’s the time to have this dis­
cussion and find out. There might be room for compromise or for a hybrid
solution, so know what your options are. But if they’re clear remote work isn’t
possible, you’ll have to make a decision. If you decide to continue the interview
process, be aware that you’re at a disadvantage and that it might end up being a
dealbreaker. If they want you to work onsite, then now is also the time to ask
about their relocation package. Ask them to send you the details in writing.
You’ll be able to negotiate changes later, but make sure the basic reloc stipend
covers moving and visa costs at a minimum.

Manager Interview
Once the recruiter decides you’re a good candidate, they’ll pass your information
along to the hiring manager for approval. We usually get an email from the
recruiter saying, “Hey what do you think of this person?” Hiring managers will
look through your materials (especially your resume and writing samples) and
decide if they’re interested in learning more about you. If they are, then
recruiters will arrange an interview. You’ll probably get an email saying they
want to set up a chat for you and the manager. The person you speak to at this
stage is usually someone from your discipline: a lead writer or narrative lead.
Most AAA companies are good about listing the name of your interviewer. This
is valuable information! Do a little research and find out what they’ve worked on
and what they’re interested in, narratively. (If you don’t already know.) You
absolutely want to prepare for this interview. This is the interview where you’ll
be asked to discuss your craft. Every hiring manager is different, and they’ll ask
different questions and be interested in different aspects of game writing, but
they’re all trying to find out the same thing: Who are you as a writer and is there
a place for you on their team? Your challenge in this interview is to convince
them that you’re who they’re looking for. Easy, right? I’m being sarcastic here,
 Interviews ▪ 123

because of course it’s not easy. They can’t hire everyone who applies. Heck, they
can’t hire every candidate they like. Hiring managers hate writing rejection
notes. We know how hurtful it is to receive one, having received plenty in our
time. But with so many candidates and so few roles, it’s inevitable that you reject
99% of the writers who apply. So when we go into these interviews, we have to
be discerning and ask some tough questions about the craft and process. Be
prepared.

■ Know Your Craft. Here’s your chance to show off what you know about
game writing. Are you an expert on narrative structure? Talk about it! Do
you see similarities between comics and game writing? Share your insights!
It’s exciting to chat with other writers about innovations in our field or
explorations they’re doing on their own. These are my favorite conversations
as a manager because I learn new things all the time.
■ Know Your Application. I shouldn’t have to say this, but know what you
put in your resume, samples, and portfolio. If you submitted interesting
work, the manager will want to talk about it. They’ll ask about the work you
did at past jobs or unclear information from your resume. This part of the
interview should be easy, but unfortunately, it’s where many candidates get
exposed. Ed Stern, Lead Writer at Splash Damage, cautions you to “never lie
or exaggerate about your involvement on a project. We’ll find out, sooner
rather than later. The difference between ‘I made this decision’ and ‘I was in
the same room when it got made’ is not small.” If you have to admit that the
professional “project lead” credit on your resume actually means “I wrote a
Twine game in school,” then it looks bad. Really, really bad. I had one
candidate who’d clearly been coached not to give a straight answer about her
work history. Someone had taught her to deflect the conversation from that
topic and talk about her strengths instead. If I ask you three times, point
blank, to explain what you did at your last job and you can’t answer that
question? I’m going to assume you’re hiding something. It’s a huge red flag,
and you probably won’t get the job.
■ Know the Development Process. Craft is critical, but in AAA you’re a small
part of big team. If you have real, hands-on knowledge of game-making,
be clear about it. Shipping a game from start to finish is a long, hard process
that teaches a lot of valuable lessons. What did you learn? What knowledge
can you share? I can’t stress enough what a leg-up this kind of experience
gives you. Collaboration is such an important part of game dev that it covers
missing skills in other areas. When Kim interviews a candidate, she thinks
“Well, they’re 75% of the portfolio. But talking to them, they’re so col­
laborative that I don’t even worry about that 25%. We’re going to make
it work.”
■ Know the Project. You won’t know much about the project at this
stage—especially if it’s unannounced—but that’s okay. Discuss the project in
124 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

general terms, or come prepared to discuss any previous games in that series
or other games in the same genre. Try to get more information. If you
haven’t signed an NDA yet, managers won’t tell you much. But they can
drop some tantalizing hints! Tara says the worst candidates “didn’t put in
any effort to understand what sort of company they would be joining. I don’t
expect (or want) candidates to come in with a scripted list of answers, but I
do expect that you can show that you’ve done at least a little research into the
games you’d be working on, and the larger company.” She described an
applicant who looked good on paper, but “who had clearly not played or
even researched any of our games. This was at a free to play mobile publisher,
so I told her that before the in-person interview, it was critical that she take a
look at a few of our games ahead of time.” But when she showed up to the
interview a few weeks later, she still couldn’t “answer any questions about
them or speak towards how she would approach working on them.” Don’t
be her. Find out what you can on your own and come prepared to ask
questions!
■ Know Your Interviewer. As we discussed, see what games they worked for
and look for interviews and articles about them. Look for patterns in their
talk about craft. That’s probably what they care about most. Remember that
this research isn’t about digging into their private lives or stalking them on
Insta, it’s about understanding their interests and taste as professional
writers—who might be your leads someday.
■ Know What You Want. You should be asking a lot of questions and in­
terviewing the hiring manager right back. Find out what kind of lead they
are. How do they feel about crunch? How do they help their writers achieve
their goals? How does the role you’re applying for fit into a career path?
Don’t be afraid to ask tough questions! Nobody will be upset if you try to
gather information about the job. You’re expected to. Quite frankly, it’s
disappointing if you don’t. A good interviewer will make it clear that you can
jump in with questions at any point, so take them up on it. If you forget
what you wanted to ask and remember later after the interview, don’t be
afraid to email and ask. Studios want you to get the answers you need.
■ Share Your Interests. Try to steer the discussion to (relevant) subjects that
you care about. We can usually tell when a candidate is passionate about a
topic, and it’s always cool to see what lights someone up inside.

Above all this, though, just be yourself. Your interviewer wants to like you. The
hiring process is incredibly time-consuming, and everyone wants to find the perfect
person as soon as possible. They’re hoping it’s you!
If you impress the hiring manager, they’ll move you on to the next step. This
usually means they ask you to take a writing test or send you straight on to the next
interview.
 Interviews ▪ 125

Follow-Up Interview
Of all the interview steps, this is the least common. If you’re asked to do a
follow-up interview after meeting with the hiring manager, it probably means
they weren’t fully convinced of your skills or weren’t sure about your experience.
They’re calling in their colleague so they can get a second opinion. Don’t be
upset! Remember that they didn’t reject you outright. That means they see
something in you worth considering. Treat this as an opportunity to really sell
yourself. Don’t be afraid to be blunt and ask about their concerns. “Is there
anything about me as a candidate that I can explain in more detail? Is there
anything that makes you hesitate to hire me? I can answer your questions right
now.” This will allow you to focus on the area of doubt and persuade them that
you’re the right candidate.
Alternatively, you might get a follow-up interview with the hiring manager
after taking the writing test. In this situation, they’ll want to discuss the decisions
you made in the test. This is a fantastic moment to walk them through your test
and highlight all the clever little details they might have missed. Don’t be afraid to
show off! There’s a time to be humble, but a job interview isn’t it. Don’t be
arrogant or conceited about it, but be clear that you made smart, informed choices
that you’re willing to stand by. It’s persuasive, trust me.
If you get this follow-up opportunity and have signed an NDA, ask about the
project in detail. Now’s when you can get some really juicy information about
what you might be working on for the next few years of your life. Carpe that
diem!

Team Interview
This is the interview I always enjoy most as a candidate. You get to sit down with a
bunch of other writers and geek out about your craft. What everyone’s looking for
at this stage of the interview is chemistry. Do you get along with the other writers?
Do you click? Do you challenge each other in interesting ways? I won’t speak for
other leads, but I’m always looking for writers who can fill out any gaps in my
team. I don’t want a team that’s all military experts, or who all went to the same
game-writing program, or who only play card games. I’m looking for people with
unique perspectives and knowledge to round out the skillset of my team. This is
the place to talk about unusual hobbies or experiences. Talk music, or sailing, or
calligraphy. If you have an interest that’s near to your heart, bring it up! The
people you’re talking to could be your closest colleagues for years to come. Some of
them might end up being your best friends. Try to make a genuine connection
with them. Even if you don’t get the job, you’ll l have made some new contacts.
And you might meet someone who shares your interests. Honestly, I don’t have
much advice for this interview beyond “have fun!”
126 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

The Onsite
The final boss! If you make it to the onsite, you’re almost there! Onsite interviews
are time-consuming and hard to plan because so many senior devs are involved.
The goal of this interview is to have you meet the extended team. As a writer, you’ll
meet people from disciplines like design, production, and art. They’ll all have to
work with you, so they’re interested in seeing what you’re all about. They’re mostly
interested in how you view their discipline and how familiar you are with the
process. You should already have a decent understanding of how things work at the
studio by this stage, so be comfortable and confident with your answers. Your main
goal here is to let them know you respect their crafts and are open to compromise.
Nobody expects you to know about their disciplines in detail, so there’s no need to
pretend. Acknowledging another team’s expertise is a smart way to go.
The hardest part about the onsite is that it’s physically grueling. You have to be
“on” and razor sharp for eight to ten hours straight, and that’s exhausting! It’s
especially draining if you had to travel or fly to another time zone to visit the studio.
You might be fighting jet lag on top of the usual stress. For one job interview, I flew
internationally across four time zones, arrived late in the evening, got up early for a
day-long interview, then went out to dinner with the lead and a producer until 9:00
PM. A twelve-hour day of being on my top performance! I was so tired I was
sleepwalking by the time we left the restaurant. (Fortunately, I got the job.)
On top of being exhausting, the interviews can be repetitive. You’ll give the
same answers over and over again—and that’s okay! Petteri explains that the
repetition is there as a check, to see if “you’re talking the truth and are who you say
you are. I’ve seen cases where people answer a question one way in one interview
and then in a very different way the second one.” Be consistent and you’ll be fine.
Petteri advises that you don’t try to guess what the team wants you say. Answer
questions with “whatever you feel is right. And sometimes the right answer to the
question is ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I’ve actually never heard about that. Could you
explain more?’” It’s easy to panic and start babbling the first thing that comes to
mind, but just take a breath and get back on track. Again, treat this as an
opportunity to learn about the devs and the studio. Even if you don’t get this job,
you might get a job there in the future. Make the most of this moment.
If you’re at the onsite meeting the bigshots, then the role is yours to lose. But
don’t get cocky! You can still lose the job at this point. As someone who partic­
ipates in interviews with candidates for other teams, I’ve vetoed one or two people
in my time. And I’ve sometimes had other teams come to me and make a case for
not hiring someone I was excited about. It’s rare, but it happens. In the end, the
hiring manager will make the call, but they will take feedback from other teams
very seriously. This is not the time to slack off or get overconfident. Be on your
best behavior and sell yourself. If you do an interview that’s actually onsite, then
you’ll get a studio tour and probably some swag, so you won’t come out of it
empty-handed no matter what.
 Interviews ▪ 127

Perspective Shift
I’ll be honest, I used to tie myself into stress knots over job interviews. I’d have
anxiety attacks and sometimes throw up before the interview. During the
interview, I’d blank out on my answers and freeze up when it was my turn to ask
questions. I was not a good interviewee, to say the least. But then something
happened. I don’t remember what caused the shift in my thinking. Maybe I just
grew more confident about my own abilities. But I started going into interviews
with a different attitude. I started thinking of them as networking opportunities.
It became less about the job and more about getting to know people. I became
genuinely, humanly curious about the people I was talking to and started con­
necting with them personally. I liked them! They were interesting folks who had
a lot to teach me. I started seeing interviews as a chance to educate myself and
expand my horizons. They became … actually fun? And exciting? Once it
stopped being about A Job and became about the people in the industry that I
admire and want to meet, interviews became easy for me. I’m at a place in my
career where I occasionally accept job interviews just for a chance to chat with
folks and hear them talk about their craft, even if I’m happy where I am. You
never know where it might lead. Samantha Wallschlaeger seconds that
perspective.

I had interviewed with Crystal Dynamics a few years ago and really
liked the narrative team, but the studio just wasn’t the right fit at the
time geographically. But when my most recent studio went through
layoffs and I was affected, the narrative director reached out to me with
an opportunity to work from one of their new locations, which hap­
pened to be the city I live in. This time around, I was thrilled to accept.
It just goes to show you—the connections you make during your
career don’t go away.

Even knowing that, you still might be nervous in interviews. Sometimes, you’ll
meet people you’ve admired for years or the writer of your favorite game. It’s
easy to get a bit starstruck. That’s okay! The best thing to do acknowledge it. If
you don’t want to admit you’re nervous (or anxious), say you’re excited. “I’ve
really been looking forward to this interview.” That way the interviewer will
interpret any awkward silences or stumbles as adrenalin. Again, we’ve all been
there! It’s totally understandable and nobody is going to judge you harshly for it.
Well, nobody worth working for. Whitney has a strategy to prepare for these
moments. She recommends interviewing yourself in the shower. Ask yourself
interview questions and practice answering out loud. She admits it sounds weird,
“but it helps you get used to the feel of those words and ideas coming naturally
out of your mouth.”
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A Note on Fashion
This might seem like a strange section to have in a book about game writing
jobs, but I remember what it’s like to look in from the outside and not know
what’s appropriate for an interview in gamedev. There’s less pressure if your
interview is online, but if you’re going to an onsite, you’ll need to choose an
appropriate outfit. Many articles about interviewing have a corporate focus and
suggest business casual attire. This is perfectly acceptable in most industries, but
I promise you’ll feel overdressed if you show up in their recommended jacket,
nice shirt, and trousers or skirt.

I wore a black wool suit to my first job interview in games.

People thought I was a cop. I pretty much undressed during the
interview.
—Geoff Ellenor, Game Director, WB Games Montréal

The games industry prides itself on being the opposite of corporate culture and
the dress code is best defined as “chill” The gamedev uniform is a hoodie, t-shirt,
jeans, and sneakers. For both women and men. Women have specifically called
out Mattel’s Game Developer Barbie for nailing their office look. You’ll fit right
in if you dress like her. Of course, you can dress up more than that if you choose,
but you’ll definitely stand out if you go full suit and tie—or full-on costume. If
you want to go to your onsite wearing detailed Garrus cosplay, do it! I’m not
here to tell you no. Some studios might appreciate your tribute to a character
they designed, after all. I wore a blazer over a hoodie to my onsite at Remedy
Entertainment, and they appreciated my nod to Alan Wake. But that was hardly
a daring fashion statement. In general, the more extreme your outfit, the riskier
it is. The safest bet is to wear what makes you comfortable, while understanding
what the studio norm is: a simple shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Just make sure your
clothes are clean and not too worn. And don’t worry about tattoos, brightly
colored hair, piercings, and other standard body modifications. Nobody’s going
to blink unless it’s something truly extreme.
Dressing feminine used to raise some eyebrows, and I would definitely have
felt out of place wearing a flowery summer dress to my first gamedev job. But I
wore one to work just the other day and felt perfectly at home, so things are
definitely getting better. Considering it’s an interview and you’ll be stressed,
focus on comfort over fashion. And speak up to let the recruiter know if you
need something! I once got whisked into an interview so quickly that I was still
wearing my windbreaker. Every time I moved—or breathed—the windbreaker
made that nylon swishing sound. I was mortified. Especially when I had to
whiteboard a game level to that constant sshh-sssh-shsh sound. I went through all
 Interviews ▪ 129

that stress and embarrassment instead of simply asking to hang up my jacket.

Nobody would have cared.
My advice is to wear something comfortable that is slightly dressier than
your day-to-day clothing. You should look like you put in some effort. But
dress for comfort. You might be asked to stand at a whiteboard and map a
story or draw a level, like I was, or you might just sit in a conference room for
seven hours. Whichever it is, it’s a long stressful day, so you might as well
get comfy.

NDA
You’ve heard a lot about those notorious nondisclosure agreements and how
they’re like a vow of silence. If you get far enough in the interview process, you’ll
have to sign one. My advice is to take them very seriously. These are binding legal
documents and you shouldn’t sign one frivolously. You can find versions of
standard NDAs online. They all sound pretty much like this:

An excerpt from a sample NDA.

Some are more detailed than others, but the message is the same: zip it. Don’t
talk about what you learn during the interview. Read the documentation carefully,
especially any sections about privacy statements and penalties. Know what you’re
agreeing to. And stick to it! Your five minutes of fame on Reddit are not worth
the legal headache you’ll get if you leak confidential information.

Do Your Homework
It’s a good idea to have some questions prepared ahead of the interview. Your
interviewers want to see you interested in the experience and curious about
the project and studio. Sometimes coming up with them on the spot is tricky,
Petteri says. “You’re blanking out because it’s a stressful situation. You have a lot
of adrenaline pumping. But it can be a bad look if you don’t have any questions,
130 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

because the team might take that as you not being that interested in the job.” Maybe
you already have the answers from your research or because you asked them early on
and learned everything you need to know. Ask them again! It’s better to ask
something and appear active and engaged, then to seem like you don’t care. This is
your dream job, right? Several recruiters advised writing the questions down in
advance and having them right in front of your during the interview. Or down­
loading a list of interview questions from career advice sites. But hoo boy! There are
some awful “recommended” interview questions out there, so be careful. The best
questions come from a place of genuine interest, so it’s best to write out what you
really want to know about the job and stick with that.

Red Flags for Interviewers

There are a lot of things that can go wrong during interviews. Most of the people I
talk to are lovely, talented professionals, but they’re simply not right for this job.
Occasionally, however, you’ll meet a candidate whose behaviour gets them an
emphatic no from the team. One recruiter noted ruefully, “If people aren’t aligning
with our core values, we know it will be an issue. If you are rude, or don’t seem to
listen” or you’re not prepared, those are bad signs. But “usually dealbreakers,
especially at the beginning, come to the skillset and who we feel may be a right fit.”
Other red flags are more concrete than someone not sharing the company’s values.
Eevi spells it out with typical Finnish bluntness:

The thing that immediately tanks my interest is just absolute lack of

humility; treating the company as if they should be falling all over
themselves to hire you. Healthy confidence and selling your skills is good;
condescension and entitlement are not. Some people have this strange
idea that to get the spot you somehow have to disparage others and prove
your superiority over the existing team members. That’s never gonna be
the ticket. Almost always the existing team gets a say in who they want
to hire and if you come across as an asshole, they’re gonna say no.

It might seem incredible that someone would come into an interview and destroy
their big chance like that, but, my friends, these eyes have seen things you would not
believe. Most candidates are a joy to meet and a pleasure to chat with, but when
things go wrong, they go seriously wrong. One dev told me about a guy who showed
up drunk to his onsite and vomited into the waste basket between interviews.
Nobody could figure out where the hideous smell was coming from until after he left.
Tara’s had candidates who are overtly sexist. “I once had a candidate tell me point
blank that ‘women don’t play first person shooters’ shortly after bashing his boss
because ‘she’s a woman, so she mostly plays Nintendo.’” Years ago, I had a candidate
who asked if I’d be his lead—because he didn’t think he could handle a woman as his
 Interviews ▪ 131

lead. I thanked him for letting me know and ended the interview. What else was I
supposed to do with information like that? Step down from my job because he’s
uncomfortable? There are moments in an interview when you know it’s simply a bad
match. I could go on and on. I heard horror stories while researching this book. But
there’s no point dwelling on it, because that won’t be you. In fact, you should be
keeping your eyes open for red flags too.

Red Flags for Candidates

Just like you, the studio is putting on its best face, but there are some warning signs
that you should watch out for.

■ Crunch Culture: Samantha suggests that you keep an eye on how much the
studio respects your time.

Do they give you an impossibly long writing test with a short turn­
around time? Does the recruiter call you without warning or schedule
calls for later than 5pm? Do you get ghosted for weeks at a time only
for the studio to suddenly resume the process without explanation? Do
interviewers show up late? She calls out these behaviors as warning
signs of crunch culture. If you see these signs, you should ask recruiters
and leads about the studio’s overtime policies. Many studios are sur­
prisingly upfront about expecting you to crunch. I’ve seen mandatory
crunch written into contracts before. It’s best to find out now if they
require it.

■ Who’s on Top?: Mary Kenney is “always very keen to see who interviews me in
the final rounds. That, to me, indicates who gets promoted, who gets to be a lead,
and who is listened to at the studio. Is it all white men? That’s not a great sign.”
She recommends that you “ask if there are any people from marginalized groups
in leadership positions at the studio. You need to know whether you’ll have the
opportunity to climb the ladder.” Samantha agrees and adds “This is not only bad
from a studio culture standpoint, but also probably says a lot about the variety of
voices going into the game you’d be making, and the authenticity of those voices.”
■ Diversity: Many of the writers I spoke to mentioned that studio diversity is a
concern for them. We’ve all seen those company “Who We Are” photos that
show a bunch of guys who look pretty much alike. Unless you’re one of those
guys, studios like that can be alienating. Evan recommends “bringing up
diversity in some fashion, just to figure out what the reaction is in the room.”
If you care about representation in your work and having diverse perspectives
in the writing room, then it’s good to mention it and see if “people will
engage with that, or if they’ll be sort of weird about it.” But don’t just ask if
132 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

they care about diversity, because of course they’ll say yes. Approach the
topic from a craft perspective. Evan usually tells a story about one of his
characters who didn’t fit in and always felt like they weren’t getting respect.
And if the interviewer doesn’t respond or just sits there stone-faced, then it
might indicate he’s not interested in issues like that.

References
At some point in the process, they’re going to call the references you listed and ask
about you. You should line those up before applying, if possible, but make sure
you have them locked in now without fail. Your best references are leads or
coworkers from previous projects who know what it’s like to work with you day to
day. They can be your most passionate advocates. If you don’t have any industry
references, that’s okay. Anyone who can speak to your professional behavior is fine.

Next Steps
Whew! You made it! The interview is over. The studio should tell you what the
next steps are at the end of each interview. If they don’t, ask them what’s next. You
can get an idea from the interview process I outlined, but companies will all have
their own quirks. However, if you’ve gone through the screen, the lead interview,
the writing test, the team interview, and the onsite, and the studio still sounds
enthusiastic, you’re probably close to getting an offer. Exciting! Wait, what’s that?
You didn’t take the writing test yet? Oh. We’d better talk about that next then.

CHALLENGE

Record a mock-interview with you and a friend, then play it back.

■ How do you come across?

■ What are some tics or tells of nervousness?
■ How confident do you seem?
■ How clear and informative were your answers?
■ Based on your answers, would you hire you?

Practice and rerecord the interview until you’re satisfied you sound
professional and knowledgeable.
Chapter 9

Writing Tests

My screenwriting teacher once told me that our job is to find ways to

hide art into our work. I think it’s our duty.
—Sam Lake, Creative Director, Remedy Entertainment

Good news! You’ve been talking to a studio, and they’re interested in your work. Bad
news! They want you to take a writing test. Maybe you’ve shown them samples and
they liked what they saw, but they want to know if you can write in their house style.
Maybe you’ve already chatted with the recruiter or the team and they want to see
what you’re like on the page. Maybe it’s just a standard part of the hiring process
at that studio. Whatever the reason, most large studios will ask you for a test.
There’s no set point in the hiring process when you’ll be asked to take a test.
Some studios send them out right away to weed out candidates. If you’re an es­
tablished writer with a proven track record and solid samples, you might never
have to take a test. But for most writing jobs, there is a writing test and it usually
comes after an initial phone screen and samples.
I said that being asked to take a writing test is “bad news,” but it doesn’t have
to be. Sure, the negatives of being asked to take a test are well known: They’re
time consuming and demanding, and it’s tough creating work that you know will
be scrutinized. Most writing tests are unpaid and nobody likes working for
free—especially when the test is long and involved. And even when they’re a
reasonable length, a few hours of work per test can add up when you’re applying to
several studios. This is a barrier to candidates who can’t spare the time for them.
That’s a lot of negatives! So what are the positive aspects?

■ They Level the Experience Playing Field. If you’re an inexperienced

candidate with few polished or published samples, writing tests are your

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-10 133

134 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

friend. This is your chance to show the studio what you can actually do. It
doesn’t matter if you have ten years’ experience or two on a test. Hiring
managers are looking at what’s on the page. This is your chance to show
off your skill and outshine your competition.
■ Talent Beats Polish. You might not know every rule of game-writing
or grammar, but can you write interesting characters and witty dialogue?
Here’s your chance to prove it. Because writing tests are time-limited
exercises, the bar is lowered for polished work. This means your raw talent
can shine through.
■ You Can Learn a Lot from Them. Writing tests are a window into the work
that company expects from writers—and how they treat them. If the test asks
for a specific format, tone, or style of writing, then you might be able to
guess what working on the project will be like. When I applied for jobs in the
past and struggled to match the required tone for a test, I realized the project
wasn’t for me. I couldn’t write what the company needed—and usually they
agreed. This is a good way to find that out. Also, if the test is long and
involved—essentially an entire mission—and you’ve been given only a few
working days to deliver it, note that. It might indicate that the studio sets
unreasonable deadlines for the project and you’ll be expected to crunch.
■ You Can Make Samples. If you get the job, fantastic! If you don’t get the
job, you can still put the work into your portfolio as a sample.

Those are all the reasons you might agree to take a test. If you decide you don’t
want to or shouldn’t have to, then fair enough! Some studios will assess you based
on your samples alone and that could potentially be enough to secure you a job.

Getting Paid for Tests

You might be saying, “Hey, Anna, it’s not that I don’t want to take the test. I just
want to be paid for my time and labor.” Honestly? I get it. I (in)famously said on
Twitter once that I was okay with unpaid writing tests. I thought of them as
auditions and didn’t mind giving up an evening for a test of reasonable length. The
backlash was immediate, overwhelming, and humbling. I learned a lot that day. I
heard from freelancers and students who are struggling financially and can’t afford
to miss even one night of work. People shared writing tests that were entire full-
length missions for AAA games or that required extensive research of the IP to
complete. And I heard from marginalized folks who feel that tests are too subjective
and should be eliminated altogether. They opened my eyes and made me realize
that I was speaking from a place of enormous privilege. For me, giving up one
evening to take a test for a job I’m very likely to get is a calculated gamble. The
odds are in my favor. But not everyone has my time, resources, and experience.
Especially not for longer tests. In purely logistical terms, if you applied to four
 Writing Tests ▪ 135

studios and they all had a week-long writing test, that’s a month of free labor! A
month’s worth of unpaid work with no guarantee it’ll end in a job. Looking at it
that way, of course you should get paid. I agree with that wholeheartedly. Boo to
unpaid tests! However, most AAA studios don’t pay for testing. That’s our current
reality. And, whatever your personal views, you have to work with the existing
system. My advice is to set a reasonable rate for your time and ask to be paid. The
worst that will happen is that the studio will say no and then you’ll have to decide
if you still want to take the test or not. But it’s worth making the case. Some people
do get paid for tests. Some companies pay for them as a matter of course. The only
way to normalize it is to keep pushing. And to keep educating people like me about
the hardships of unpaid testing.

Should I Take an Unpaid Test?

If you ask for pay and the studio says no, then it’s your call to walk away or not.
Only you can decide if it’s worth the trouble. Maybe it’s not. Maybe you look at
the role and say, “Eh, good luck. I’ll look elsewhere.” Or maybe you hang in
there and hope your samples are strong enough to secure the job. In some cases,
they might be. But Mikki warns that when a candidate doesn’t take the test, it
puts them at a disadvantage. “Would you rather have me say ‘I don’t see what I
need in your writing samples. You’re out’?” He explains that if a candidate
refuses the test, he has to compare their samples to the work of all the other
candidates.

If the others are willing to do the test and you’re not, and one of their
tests is like, ‘Holy crap, that is exactly what I want!’, most likely I’m
going to go with that person because I know for a fact that they can
take direction.

Knowing it’s a gamble, you’ll have to make a tough call. And the choice is harder
when you really want the job.
So, with all this controversy, why do companies insist on writing tests? Well, I
already touched on one reason why: They give less experienced candidates a chance
to shine. A test allows hiring managers to look beyond a resume’s dead history and
see a writer’s living skill in action. Your samples might not be strong or showcase
your talents as well as they could. Tests are an opportunity to show your unique
voice and perspective. If your samples didn’t show it, now you can prove you have
an ear for dialogue, a sense of humor, or a creative approach to structure—you can
show off your skill and versatility. Tests let good candidates shine, but they also
catch out applicants who plagiarized their work, who can’t write outside their
comfort zone, or who can’t follow a brief. This is important information for
studios and hiring managers to know, so I don’t see tests going away anytime soon.
136 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Rhianna views tests as a chance to assess the studio.

I actually don’t mind doing them because I always appreciate a challenge

and the way the tests are set out can tell you a lot about the people you’ll
be working with and their narrative sensibilities. Companies looking for
long and unpaid meandering tests can be a warning.

Beware of Scams!
Unfortunately, game studios that ask for entire missions or weeks’ worth of work
have opened the door to scammers. There are unscrupulous companies out there
that ask for “writing tests,” but they’re not offering jobs. They’re making entire
games from stolen work, one writing test at a time. Some of them even pose as
recruiters from reputable companies, which is why you see legal disclaimers on
those companies’ job posts. If you look at a job listing for Bungie, for example,
you’ll see a note at the bottom warning about fictitious job openings. Their
warning is more about a common scam where a “recruiter” asks for personal
information or tries to trick money out of you, but a similar approach is used to
scam free work from writers. The scam usually comes in the form of an incredibly
detailed and specific writing test. Here’s an example:

A scam writing test.

 Writing Tests ▪ 137

They’ll ask you to complete the test, which is very involved and time-
consuming. When you submit that work, they’ll typically ask for more “to help
them decide.” They will keep asking you for free work until you refuse. Some
people say no after the first round. Some people go for a second round. Some
people, desperate for work and thinking “well, I’ve come this far,” keep going. The
goal is always just out of reach, and so is payment. I heard from one writer who did
get paid—but it was a nominal amount of about 100 USD for weeks of work.
These scams are clever and cruel. They take advantage of the existing system
and of writers’ willingness to audition for a good job. It’s often difficult to tell the
difference between a legitimate test and a scam. So how can you protect yourself? If
you’ve been following my advice about research and credentials, you’re well placed
to spot red flags. Here are a few to look out for:

■ Identity: Who is this company? What have they published? The reason
scammers often pose as prestige companies is so they can trade on the stu­
dio’s reputations. They’re taking advantage of the trust writers have that their
work could lead to a job offer. Do your research on the company—especially
if they pop into your inbox unsolicited. Do you know anyone who’s worked
for them? If they’re from a major studio, does their email reflect that? Ask a
lot of questions and do your research.
■ Never Pay: No legitimate game company is going to make you pay to
submit an application or take a game test. Never. If they’re asking you
for money at any stage, run screaming away. Even if they somehow turn out
to be legit, which is doubtful, they’re not a company you want to work for.
■ Draw a Line: If you decide the company is legitimate and they’re genuinely
testing your skill, you might agree to the test. Again, it never hurts to ask for
payment. If they agree, set reasonable rates for your work and ask for pay­
ment up front. That way you get paid even if you’re rejected, and it’s almost
like a mini freelance contract. If they refuse and you decide to take the test
anyway, set a limit on how much work you’ll do and stick to it. Don’t do
more work or constant revisions.
■ Retain Your Rights: Don’t sign away your rights to ideas. Some of these
scam companies will ask for detailed game pitches. Do not give them the
rights to whatever you’re pitching. If they ask for them, say no. Unless
they’re interested in purchasing the pitch from you for a fair price, which is
an entirely different conversation.
■ Trust Your Gut: This is a big one. If something feels off or strange, it
probably is. Don’t be afraid to ask questions or push back. Ask your friends
for advice. The scam artists usually cast a wide net, so they might have
approached other writers you know. Post in writers’ groups to see if anyone’s
worked with them. Get the advice you need to protect yourself and don’t be
afraid to walk away.
138 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

A SCAM STORY

A writer who got tricked into doing free work very kindly offered to share his
story. Pay close attention so you can avoid the same traps.

I initially responded to a recruiter’s post on LinkedIn, which went

nowhere—but then I was surprised with an email by a “colleague”
of the recruiter about doing work on a different title. They had a
game on Steam, and they wanted help to “optimize the story
before launch.” Next email, I got a game key and got asked about
my thoughts—what needs fixing, how long will it take/what will it
cost, etc. They basically asked for a small consult and some
numbers. There were some red flags at this point, but it wasn’t a
huge ask so I spent about two hours of time on it and gave them
what they asked for. The follow-up to THAT was where they went
full mask off. They sent over more work materials for me to look
at, and said they looked at my notes but couldn’t come to a
definite decision on who to hire due to “a lack of information
about your writing styles.” They asked for more in-depth analysis
of storylines, characters, a new plot structure etc. Then they
suggested that if I made some good flowcharts/diagrams/etc. of it
all it would “help them make their final decision.” All in all a ton
of work that felt like they were going to directly use it for the
final product. At this point I’d become very suspicious, and asked
around about the company in some game writing communities I
was a part of. I soon heard from another applicant who was fed the
same lines, and we both decided to quote a rate for the work
requested by the company. Never heard back from them.

Another writer took a writing test for a casual romance game. She checked their
website and they seemed legitimate, so she took their test—which turned out to be
pretty involved. When she completed it and turned in her work, they asked her to do
more. “It was real crap,” she said. “They post they’ll pay 3000 USD for the work and
then lure people in to give them ‘free tests’ with that held over them.” She did six
complete “chapters” of work for them, before giving up. She never saw the money.
In retrospect, both writers saw some warning signs that they’d ignored. “The
initial bait-and-switch of applying to work on one title, and being offered work on
another title by a different person was a red flag right out of the gate,” admitted
one writer. “And the emails (and in-game writing!) were all pretty bad, broken
English.” It might have been “a legitimate difficulty on their end, but it did make
me suspicious—comms looked just like a spam email.”
 Writing Tests ▪ 139

How is that these experienced writers, a senior in one case, fell for a scam like
this? They should’ve known the moment they saw how involved the writing tests
were, right? Wellll …

What Does a Writing Test Look Like?

I have a nice collection of writing tests from my job-hunting adventures over the
years. And for this book, I spoke with writers who shared their experiences
testing for various companies. There are some wild tests out there! Some com­
panies ask for “an entire self-contained Story Mission. The goal is for it to take
somewhere between thirty and forty minutes to complete and offer a true
storytelling experience.” Some companies ask for multiple tests rolled into one,
with a character biography and three examples of character arcs, a screenplay that
incorporates the character arcs, and a playable Twine game. (In ten days!) Some
companies give intense timed tests to get metrics on how fast your turnaround
time is. Some companies ask you to write a full-length screenplay. Some com­
panies want all the bits and pieces: barks, branching conversations, cinematics,
item text, objectives—the whole enchilada. Looking at these lengthy, unpaid
tests from some of the top AAA companies in the world, it became obvious how
a writer would fall for a scam test. Especially if the scammer was posing as a
reputable company, there’s no way they’d know the difference. I have to be
honest, I was shocked by some of the demands these legitimate writing tests
made. I understand now why not getting paid for this work is so harmful.
Writing this chapter was an education for me. By comparison, the writing tests
I give are simple. They’re usually something like this:

Write a scene that involves two characters searching a building and finding
something that leads them to a new location. The scene should contain the
following:

■ A conversation
■ A choice
■ A short cinematic

Please use a contemporary setting and language, but don’t set it in the
universe of any existing IP. The scene should be no more than three to five
pages long. You have a week to complete the test, but please don’t spend
more than one evening on it.
140 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

That’s it. In my eyes, if you’re not going to pay for tests, they should be a rea­
sonable length. And I prefer to see what writers come up with when they have
room to stretch their imaginations, so that’s what I test for. Clearly, there’s wide
variation in tests from studio to studio and project to project, but they do have
some things in common. Across the board, the question tests are asking is “Can
you write for our game?”

How to Ace the Test

By the time you’re asked to complete a writing test, the studio already believes
you can write. What they don’t know is if you can write the kind of games
they make. That’s what the test reveals. I’m sad to say that samples are not a
great way to judge whether someone is right for the project. I know writers
with twenty years of experience who write mind-blowing work in certain
genres—but who fall to pieces if they step outside their comfort zone. Not
every writer can write everything. A good writing test might say, “Yes, yes, I see
that you write excellent fantasy stories, but can you write gritty noir dialogue?”
And often the answer is no. Better to find that out with a short test than to hire
someone, onboard them, and have to let them go after a few frustrating months
because they can’t write to the standard you need. It’s no fun for the writer,
either. Imagine starting at a new studio, full of ambition, only to come in and
feel like a failure day after day. I’ve been on both sides of that equation, and it’s
demoralizing for everyone. A writing test isn’t a guarantee of good performance,
but it’s a reassuring indicator that the writer will be able to meet the project
needs. I’d rather know right off so I don’t waste my time or the studio’s.
So how do you ace it?

Do Your Research
We included a writing test. We didn’t think we needed to explicitly
state “this will be a test of your ability to conduct and display basic due
diligence, research our company and IPs and competitor titles, reverse
engineer the technical restrictions and game tone, and then write
tonally appropriate, feasible, actable, implementable dialogue.” So few
of the writing tests were anywhere near tonally right or actable or
implementable in that game. I felt like I’d pulled a sneaky trick on
them. Is it misleading to call it a writing test and not an initiative test?
Would you apply for any job without researching the company or
project first? Is this a generational thing? Help!
—Ed Stern, Lead Writer, Splash Damage
 Writing Tests ▪ 141

■ I hear this same cry from hiring managers around the industry. It’s getting
better now as more devs talk about it, but we still see the problem. Do some
research. You know the drill by now: find out what kind of games you’ll be
writing for. If it’s a huge company such as Ubisoft, check the news to see
what projects are currently in development at the studio where you’re
applying. Your Assassin’s Creed test will be different from your Just Dance
test. If it’s a just-announced title and there’s no information about the kind
of game it will be, look at their other titles. Do the same research you did for
your writing samples. Naughty Dog isn’t looking for high-fantasy writing.
Failbetter doesn’t want your Marvel-inspired contemporary superheroes.
Take a good hard look at their games, then write your test in the studio style.

Follow the Instructions

■ This seems obvious, right? Why would you ignore the instructions? But so
many people disregard explicit requirements. If the test asks for “no more
than five pages,” don’t write ten. Brevity might be part of the test. If the test
asks for a fetch quest, don’t write a long cinematic. Write what the test asks
you to. Studios want to see if you can write within constraints. Josh Scherr
notes that Naughty Dog’s test “had very, very, very specific guidelines. One
of them stated ‘this character you introduce cannot be a character from one
of the existing games. It has to be your own creation.’ And then we got a test
that had Joel in it, and we’re like, nope, sorry.”

So yeah, folks, follow the instructions.

Don’t Cheat
■ Look, I get it. Writing tests are time consuming. It’s tough to write a good,
sharp script in the short amount of time allotted. You might end up tossing
something together at the last minute because your careful planning went
wrong. Game studios know this. Professional writers understand. But they
want to see how well you write to specifications. If you tweak an existing
sample into kinda-sorta matching the test—or worse, outright send pages
from a pre-written script—you’re not helping yourself. Studios can usually
tell when you fudge the test. Setting aside the fact that your kinda-sorta-fits
test will be outdone by a test that ticks all the boxes, it makes you look
careless. Do you think the job isn’t worth the effort? Do you not care about
your work? Will you cut corners on tasks if you get the job? Cheating raises
questions, none of them good. Just like I think bragging is fine during a job
interview, I think earnestness and hard work are good for assessments. If you
decide to take the test, give it a fair shot.
142 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Minimize Risks
■ Writing tests are your chance to dazzle the studio. This is where you show off
your command of language, your genius for witty one-liners, or your tight
narrative design. Tests are not the place to innovate or try to hit the “inverted
hero’s journey” beats you saw on a fanfic site last month. Write what you
know you’re good at.

Have Fun!
■ No, I’m not joking. Most professional writers I know enjoy writing
tests. Treat it as a fun exercise, and write something that entertains you.
That way, even if you don’t get the job, you’ll have another sample for
your portfolio.

What Are Leads Looking for in a Test?

As a hiring manager, I’ve learned the unfortunate truth that work experience
does not necessarily mean talent. I’ve met writers with twenty-year histories of
steady games work who are, uh, not the best at their craft. And I’ve already
mentioned writers who fall apart when you ask them to step outside their
comfort zone. My writing tests check for proficiency in a house style. Mikki
Rautalahti often looks for more specific traits. He was the narrative lead at
Remedy Entertainment, which “is known for a very specific kind of character
approach. They are very story driven, very character driven, very atmospheric.”
Their writing test focused on paying a lot of attention to storytelling and the
quality of that storytelling, because “how many people have writing samples that
address those things?” He designed their writing test to see if a writer could
“produce work that is compatible with Remedy approach and the Remedy
formula.”1 In a similar vein, Ann Lemay thinks a “good writing test will spe­
cifically focus on what was lacking from a candidate’s portfolio, or will seek to be
specific to your project as a last check.” She likes to include “a round of feedback
and second submission part of the interview process to get a sense of a candi­
date’s personality and reactivity to feedback.” All of us agreed that it’s important
to limit the test to one scene and to respect the candidate’s time. Naughty Dog
tries to make their writing test as “short and unobtrusive as possible,” Josh says.
But it makes a big difference in who they interview during the hiring process.
Josh was more impressed by candidates who found an angle on the test’s par­
ticular scenario that he hadn’t seen before.

1
I took that test, by the way, and enjoyed it. But it was one of the harder tests I’ve taken.
 Writing Tests ▪ 143

In a given genre, there are so many tropes that are easy to fall back on.
We’ve done it ourselves. So it’s a question of what is the interesting
spin on your best friend, that you did this whole journey with, sud­
denly turning on you? And how well can you convey that in your
dialogue, place, structure, scene? That was very informative.

If a company gives a test “with no parameters and then criticizes the applicant
for not writing what you expected them to,” Ann advises you to simply
“walk away.”

Turning the Test into a Sample

Once you’ve finished the test and received your answer (hopefully an offer!), what
should you do with your writing test? You can tuck it away in a folder and never
look at it again, if you want. But I strongly recommend turning it into a writing
sample. Here’s how you do that:

■ Ask for Feedback. I always write a few notes about what I liked and didn’t,
but I know my thoughts don’t always reach the candidates. Ask for it! Worst
case scenario, you don’t get any notes or you get vague high-level feedback.
Or you get a hurtful letter like the one in Chapter 4 that you can safely
ignore. But you also might get genuinely insightful feedback that helps you
improve. Use that feedback to improve your test as you turn it into a sample
for your portfolio.
■ File Off the Serial Numbers. You must have signed an NDA to take the
test. Don’t break it! Ask the company for permission to put it in your
portfolio. Make it clear that you’re willing to change any identifying
information, and then make sure you understand what those identifiers are.
It can be as simple as removing any proprietary information from the test.
Swap out any IP-specific names for unconnected names:
• Bad: Lara Croft becomes Tara Kraft. Spartans become Schmartans.
Hyrule becomes Lowrule. It’s too easy to tell what you’ve swapped
them for.
• Good: Lara Croft becomes Lisa Parker. Spartans become soldiers. Hyrule
becomes Wondruh. Unless there are other identifying markers in the test,
nobody will connect the new names to the originals.

In an extreme case, they might ask you to remove any signature narrative
features that might connect your game to unpublished features of the test,
such as an unusual tone or narrative branching. But generally, studios are okay
if you turn the test into a sample that’s “in the style of” their published IPs.
A good rule of thumb is “Could I have written this test as fanfic without
144 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

knowing anything about the current project?” If the answer is yes, then you’re
probably safe.
Never publish test materials (like the scene prompt) without explicit per­
mission. That’s a direct violation of your NDA! I’ve known some writers who
posted the entire test and their work for it on their websites and got found out
by the company. There was one writer who had to be asked three times to
remove a writing test from his public website. He grudgingly adjusted it each
time he was asked and then reposted it. He finally pulled it down after being told
point blank he was violating his NDA and the company was prepared to enforce
it. (There is no doubt in my mind that he simply included it in his private
portfolio.) Think he’ll ever get a job at that company after that? Who’s going to
hire someone who brazenly breaks their NDA? And I’m here to tell you all, when
I’m looking through a writer’s portfolio and I see an unaltered writing test, it’s a
huge red flag. Why take that risk? It’s so easy to make a few simple changes and
post it publicly.
Also, don’t—for the love of all games—don’t include an unpaid writing test in
your resume as a sample of “contract” work the company hired you to do. If you
were paid for the test and it’s technically true, check with the company to make
sure they approve you characterizing the test as contract work. Otherwise, it’s
dishonest.

Grow That Portfolio

Over the course of your career, you’ll take a lot of writing tests. If you’re smart
about anonymizing them and polishing them afterward, your portfolio will
eventually overflow with samples in all styles and genres. Some of the best work I
ever did was for a writing test I took years ago. It has a place of honor in my
portfolio even though I didn’t get the job. Good work is good work. Be proud of
yours, no matter how the test goes.

CHALLENGE
■ Take any writing prompt you want and make your own writing test. The
prompt can be an image, a song, an existing game mission—whatever
catches your interest and inspires you to write. Here are some example
prompts and assignments, based on real-world writing tests:
• Write a highly cinematic five-page scene in screenplay format about
a confrontation between characters. Have them fight. I mean, really
go at each other! Then, write a second version of the scene that has
an entirely different mood and ending.
 Writing Tests ▪ 145

• Write a bio for an original character and then write a cutscene with
that character and your all-time favorite game character teaming up
to rescue a hostage. Focus on their motivations and the interaction
of their personalities.
• Start with a blank canvas and write a conversation between three
and five enemy NPCs, in a scenario of your own design. Do
anything you want, but the scene has to end with an explosion.
The only other constraint is to make it interesting!
• Write two pre-mission monologues with [videogame character
of your choice] as the protagonist. It should recap what happened
in the previous mission and set up the next mission’s objectives.
Invent whatever you want for all missions!
■ Set a deadline for the work. Keep it under a week, especially for shorter
“tests.”
■ When your test is complete, ask your friends or a writing group for
feedback.
■ Address the feedback in revisions to make the work better.

Bam! You’ve practiced taking a writing test and created a new sample for
your portfolio. Post that baby online!
Chapter 10

Contracts and
Negotiations

Be pragmatic, be commercial, be reasonable, and focus on the

important things.
–Peter Lewin, Senior Associate, Wiggin LLP

It’s been a nail-biting few days after your onsite interview with the game studio.
They loved your writing test and the recruiter says she’s “hearing good things”
about you. Everything seems to be going well, and you’re confident they plan to
make you an offer. Is there anything to do now except sit back, relax, and wait?
There sure is! Now’s the time to start thinking about your pay.

A Fair Wage
The Dutch government recently announced that all companies must post a pay
range with job listings to promote better salary fairness. Candidates applying for
jobs will be able to see exactly what each role pays and avoid many of the traps of
“blind” negotiations.1 Great news for folks working in The Netherlands! (And now
some US states and EU members.) For the rest of us, however, negotiating con­
tracts and salaries remains a troublesome process of information gathering and

1
Performa HR. “Salary Indication in Vacancy from August 2022 Past.” 2 November 2021.
https://performa–hr-nl.translate.goog/nieuws/salarisindicatie-in-vacature-vanaf-augustus-2022-
verleden-tijd/?

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-11 147

148 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

guessing. Women, BIPOC, and other marginalized groups are especially vulnerable
in the current pay negotiation systems. So, what can you do when the company has
the advantage? How do you secure a fair wage and contract?

Authority
First, I’ll admit that I’m not the best person to advise you on this topic. You’ll
notice an abundance of resources and interviews from experts in this chapter.
That’s because I know this isn’t my area of expertise, and I rely on other people to
help me with my contracts. I strongly recommend reading all the books and ar­
ticles on negotiation that you can find. Tarah Wheeler offers invaluable negotiating
advice for female candidates in her book Women in Tech: Take your Career to the
Next Level with Practical Advice and Inspiring Stories, (Sasquatch Books, 2016). She
even provides a script to take with you into negotiations. Believe me, you’ll want
one. Even if you’ve done your research, salary discussions can be thorny.
The painful truth is that we writers undervalue our work. That’s partly because
creative work is undervalued by society in general, but also because writing games
for money seems like a dream. What, you mean you’re going to pay me for doing
this thing I love? Incredible! Negotiations are especially scary when you’ve strug­
gled to break into the games industry or fought hard to win a coveted role. You’re
afraid to lose it by pushing back on a low offer. On top of that, there are very real
and well-documented penalties for women and marginalized devs who negotiate. It
seems safer to just take the first offer and not rock the boat.
Even if you do negotiate, you’re at a disadvantage compared to your more
privileged peers. They often have access to insider information and connections
that you don’t. Despite my best efforts to research and haggle, I’ve been severely
underpaid many times in my career. I’ve also been one of the highest-paid people
at a studio. Where I landed in the pay band depended on my research and who I
knew at the studio more than any other factors. You have to have someone on the
inside. Companies are looking out for their bottom line. They won’t start with
their highest bid when you might accept a lower amount. It’s on you to talk them
up to a number that works for both of you.
I’ll share my tactics for going into negotiations armed with solid figures, but
I’ve also asked some very smart people for their advice. We’ll give you tips for
securing the best agreements with a studio, but our advice should only be your
starting place. There are fantastic resources out there for all aspects of the nego­
tiating process, so read up and know your stuff before you enter wage discussions.
Remember, you’re setting a salary baseline that will ripple out across time to affect
all your future raises, promotions, bonuses, and even game credits. Those are the
stakes, so you need to get this initial agreement right. Knowing that, where should
you begin?
 Contracts and Negotiations ▪ 149

Step 1: More Research!

You knew I was going to start with research. Knowledge is a useful tool in every
aspect of the hiring process, but it’s especially critical now. You should already have
much of the information you need. You’ve learned about the company benefits
through their website and interviews, and you’ve looked on sites like Glassdoor for
employee reviews. Glassdoor makes you register to see salary information, but it’s
worth it to get an idea of wage bands at the studio. However, time to pull out your
salt-shaker again: the information is self-reported and therefore not guaranteed to
be accurate. Companies curate their profiles to put on a good face, and disgruntled
employees go there to extract revenge with bad reviews. The figures on a company
profile give you a ballpark range, though, and that’s an excellent place to start. For
our purposes, let’s say that Glassdoor shows the salary for a mid-range writer in
Seattle to be $75,000–85,000.2 Now what?
Your next stop should be finding more accurate information from industry
sources. Annual reports like the IGDA Game Dev Survey and Skillsearch’s Salary
and Satisfaction Survey can give a snapshot of general salary information across
the games industry by studio size and experience. That’s interesting to know, but
not the hard numbers you need. So, let’s check out the independent and
developer-run salary surveys to see if Seattle writing salaries are listed there.
These wages are also self-reported and anonymous, but the sheets are for “devs
helping devs,” so the numbers are generally honest. Let’s snoop through Evva
Karr’s Global GameDev Salaries3 and the GameDev Salary Check4 spreadsheets.
There’s nothing for Seattle writers, but you can get an idea of what writers in
other tech centers are making. This is important to know! Salaries for major
cities are substantially higher than smaller towns because the cost of living is
higher. Salaries in West Coast urban centers like Seattle, Los Angeles, and San
Francisco are generally higher too, so let’s see if we can locate any of those.
Okay, I see some LA and Bay Area salaries in the $70,000–100,000 range. Let’s
note those. What do we have now?

■ Glassdoor 75–85k
■ Dev Surveys 70–100k

We’re starting to get a sense of the salary band with these figures. But there’s still a
lot of open air between 70k and 100k, so you’ll need more data. At this point, your

2
All the numbers in this chapter are made-up and meant solely to walk you through the
research process. Seattle writers, please don’t use these figures!
3
Karr, Evva. “Global GameDev Salary Database 2021.” http://bit.ly/GameDevSalaries2021.
4
Goodbrand, Cairo. “Game Dev Salary Check.” (There are several sheets like these, so ask
around.) https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1RCujW4PYQO0abNW3GjFNnknaQVx3
kJQPMGtNcJQx4fc/edit#gid=1759958873
150 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

best bet is to see if you can talk to someone in Seattle to narrow it down. Consult
your network, find a good match, and talk to them about working as a writer in
that city. If your network comes up dry, look through Twitter’s
#GameDevPaidMe hashtag to see if someone there can advise you. If you’re lucky,
you’ll find someone at the exact studio you’re talking to and they can give you the
inside scoop on salaries.

Caution: Be gentle when approaching someone to discuss their salary. I’ve

noticed that younger generations have no qualms about swapping wage
figures, but older generations have to fight years of indoctrination to open
up. There’s a lot of shame and fear swirling around compensation, and it’s
often tied to people’s sense of self-worth. They might be devastated to learn
that a company lowballed them or that they’re earning far less than the
industry average. Don’t let this stop you from asking, but be aware that
money can be a surprisingly emotional subject for some people.

You find a helpful writer to chat with and learn that they have roughly the
same experience and professional background as you. They reveal that they’re
making $80,000, but that’s after a few years and a couple of raises. Okay, good
to know! That aligns with your researched range and confirms you’re on the
right track. You can guess the company’s first offer will align with the lower end
of the pay scale, $75k, but you can make a case for at least $80k because
someone with your exact skills and experience makes that amount. Now you
have a solid idea of what to expect as a baseline offer and a figure of $80k to
shoot for.

Step 2: Time to Math!

Your next step is to visit Numbeo and check out the cost of living in Seattle.
Wow! It’s an expensive place to live, huh? Look at the prices for rent, groceries,
transportation, etc., and try to work up a monthly budget based on the lifestyle
you’d lead there. How much would you spend each month on rent? Would you
take public transportation or would you need a car? How much would groceries
cost? Try to think of everything. Your budget might look something like my
estimated figures on the next page.
These are my estimated expenses for a one-bedroom apartment outside the
city center, for a single person with no children who takes public transportation.
I didn’t include health insurance costs, which are considerable in the United States,
because most studios offer a company plan as a benefit. If you’re going for a
contractor role, make sure you know what basic expenses aren’t covered by the
 Contracts and Negotiations ▪ 151

An estimated budget with figures from Numbeo

Item Cost 5

Rent 1,800

Transportation 150

Food 700

Bills (electricity, phone, 250

cable, etc.)

Debt (student loans, credit 300

cards, etc.)

Other (entertainment, streaming 250

subscriptions, etc.)

TOTAL 3,450

company, so you can account for them. But insurance aside, your budget likely
looks quite different than mine and that’s fine! Everybody has different needs and
priorities. Whatever your budget, total your estimated expenses to get a number for
your monthly living expenses.
Your next step is to go to a US tax calculator and find out how much of that
$80,000 salary you’d have left after taxes. I used us.icalculator.info.6 According to
them, you’ll have roughly $63,500 to spend on rent and bills after federal taxes,
which leaves you with 5,300 a month. If you’re working remotely from another
country, use a currency converter like xe.com to interpret the amounts. You’ll also
need to research the tax laws regarding foreign income.
Once you know your monthly salary, deduct your estimated budget from that
amount. In my hypothetical example, you’d have $1850 left once your bills were
paid. Is that enough for you to live on? Does it cover clothes, vet bills, travel,
books, and any other expenses that might crop up? No? Then how much more
money do you need to survive? You need to come up with two figures here. One is
the minimum amount you can live on comfortably. And by comfortably, I mean
you can afford everything you need and have a little left over for savings. This
figure is your “ground floor.” Then calculate how much you’d need to live well.
Staying within reasonable bounds (you’re not going to get 150k for a job that pays
a comparable writer 80k), what’s your shoot-for-the-moon figure? This should be

5
These numbers are averages from Numbeo and solely for the purpose of illustration, so no
angry letters, please
6
Federal Tax: $80k Salary Example | US Tax Calculator 2022 (icalculator.info).
152 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

an amount that’s considerably higher than the studio’s likely to offer, but not
so high that you’ll price yourself out of the job. That number is your “ceiling.” For
our example, let’s say your floor is 80k and your ceiling is 90k. Now you have a
range to maneuver within and you’re ready to negotiate.

Step 3: Know Your Worth

Lead Writer Samantha Wallschlaeger has advice that sums up everything I have to
say about negotiations:

This is something I learned early in my career and it’s served me very,

very well: go into a negotiation knowing exactly what your labor is
worth. If you’re a marginalized person, try to ask someone who is from
a more privileged group than you. Then take that number into your
negotiations and ask for exactly that, even if it seems outlandishly,
ridiculously high. It’s the number they’d give to the person you asked,
so why not you? If the studio comes back with a lower counter-offer,
ask if they can make up the difference in the form of a signing bonus. If
they refuse, that’s okay—you gave it a shot. Then you decide whether
you want to give your labor to this studio at a discount, or hold out for
a studio that will pay you your exact worth.

I encourage you to read about successful negotiation strategies from wiser people
than I. In addition to Tarah Wheeler’s book, I’ve heard recommendations for
Never Split the Difference (Random House Business, 2017) by Chris Voss. “It is
written from the perspective of a former FBI hostage negotiator, and some of the
tools in it are extremely effective when applied to salary negotiations,” Tara
Brannigan says. “He outlines certain tactics from direct experience, and how they
can be applied to more everyday negotiations. I have found it to be extremely
useful.” Tara also recommends going into negotiations with other job offers. It’s
good to know what other companies in that area are paying in case your studio
pays below-average wages. “In one negotiation, the offer on hand was $20k lower
than what I knew were the going rate for similar roles in the immediate area. Being
able to go back with concrete numbers raised the offer by $15k with a statement in
writing to review in one year’s time. At the one-year mark, this was raised an
additional $10k.” There’s really no downside to having another offer, aside from
having to apply to multiple studios. But that’s a small price to pay for the luxury of
choice—and the freedom of walking away from a bad offer.
If you’ve been smashing your face against the glass wall of the industry for a
while, you’re probably grateful to have any offer at all. You’re afraid if you ask for
too much, you’ll lose your shot. I understand feeling that way, I really do. But
hiring candidates is a long and arduous process for studios. The more senior you
 Contracts and Negotiations ▪ 153

are, the harder it is to find someone with your unique set of skills. After investing
all that time and energy in finding a great candidate like you, the company wants
to make things work. Trust me on this. As a hiring manager, there’s an immense
feeling of relief when we locate a writer we want to work with. I’m happy to
reclaim my time from vetting resumes and writing tests and spending hours a week
interviewing people. The whole team gets excited to bring the new writer into our
creative circle. We’re committed to getting you on board. I won’t say you can’t
mess things up at this point, because it’s still possible. I know a senior writer who
asked for a wage higher than our CEO’s salary and … no. That’s just not going to
happen. But we still tried to work with him until it became clear he wouldn’t
budge. But in all my years of gamedeving, that’s the only time I’ve seen someone
price themselves out of a job. You’ve done your homework and have a reasonable
range in mind, so that won’t happen to you.
To feel more secure, prepare a list of your skills, awards, experience, and
unique abilities. Write them down on a reference sheet with your salary research
and keep it handy. You might need it during the negotiations to remind both
parties what you’re bringing to the table. Tara likes having the facts with her
when she’s negotiating asynchronously or via video conferencing. She recom­
mends including information like “your goal in taking the new position, your
target salary, how you fit this specific role based on their requirements” and any
other information you might need to make your case. Once you’ve assembled
your list, you’re ready.

Step 4: Negotiate!
The recruiter contacts you a few days after the onsite with some good news.
Everybody loved you and they want to offer you a job! Congratulations! You did it!
All your hard work has paid off. It’s tempting to shoot back an acceptance email
right away but stop. Take a deep breath. Now is when the negotiations start.
At this point, things usually go one of two ways: You’ll either receive an offer
letter or the recruiter will ask for your preferred salary.

■ Offer Letter: Ideally, you’ll receive an offer letter. That means you have a
concrete number and a list of benefits to look over and negotiate. Read it
carefully to make sure your title is correct and that the salary isn’t completely
off what you discussed. Don’t just say yes!
■ Preferred Salary: The correct response to “What salary would you like?” is
“What’s the pay band for this role?” Never, never, never, never say a number
first. Your number is almost always lower than it should be. You already had
some initial salary discussions back during the phone screen, so the recruiter
has a ballpark salary figure. It’s fine to remind them of those talks and request
a number from them.
154 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Once you get a firm offer from the studio, counteroffer with your “ceiling”
number. Don’t worry if they say no! Remember Samantha’s advice: shoot for the
moon and you just might hit it. At least you tried. You’ll probably go back and
forth a few times before you agree on a salary. It’s up to you what number you
settle on, just remember not to accept an amount below your “floor.” You can’t
survive on less than that amount. If the studio doesn’t make you an offer that’s at
your “floor” or higher, then, I’m sorry, but you need to walk away. Or if you’re in a
desperate situation, take the offer and immediately start looking for work else­
where. But do your best to negotiate for a better wage.
I won’t walk you through every detail of the negotiations because, again, other
people have already done an excellent job of charting your path. However, mar­
ginalized folks should stop right here and read Tarah Wheeler’s “Minute Zero in
the Gender Pay Gap”7 before taking another step. Her strategy works.
Remember that it’s the recruiter’s job to sign you on for the lowest cost
possible—but to still sign you on. The process is called a negotiation for a reason.
There has to be some give and take on both sides. Whatever salary you settle on,
make sure it aligns with your needs and your budget. Don’t be afraid to lay out
your reasoning to the recruiter. Recruiters have their own calculations to make, and
it’s important to make sure you understand each other. Petteri describes what this
process looks like from the recruiting side:

Let’s say we’re comparing you with other people on the team. I’d think
that you are between this person and this person in terms of experi­
ence. We’re willing to give you the benefit of doubt because you have a
lot of potential, so we’re going to maybe give an extra amount for that.
That puts your level around here, and we’ll give you that number as
a salary offer. If there are things that we should know as a company,
like you need to make a certain amount of salary to be able to make
ends meet or you need a housing allowance, make those things known
as early as possible because it might be a blocker for us. Maybe we can’t
hire you because of that. Or maybe it can help us take a position of
“Okay, we need to pay at least this amount of money for this person.”
Be forthcoming, open, and honest about your needs, but also showcase
that, “Hey, I bring this much value to the team.”

In other words, if you ask for a high salary, be prepared to explain why you need it
and what skills or experience you have that make you worth the money. That’s
where your reference sheet comes in handy! You can make a case for your salary
based on your research, and you can remind them of your invaluable skillset.

7
Wheeler, Tarah. “Minute Zero in the Gender Pay Gap.” Medium. Last updated 25 June
2015. Minute-Zero in the Gender Pay Gap | by Tarah Wheeler | Tarah Wheeler | Medium
 Contracts and Negotiations ▪ 155

Mind the Pay Gap! It Starts Here

There’s a persistent myth that women don’t negotiate, and that’s why they earn
less. There’s a modicum of truth to this, but there’s a reason: studies reveal that
women are penalized when they negotiate.8 There’s also some evidence that
companies lowball women and negotiate harder with them, as Petteri can confirm
with his experiences as a recruiter. He said that he’s had some great female can­
didates who stepped up to negotiate their salaries. When that happened, super­
visors would sometimes contact him to say “‘Oh, they seemed really bossy’ or
‘They’re just after the money.’ And I don’t understand. I ask, ‘What’s this really
about?’ So many women get swindled out of proper salaries because they don’t
know any better. And it’s like a balancing act because you can’t get too aggressive.”
There are plenty of depressing studies out there that show how the cards are
stacked against women and marginalized communities during the delicate nego­
tiation process. Harvard Business Center has some great research—and some great
tactics for countering biased behavior. It’s worth an afternoon of reading to arm
yourself against discriminatory behavior.

Exposure
What if a studio comes back with a low offer, or worse: they ask you to work “for
exposure”? This expression is now widely recognized as a joke thanks to the @
forexposure_txt Twitter account—and it should be treated as a joke if a studio
offers it to you in lieu of a salary. Should you ever work for exposure? My answer is
no. Never work for free. I repeat, never work for free. There should always be some
material benefit to you. I could rant on and on about this, but the Writer’s Guild
of Great Britain infographic says it better than I could.9

Step 5: Sign on the Dotted Line

Once you agree on a salary, the studio will draw up a contract. In AAA, these
are enormously complicated documents that are written in legalese. The con­
tract outlines your relationship with the game company. How many hours a
week is “fulltime”? How are your bonuses structured? How much of your
writing do you own and how much is the company’s property? Can you take
on projects outside of work? All of those terms are laid out in your contract.

8
Bowles, Hannah Riley. “Why Women Don’t Negotiate Their Job Offers.” Harvard Business
Review. 19 June 2014. https://hbr.org/2014/06/why-women-dont-negotiate-their-job-offers
9
Writer’s Guild of Great Britain. “Videogames: Should I Work for Free?” https://writersguild.
org.uk/resources
156 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

The WGGB’s guide to working for free.

 Contracts and Negotiations ▪ 157

Once you get it, read it carefully. Many people think that once the contract is
written up, it’s set in stone. And some companies will push back if you ask for
changes. But keep trying. Agreement on the terms of the contract is part of the
negotiation process. You should absolutely ask for adjustments. Remember:
once you sign it, it’s a legally binding document. Breaking the terms could lead
to serious consequences for your career and even land you in court or forced
arbitration. Make sure you’re absolutely comfortable with what you’re
agreeing to.

Do I Need an Agent?
If you’re one of the rare game writers who has an agent, then lucky you! Your agent
will negotiate for you and secure you the best possible deal. Rhianna’s agent deals
with her contracts and fee negotiations, which she hates doing. Her agent
understands how much writers are paid in other fields and brings his TV and film
experience to the table. This gives negotiations an extra sense of professionalism
and protection. “He’s also helped me receive contractual elements such as occa­
sional signing bonuses and a better class of air travel for long-distance flights. Stuff
that’s not uncommon in other fields, but I’d probably find harder to negotiate on
my own. He keeps me one step removed from the sordid topic of coin and allows
me to fully focus on the creativity.” As we discussed earlier, agents are fairly
unusual in AAA games. Even though Mary Kenney has a literary and a TV agent,
she doesn’t have one for her job at Insomniac. “That said,” she adds, “if I decided
to go back to freelance games writing … I’d probably want an agent who could
help me negotiate games contracts as well as books and TV.” I’ve personally never
had an agent and never felt the need for one, but I’ve often hired lawyers for
contract negotiations and been very glad that I did.

Do I Need a Lawyer?
Short answer? No. If you can’t afford the fees and can’t get donated services, do
your best on your own. I managed without a lawyer for many years and did just
fine. But I often had to agree to clauses that made me uneasy. Some organizations
like the WGGB offer legal services as a membership benefit, so you can submit
your contract for review and get excellent high-level legal advice that way. But they
don’t have the time to go over every section and clause with you, or negotiate on
your behalf. For that, you’ll need to hire a lawyer. It can feel like an overwhelming
and very adult thing to do, but if you are juggling multiple projects—like writing a
book, teaching seminars, and working on games—I strongly recommend it. It’s
worth the investment to protect your creative output.
158 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

To find out more about hiring a lawyer for game contracts, I spoke with Peter
Lewin, a senior associate at Wiggin LLP in the United Kingdom. I expected him to
sell me on the idea of hiring a lawyer, but he actually thinks game devs can handle
some contracts on their own. It’s no different from any other negotiation. He
suggests that “you take the pen yourself, and mark up contracts with the changes
that you want. Or you can go back with a bunch of discussion points and say ‘this
clause is giving me concern. Can you explain it?’” After that, you talk it through
with your employer and see if they’ll make changes for you. Or have their lawyers
make the changes. Pete says there’s some trust involved there, that they’ll do it well,
“but it saves you a bit of time and fees.” He cautions that when you’re looking at a
fresh contract, the quality of that starting paperwork can “vary quite a lot across the
industry. The starting position, what’s the impact, how much you’re going to have
to push back on and the bargaining power of the two parties.”
My ears perked up when he mentioned the power differential because that’s the
position most AAA devs will find themselves in. One small person looking at a
contract that was drafted by lawyers for powerful corporations. I explained that I’ve
pushed back on clauses a few times, but my change was rejected. Pete acknowl­
edged that “sometimes the bigger companies can push through a bit more because
they’re doing 100 or 200 of these agreements. They don’t have time to negotiate
them all the time, understandably so. You might have to accept a bit more there.”
But he also said that devs “shouldn’t be afraid to ask questions to understand
things. You should always understand it. At the very least, don’t be afraid to
request changes. You can make those changes yourself or just talk about them.” So,
if you’re not in a place where you can afford a lawyer, read your contract carefully
and make sure you understand what you’re signing. I’ve successfully changed some
contracts, especially as a freelancer. It can be done. But let’s say you look at the
contract, it all goes over your head, and you decide to hire a lawyer. How do you
do that?

How Do You Find a Good Lawyer?

Most people don’t know where to start looking for a lawyer. It seems like a scary
process and you might not be sure how to find one who handles game contracts.
Wiggin is one of the few firms in the United Kingdom that offers services for the
games industry. But do you need a games-industry-focused lawyer to review a
contractor agreement? Pete says it depends on the deal. If it’s a really serious games-
publishing deal (you’re selling your screenplay for a million-dollar project) or a
high-value consultancy contract, you might want to get someone with publishing
experience or a games industry lawyer. “But having a game specialist is probably
slightly less essential for a writer. So just a good commercial lawyer would probably
be a good starting point.” Okay, but how do you find one? Do you just google
 Contracts and Negotiations ▪ 159

“video game lawyer”? As it turns, out, yes! You can definitely find legal services that
way, but Pete says the best route is to get a recommendation from friends, if you
can. Just like any other professional service. Contact the lawyer and set up a
consultation. Pete walks us through what that first meeting should look like:

Most lawyers will have a chat with you, like a free initial consultation
to give you some additional pointers and see if you’re the right fit. That
goes both ways, to see if you’re happy working together. And then on
that call, if you can share a copy of the agreement, then that could be
helpful because then the lawyer might be able to give you a fixed fee
for, usually, a review and maybe some edits. They probably wouldn’t
be able to give you a fixed fee for beginning to end because you don’t
know how much negotiation it’s going to take. But ask for a fixed fee.
Failing that, get their hourly rates.

Ahh, the rates. When I was working in Washington, DC, I ended up paying about
$900 USD for two hours of an entertainment lawyer’s review time. That was back
in 2016 though, so I figured rates would be higher now. But Pete says that’s still
about right for straightforward writer contracts. Rates vary significantly from place
to place, and “if you’re in Scotland, lawyers are going to be cheaper than probably
if you’re in London.” If you take regional differences into account, then a lawyer
will run you “probably a few thousand currency wherever you are” for more
complicated writer agreements.

What Should I Ask?

When you’re looking at the contract, what sort of things should you be aware of? Is
there anything in particular that writers should double-check? Pete has looked at a
lot of game contracts in his time, so he’s familiar with some of the more arcane
clauses they contain. He says one of the biggest things to clear up is whether you’re
classified as a contractor or an employee. We’ve already discussed that contractors
don’t have the same benefits or protections as FTE writers do, so you can
understand why you’d want to know that. Pete says, “There’s certainly some mis-
categorizing of people within the industry. People that maybe should be employees
being classified as contractors. There’s not a really bright line as to when you tip
from being a contractor to an employee.” He suggests asking yourself some
questions to nail down the definition. “Are you only working for one studio? Are
you dedicating all of your time to working on this one project? Do they provide
you with all of your laptops and equipment? Do they dictate when you come to
work and what you do? It’s not a super simple test. But yeah, figuring that out is an
important one.”
160 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

In the United States, most contracts are for “at-will” employment, which
means either party can end the contract at any time for any—or no—reason. Make
sure you understand the specific details of your at-will clause because you might
still have a notice period to serve. If you have an FTE contract, you’ll have a bunch
of additional benefits. “There’s going to be protections around working time and
minimum wage and holidays and sick pay and things like that.” Pete points out
that most FTEs don’t get a writer-specific contract; they likely get the same general
employment contract as everyone else, possibly with a few minor modifications.
But contractors have agreements that “can really differ quite a lot in terms of how
well they’re written and how long they are, how complicated they are.” He had a
long list of clauses and concerns that contractors should watch out for. Too many
for me to include in this one little chapter of one little book. Contractors, my
advice is to get legal counsel before signing anything. There are too many ways for
you to get in trouble.

The Usual Suspects

Over the years, I’ve learned to look out for some tricky clauses before signing any
contract. Here are the key points I always make sure I understand:

■ Salary: How much do you make? When do you get paid? How do you get
paid? Do you get overtime or wage-based perks?
■ Bonuses: What are the requirements to receive a bonus? If it’s profit-based,
what is the formula for determining it? When are bonuses handed out?
■ Notice Period: If you decide to leave, how far in advance do you need to
notify the company? If they lay you off or (horrors) fire you, how much
advance notice do they need to give you?
■ Raises and Promotions: Are you guaranteed an annual salary review or
raise? When do you qualify for a promotion?
■ Title: Make sure your official title is what you agreed upon. It’s never
happened to me, but I’ve heard stories of some last-minute title changes.
Titles matter! It can affect your pay, your future roles, and your credits.
■ Credits: Speaking of credits, this is a hot new issue in contracts. Under the
current credits system, game devs are vulnerable. You’ve heard the stories.
Some devs have worked on a project for years, left a few months before the
game shipped, and got left out of the credits. Some studios have a blanket
policy that if you leave before ship, then you get “Special Thanks” and that’s
it. Devs have been demoted in the credits, put into subcategories, or had
credit for their work given to someone else. There are no industry-wide rules
for credits, and devs have almost no recourse when there’s a problem or a
dispute, beyond the goodwill of the studio. Pete recommends negotiating it
right from the start. Get a guarantee in writing.
 Contracts and Negotiations ▪ 161

■ Noncompete Clauses: They can also be called “restrictions after termina­

tion.” Basically, they’re rules for what you can do and who you can work for
after you leave a company. Here’s what Pete says: “Sometimes it could be
three months long, sometimes it could be twelve months long, sometimes it
might be you just can’t work with someone you might have been working
with when you were at your past employer. Sometimes, it might say you
can’t work in the same industry.” He says they range in length and strictness,
so definitely know what’s in your contract. These clauses can be quite
restrictive, but I’ve had good luck pushing back on them.
■ Intellectual Property: This is another sticky wicket that you see in a lot of
AAA contracts. The gist of it is that anything you create while working for
the company belongs to them. Anything. As a writer, that means anything
you write or create. If you write a personal journal at home, technically your
company owns it. I’ve never seen this clause enforced, but it’s a frightening
thing to have in your contract. There is a way to claim some IP as your own,
however, and you do that with deeds of variation.
■ Deeds of Variation: Let’s say you want to work on a side project like, oh, I
don’t know, a book of game-writing advice while you’re working for a
studio. Does your book automatically become their property? Nope! You can
secure a deed of variation from the studio to work on side projects. And you
can do this at any point, not just when you’re signing the contract. Let your
lead know that you have a side project you want to work on and then submit
a proposal. They’ll probably run it up the chain and get approval from the
legal department, but I’ve never been turned down. I know plenty of game
devs who’ve worked on their own games on the side. Most studios are fine
with it, but make sure you clear it with them.
■ Relocation Pay: If you’re moving for this job, you should negotiate a
relocation package that covers all your needs. You should never pay for the
cost of visa paperwork or moving fees on your own. If a company wants you
to relocate, they should pay for it.
■ Signing Bonus: This is a one-time payment usually offered to entice you
away from another studio or job offer. Some bonuses can be a hefty sum of
money. If your salary isn’t what you hoped, here’s where you can make up
that deficit.

There are plenty more things to look out for, but that covers the big stuff. If this all
seems scary and overwhelming, don’t worry! Pete says unreasonable clauses that are
“restraints of trade on your business” may not be enforceable. You have to be able
to earn a living. But some employees may “follow it out of fear of rocking the boat,
whether it’s legally enforceable or not.” Don’t let that be you. Read your contract
carefully, make notes, ask questions, and push back on anything that seems
unreasonable. If you meet any resistance, keep pushing! Here’s some final advice
from our lawyer Pete:
162 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

If you’ve got the time, the persistence and the negotiating power
to push to actually get it removed, then I think you’re in a pretty
defensible position to keep pushing on it. I’ve been in circumstances
where it just took pushing on it three or four times on the same
issue, being persistent, to get something out of a contract. It’s a
bit like a war of attrition, and it feels like sometimes when you get
the first no, you kind of go, “Oh, that’s it then.” But that’s not
always the case.

So … DO I need a lawyer?
Your long, long, long answer is no. You can read your contract carefully and make
adjustments yourself. However, in an ideal world, hire a lawyer if you can afford it.
Look over your contract and note any problem areas, then see if you can retain
legal counsel to review some of your concerns. It might cost a thousand pounds or
more, but it’s an investment in your future and security and could prevent all sorts
of headaches down the road.

Now What?
Once you’ve bounced the contract back and forth a few times, you’ll reach a point
where everyone agrees it’s a deal. The studio will send the final contract
over—most places have a digital signature form now—check to make sure all the
adjustments have been made, and then sign! WAIT what are you—ah, just kid­
ding. You’re good. Save a copy of the contract for your own records and go get
yourself a treat. You’ve earned it.

CHALLENGE

Find a job you want and do the research as if you were taking the job:

■ What does the company usually pay for that role? (Glassdoor,
Numbeo)
■ What do similar roles in that region pay? (spreadsheet) The industry?
(GSA survey)
■ What is the cost of living in that region?
■ What would your specific cost of living be there? (Transportation,
rent, bills, etc.)
■ Set your lowest range based on that figure. This is the figure you won’t
go below.
 Contracts and Negotiations ▪ 163

■ Do your research to determine how much savings you need to put

away and what your labor, experience, etc., is worth. Set your high
range.
■ Try to talk to someone who works at the studio to confirm your range
is realistic.

Go into negotiations with confidence!

Chapter 11

First Day

Know your worth. This includes monetary worth, yes, but also your
worth on a team. Many studios mistakenly see writers as just “handling
the dialogue” when the scope of our job is so much wider than that.
Ask to be included and respected as a collaborator who brings some-
thing important to the table.
—Samantha Wallschlaeger, Lead Writer, Crystal Dynamics

Holy moly! It’s finally happening. The contract is signed, and you start tomorrow.
Exciting news! Of course, you want your first day to go smoothly and set you up
for success at the studio. And of course it will. But if you’re anything like I was on
my first day in gamedev, you’re panicking. There’s no need. Treat it like the first
day at any office job.

The Night Before

You shouldn’t need to prep much for your first day, but read through your cor-
respondence with the company carefully to see if they gave you any special
instructions. The important things to look for are the classic Who/What/Where/
When. Note who you’re supposed to report to and any paperwork you need to
bring. I’ve had studios refuse to let me start working until all paperwork was
completed, so get that out of the way as soon as you can.
Once you know what your schedule looks like the next morning, decide on
your outfit. Dress the same way for your first day that you would for an onsite
interview: casual, but slightly dressier than your normal day-to-day. Make sure the
clothes you want to wear are clean and ready to go, and that’s it! You’re free to

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-12 165

166 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

spend the rest of the evening however you want. Relaxing and resting the night
before are the best things you can do to set yourself up for success the next day. I
can’t stress this enough. Remember that you already have the job, so there’s no
need to study or prep. Do whatever you usually do to have fun: read, hang out
with friends, play games. Try to get a good night’s sleep. You’ll want to be rested
and sharp the next day.

Getting There
If you’re working from home, lucky you! All you have to do is connect at the right
time and then follow your company’s instructions. But if you work onsite, make
sure you anticipate the commute so you can plan accordingly and be on time.
Some companies are built on campuses or have security checkpoints, so factor
those in to your schedule. If you’re driving around to find the right building or
waiting for clearance at a security checkpoint, that can slow you down. Don’t stress
if you’re late! People understand that it can be tricky to find a building the first
time and that problems can arise while you’re sorting out your commute. They’re
not going to fire you for being ten minutes late on your first day, I promise.

At the Job
Unless they’ve already given you an assignment or you’re jumping in for a high-
intensity workshop, your first day will be an easy one. It’s more about getting you
set up and introducing you to people than it is about starting work.
Your schedule this first day will likely be tightly structured. You’ll need to get
your workstation set up properly and make sure you have access to all the programs
and resources you need to do good work. That means meetings with your lead,
team, and IT. Human Resources will probably meet with you to review studio
policies and procedures, and to go over health care plans, pensions, and similar
concerns. You’ll go to a variety of meetings where you have to introduce yourself.
You’ll have your first stand-up!1 And you’ll meet an overwhelming amount of
people. You might get handed some swag. It’ll be a blur of activity, but hopefully a
happy one.
I wrote a long chapter full of advice for your first day, but in the end, I decided
to cut it. Your studio will hold your hand in the beginning and your colleagues will
help you find the answers you need. You’ll be fine. So instead of a lengthy spiel on
standard office advice, I offer you a short checklist. Here. Take this.

1
A short, daily meeting where devs talk about what they’re working on that day. You often
literally stand up at your desk for it, ergo the name.
 First Day ▪ 167

First Week Checklist

■ Take a Studio Tour: Learn where the important things are, like the biggest
whiteboards and best coffee machines. Find out everything you can about
the routines of daily life at the studio.
■ Take a Virtual Studio Tour: Learn the ropes of studio life online. How
do you book a conference room online? How do you submit an expense
report? How do you set up a meeting on your calendar? That sort of stuff.
Read the employee handbook cover to cover. I can’t stress that enough.
Know what’s expected of your behavior. If you sign a new NDA or social
media policy, make sure you understand every last word of it. You can get
in serious trouble for a “harmless” Reddit comment or a throwaway tweet.
Know the rules.
■ Read ALL the Documentation: In very early pre-production, that might be
as simple as reading a few design documents. If you’re joining late in the
project there will likely be a wiki full of designs, plans, schedules, and lore. If
you’re lucky, someone will have put together a starter pack of critical
information. Read all of it now, while you have time. I can’t tell you how
often a barely remembered fact from my first week on the job has proven to
be useful. Focus on the key project information: What are the game pillars?
What are the key project features? How does narrative fit into the game?
What are the story and main characters? What is the project schedule (ship
date, key milestones, etc.)? Get a sense of the shape of the project and how
your writing fits into it.
■ Feedback: Write up feedback on your reading. After this first week, you’ll
never see the project with fresh eyes again. Your impressions at this stage
are invaluable, so write them up. Keep your feedback neutral and con-
structive, but don’t be afraid to point out issues with the story or pro-
duction plan. Your team may be so deep inside the project at this point
that they can’t see the problems. Who knows? You might be able to dazzle
them with solutions to longstanding plot issues. As long as you’re not a
jerk about it, this can be a great way to get your team talking about the
hows and whys of the narrative and to understand how they landed on this
version of the story. Diplomacy is very important because the team is more
attached to the story than they are to you at this stage. Phrase your con-
cerns as questions, and explore the story together. For example, let’s say
you’ve read the story and think the antagonist is passive and uninteresting.
How should you bring that point up to your team?
• Bad: “Your villain is boring and not scary.”
• Good: “I’m not sure I understand the villain’s motivations. Can you
explain them to me?” or “This is an interesting approach to a Big Bad!
Would you walk me through the villain’s arc and how you plan to get
players emotionally invested in stopping him?”
168 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

If your team is missing critical information, make sure to point that

out too. Sometimes everyone knows the story so well that they
don’t write it down because “everyone knows that.” Well, new people
don’t! Make sure you alert your team to any knowledge gaps in
their documentation.
■ Learn the Hierarchy: Ask for an organization chart. It’s good to know who’s
in charge of what and who your colleagues are. You’ll need this information
to chart your career path.
■ Meet Key People: Talk to your lead and compile a list of the people you’ll
work with the most. I like to set up short, individual “get to know ya”
meetings with everyone on the list in my first few weeks at a new job.
Establish relationships and lines of communication early on.
■ Ask Questions: You’re going to have a gajillion questions at this stage and
that’s great! Ask them! The first week or so of a project when everyone knows
you’re new is when you should ask questions. After a while, people will
expect you to have a certain level of project familiarity or to know where you
can find answers on your own. But now? You’re an innocent baby who
knows nothing. There sincerely are no stupid questions about the project at
this stage, and that’s a glorious bit of freedom. Dig in, dig deep, and learn
everything you can while expectations of you are low.
■ Be Kind to Yourself: Nobody expects you to pick everything up instantly.
Some people hit the ground running and some people take longer to ramp
up. You might get frustrated with yourself in the beginning because you
don’t know everything you think you should or you worry that you’re not
performing as well as you should. My advice is to stop and breathe. I mean
it: BREATHE. You’re not expected to know everything at this point. You
have time to learn. Be curious, thoughtful, and willing to learn, and you’ll
be fine.

Start Collaboration Early

Learn to speak the language of teams around you, especially folks in narrative-
adjacent disciplines. Every aspect of the game should tell your story. Most devs
recognize this and are storytellers in their own disciplines. They’re usually excited
to collaborate with Narrative. It’s important that you convey your ideas in terms
they understand and can apply. Understand what they need from you and your
work and try to meet them on their territory. Willow’s “main question for
Narrative is often ‘What key features about the narrative of this space am I trying
to convey?’, or more often the case ‘So, what is this place?’” Willow is a story-
driven designer and likes to use a space’s larger purpose in the story of the world
to inform her design. When you’re talking to level designers like her, you’ll
 First Day ▪ 169

collaborate better if you understand how her work can tell your overarching story.
“Is this building a factory, building weapons for the war or a hospital for injured
civilians? Is this a lost temple to a forgotten deity, or a secret research facility, or
both?” Collaboration unites the physical space of the game level with the emo-
tional space of the narrative. Make it your mission to find out how every disci-
pline approaches storytelling and how you can support their work. In the first few
weeks, that means asking questions about their features and processes, looking
over their plans, and talking through ways to help each other out. Find out what
excites them about their work and what parts of narrative pique their interest.
Many people you meet at this point will become your staunchest allies later in the
project.

Probationary Periods
First-day performance anxiety can be exacerbated by probationary periods.
Knowing that a company can let you go at any point for no reason is terrifying.
(Sorry, my US friends on at-will contracts. For you, the terror never ends.) But
keep in mind that’s what probationary periods are for. To give you and the
company a chance to see if you’re a good match. I used to think it was silly. I was
like, “Well, of course it’s a good match. Don’t you know that by this point?” But
honestly? No. I’ve seen enough people start at a studio, get a better sense of the
project and processes, and decide, “Nope, this isn’t for me after all.” Sometimes
people leave for personal reasons. Something changes in their life (a parent dies,
a partner gets an unexpected opportunity), and a job that seemed like a good fit
turns out to be the wrong move at the wrong time. It happens far more often
than people realize. It’s especially tragic when you’ve moved internationally for a
job and it turns out to be a bad fit or there’s a sudden turn of events that takes
you back home again. If you give it a shot and it’s not for you, then better to
know now. Make sure you know what the consequences are for leaving early,
and talk to HR about how to extricate yourself. Some contracts have clauses that
require you to repay relocation costs and hiring bonuses if you leave during the
first year. If you negotiated your contract well, you already know what those
penalties are.
Probationary periods are generally for the benefit of the company, to protect
them against hiring someone who can’t do the job, but they can protect you too.
Spend those first few months asking yourself if this place is right for you. Do you
see a future here? If not long term, at least for a year or two or until you get the
project done? If not, then better to get out now. Go talk to your lead and HR
about what your options are. In general, if you feel it’s a bad fit, they’ll understand
and will work with you to end an unhappy relationship. But remember that the
hiring process costs a lot of money and they want you to work out. They’re rooting
170 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

for you to succeed. If you’re struggling, tell them what you need. They’ll almost
always help you get it.

Imposter Syndrome Part 1

This might be your first job at a game studio. Or your first time working on a
AAA game at all. Or maybe your first time working with people you’ve admired
for years. It’s easy to get intimidated and think that everyone knows more than
you or that you don’t know what you’re doing and you’ll get exposed and fired.
Imposter syndrome is a hell of a thing. And that’s just the voice coming from
within. On my first day at a job early in my career, my lead told me that I wasn’t
her first choice. She’d wanted to hire a different candidate, but their schedule
didn’t align with the studio’s. So they hired me instead. I spent the rest of my
(brief) time at that studio knowing I was second choice and feeling judged for it.
But even with a supportive lead, it’s tough to fight off imposter syndrome. I’m
sorry. I have no advice for how to fix this, only how to live with it. Keep a folder
of accomplishments on your desktop to look through when you doubt yourself.
Look at the list of your skills and awards you wrote up for salary negotiations.
Talk to your friends and colleagues. Some places are tougher than others, and
you might be afraid to show any weakness. I get that. Keep reminding yourself
that you’re here because the studio thinks you can do good work. They don’t
expect perfection, only progress. As long as you’re steadily learning and getting
better, you’ll be fine. You belong here.

Take a Moment
At the end of your first day, stop for a moment to appreciate how far you’ve
come. You’ve learned and grown an incredible amount to be where you are right
now. You set a goal, made a plan, and followed it step by careful step to reach
your dream. You broke through that glass wall around the AAA industry, and
now you’re a professional game writer. You have so many incredible firsts ahead
of you: The first time players react to your game trailer. Your first zing of an-
ticipation and fear after the game ships and it’s too late to change anything. The
first time you see your game in a store and think, “I made that!” Your first launch
party. Your first awards show. Your first AAA game credits. Your first fan letter.
Your first story being played and loved by people all over the world. So many
wonderful things lie ahead for you.
The first half of this book ends with your moment of triumph, as it should. In
the second half, we’ll focus on turning your first job into a successful career. When
you’re done savoring the moment, let’s get to work.
 First Day ▪ 171

CHALLENGE

At the end of your first day of work, make sure you can answer all these
questions:

■ Who is on your immediate team and what is the hierarchy (who is

your lead, reports, etc.)?
■ What software programs do you need for your day-to-day job? Do you
have them all?
■ What does your schedule look like for the next week?
■ Who do you contact about workplace concerns (the room is cold,
you need dry erase markers, you need a key to the garage)?
■ Who do you contact about administrative concerns (what’s my health
insurance, how do I enroll in a pension plan, who do I talk to if I’m
having personal problems)?
■ How do you submit a ticket to IT?
■ If you’re on a probation period, when does it end and what does it take
to succeed? (A list of concrete goals.)

You’ll need to know more than these essentials of course, but this list will
get you started. It’s a lot to take in on the first day. If you learn nothing
else, know about your team and where to go for more information on
various subjects. The rest you can learn as you go.
Chapter 12

Moving Up

If I could have a superpower as a writer, it would be to know what my

players are thinking at all times. I do my best to try and figure this out!
Listening to feedback and observing playtests and live streams all can
help. But if I could just know with utter certainty, then I could always
write in a way that aligns as closely as possible with my players’ ex­
perience, or effectively subverts that experience, which can make for
moments where players feel extraordinarily connected with what
they’re playing. It’s like the game is reading their mind. I think good
writing in games is a factor of the innate quality of the writing, mul­
tiplied by the presentation quality of that writing, multiplied by how
the writing is used. So, I think whenever game writers can be involved
with or at least highly aware of how their work will be surfaced to the
player, they improve their work’s chances of having the highest positive
impact. This is another way of saying that having deep knowledge
of the constraints of the work can be extraordinarily important to
unlocking the writer’s creativity and the work’s potential.
– Greg Kasavin, Creative Director, Supergiant Games

Now that you’ve got a job and you’re off to a good start, most advice books pat you
on the bum and let you toddle off on your own. But this is when you need a
mentor the most. You’ll have friends in the industry (I hope!) and can talk through
a lot of problems with them and ask for advice. I encourage you to do so. Your
colleagues will get you through the roughest part of every project. The jokes you
share, your tales from the trenches, the little acts of kindness and support, and the
friendships you build will stay with you long after the game has shipped and you’ve
all moved on to other projects. My wish for every one of you is that you find fellow

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-13 173

174 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

travelers to share your game-dev journey. The friendships and shared adventures
make it all worthwhile. But your friends won’t have all the answers you need. They
might not know their rights and responsibilities or understand how to solve your
unique problems. They might lack the experience to help you grow in your craft or
advance in your career. That’s why you need a mentor. And these next few chapters
are why I wrote this book.

Now What?
Your first day of work is exciting. You play pinball in the game room and learn
about the free food, beer fridge, tutorials, and other employee perks. A dev wanders
by in a Totoro onesie. But once the novelty and glamour wear off, you realize that
it’s just an office job like any other. And honestly? Parts of it are dull. When the
daily routine of game writing becomes tedious, you need the three Ps to survive:
Patience, Persistence, Passion. I know passion is a dirty word these days because
some folks have taken advantage of it to encourage overwork. What I mean by
passion is finding something in your job to inspire you. You’ll spend most of your
time doing un-fun tasks. Updating documents and spreadsheets. Writing UI text
and objectives.1 Sitting in long meetings. Revising and revising and revising. You’ll
need to keep your goal in mind and find things to love about the project if you
want to stay invested. Are there days when you’ll come in and get all heart-eyed
over your amazing job? Absolutely! I have days when I can’t believe my luck.
I write video games for a living! How cool is that? But I also have days when I don’t
want to get out of bed because there’s a big pitch or a tedious day of spreadsheets
ahead of me. That’s when you have to dig deep and find reasons to go in. Find the
parts of game-making that light you up, and focus on them to get through.

The Writing Routine

So, what does a day in a game writer’s life look like? Is there such a thing as a
typical day? Yes! There are some broad strokes that color everyone’s daily tasks,
and those come from the project phase. By phase, I mean where you are in
the development process. There are many stages to making games, from Pitch to
Patch.2 We’ll focus on Preproduction (or Prepro) and Production because that’s
when writers do most of their work. Prepro is where you brainstorm and pitch all

1
Objectives are the bits of UI text that direct you around the game and tell you what to do.
“Talk to Eddy” or “Return to Headquarters.” They’re often found in the upper right corner of
the game screen.
2
Pitch = the proposal for a new game. Patch = an update to an existing game that adds new
content or fixes bugs.
 Moving Up ▪ 175

the ideas for stories, prototype your narrative systems, plot and plan, and generally
map the game out on paper. Production is when you actually sit down and make
the thing. If you’re working on a narrative-driven game, writers will often enter
Production before other teams so they can lay the track for other departments
to follow.

Preproduction
In Prepro, your team will pitch story ideas and characters to leadership on a
project. There’s commonly an existing IP: a publisher wants you to make Big
Superhero Movie: The Game or your studio is making the sequel to a successful first
project. In both cases, you’ll inherit a game universe that’s already well-defined,
and your task is to tell a story within those parameters. The project will come with
lots of documentation: world guides,3 art, characters, and perhaps plot proposals. A
franchise with multiple existing titles might have a guide hundreds of pages long.
It’s your responsibility to know the rules of that universe and create work that fits
comfortably within its confines. Personally, I enjoy the challenge of constraints.
And when it’s a franchise I adore, like the Dishonored games, it’s gratifying to write
work that becomes part of the canon for that universe. (Fans will help you get the
details right. Trust me.)
Sometimes, rarely, you’ll start with a blank canvas. No existing IP, no defined
universe, no fan-favorite characters, no canon. Pure possibility as wide as the sky.
CONTROL was like that, for me. We spent a lot of time during Prepro defining
the rules of the universe, specifically the Oldest House. What was it? How did it
work? What’s happening during a House shift? What *exactly* is a threshold? If
you can define these rules clearly, players will experience the world as cohesive and
real, even if you never tell them what the rules are. Most of this work happens
during Prepro. It’s when you define the game universe and how different systems
will express it. To be clear, I’m speaking primarily of story-driven games here.
Plenty of games start as a series of systems and game physics, and then the writing
team figures out what story they can tell with those tools. Either approach involves
intense collaboration with other disciplines to make sure you’re creating the uni­
verse holistically. If you dream up an epic, cinematic, high-fantasy story but Game
Design wants streamlined match-3 mechanics, you’ll have a challenge making
those disparate elements work together without the story feeling like a “wrapper”
for the gameplay.

3
World guide aka story bible, lore bible, tone bible, IP guide. They’re all terms for a com­
pendium of information about the game universe. Their contents and purpose vary slightly,
but I hear the terms used interchangeably.
176 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

The Prepro process varies from project to project. My experience has been
different at every studio. There’s no right or wrong way to approach this phase.
Only what’s right or wrong for your game, your team, and your resources. Daily
work may involve pitching “big picture” story ideas and outlining major plot
moments. This is when you write the game’s foundational documents: biographies
for the key characters and lore for creatures and regions (the story bible), and
descriptive briefs for Concept Art. You work with other teams to create narrative
tools—not just the systems that deliver story in-game, but the actual tools and
programs you’ll use to get the text into the game. You consult with producers to
establish workflows and timelines for your work on the project, and staff the
writing team. Here are some narrative deliverables4 for the Prepro phase of a game:

■ Story Pitches: These are sweeping, high-level pitches for the entire game
story. You’ll also pitch regional storylines, key characters and themes, and
stylistic elements like genre, tone, and narrative devices (e.g., CONTROL has
recurring imagery, symbolic vignettes, live-action overlays, and stylized
signage). The narrative director and lead writer usually pitch these ideas to
leadership, the creative director, and possibly publishing stakeholders. But
the entire team contributes to the ideation process.
■ Story “Bible”: This document is sadly misunderstood and misused. The purpose
of a bible is to gather all the plans and ideas floating around in Prepro, from every
discipline, and bind them to a page. This gives the universe its shape. It’s also a
one-stop reference for teams to see what other disciplines have planned. As such,
it’s an incredibly valuable document. The task of assembling them usually falls to
writers, and frankly, I love them. Worldbuilding tickles my creative mind. To
give you an idea of what’s in a bible, look at the table of contents on the next page.
As you can see, it encompasses the whole game. Ideas and plans will evolve over
time, and a bible should be a living document that evolves and grows with
them. The best bibles are searchable wikis that link out to the work other teams
are doing and whose pages get updated and archived as the project progresses.
Keeping the wiki updated is a Sisyphean task, though, and there’s either a
dedicated loremaster for the job or the pages lose accuracy and relevance.
■ Story Synopsis and Treatment: These are exactly what you think. The
synopsis is a short summary of the story, usually only a few pages long. And
the story treatment is a more detailed version of the synopsis. Eventually,
these documents will become a scene breakdown or macro.5

4
Deliverables are the work you hand over at the end of certain time period, like a sprint or
milestone. For Narrative, these are usually concrete documents like screenplays and spread­
sheets of barks.
5
A “macro” is a detailed blockout of all questlines and missions. It contains plot, character arcs,
gameplay, cinematic types, and other narrative needs. It’s often a massive spreadsheet that
updates regularly.
 Moving Up ▪ 177

Table of contents from a AAA story bible.

■ Character Biographies and Maps: You know these already. Character bios
explain who the character is, define their backstory and personality, and offer
a guide for how they behave and sound. These insights are important when
you’re casting actors. Maps show where the character is at each point of the
story. They “map” the character arc against the storyline.
■ Prototypes: You’ll collaborate with other teams on this work. It involves creating
the narrative tools and delivery systems for the game, determining what “verbs”6
your story will have, and generally supporting other teams with their Prepro work.

Every project is unique, and every game has different deliverables. As a junior
or mid-level writer, you’ll help brainstorm and write up story ideas and bios,

6
Verbs = gameplay actions. What players can do to express story. Common verbs: walk, talk,
investigate, fight.
178 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

and support other teams. This is my favorite part of game-making when it’s all
blue skies and limitless imagination. Preproduction involves far more work than
I can list here, but it all adds up to one end: laying the foundation of the game
and ensuring everything’s ready for the go-go-go work of Production.

Production
Once you leave Preproduction, your focus shifts and your routine changes with it.
Mary Kenney describes a typical day for a senior writer at Insomniac.

Writing
■ Brainstorm, pitch, and write quest lines, characters, scenes, sequences, and
so on.
■ Write cinematic, gameplay, and emergent dialog (aka barks) scripts.
■ Write or edit on-screen text alongside UX and design teams (hints, skill
names, menus, fake social media feeds, all that good stuff).

Communication and Collaboration

■ Meet with other departments to figure out the best way to tell parts of the
story.
■ Help with hiring for the story dept. and for other departments that work
closely with us (design, audio).
■ Mentor new writers or other devs who want to better understand storytelling.
■ Help direct actors in the VO booth and on the PCAP stage.

Feedback
■ Give feedback in animation and level design reviews and live playthroughs to
improve storytelling in cutscenes and gameplay.
■ Give feedback on other writers’ cinematic, gameplay, and emergent scripts.
■ Play the game! Write up narrative bugs and advise on scripting/timing
updates.

I simplified Mary’s tasks and broke them down into a few broad categories:
writing, collaboration and communication, and feedback. Most of the work you do
will fall into those categories, in one way or another. (Now you can see why
“communication” is the top keyword in job listings!) The details of your day-to-
day will change, but this is very much a typical day in Production.
 Moving Up ▪ 179

Most mid-level writers, especially contract writers, join a project during

Production. This is when the bulk of the writing gets done. When you exit Prepro,
you (should) know the design of conversation systems, combat barks, UI text, the
different types of cinematics, and how much of each thing you need for the game.
Now you just have to write it all! Your team fills the dialog “buckets” for each
feature and writes the letters, journals, signs, item descriptions, and general UI text
that make the game come alive. There’s a tremendous amount of work to do and
never enough time to do it. There are too many Production deliverables (including
the entire game) to mention them all here, but here’s a very rough list of what you’ll
work on.

■ Cinematic Screenplays: everything from shiny “gold” level cinematics to

less costly “bronze” cutscenes.
■ Ambient Scenes: Scenes that trigger as you move through the world to bring
it to life. They often intersect with the main storyline to set a mood or
provide non-critical information.
■ Systemic Writing: The barks, greetings, “foffs,”7 and various one-off lines
that play through the game systems. NPCs usually have a “bark set” or
collection of lines that they respond with depending on various game con­
ditions. For example, depending on the time of day, an NPC might say
“Whew! It’s a hot one today!” or “The night is young.”
■ Vendor Lines: These are lines for shopkeepers or other item sellers in the
game. They occasionally work on a separate system from general barks
because of transactions.
■ UI Text: This can be anything from loading screen text, to objectives, to
journal entries.
■ Letters and Notes: There might be an in-game and UI version of these, so
they require collaboration with other disciplines.
■ Signs and Posters: These depend on context for their effectiveness, so the
Narrative has to work closely with environment art, quest design, and level
design to get the most out of them. (A “stop” sign means different things at a
traffic intersection versus a lover’s leap.)

Concurrent with these deliverables, you’ll pitch ideas for characters and sidequests
to your leads, sit in on recording sessions as talented actors bring your work to life,
collaborate with Audio to nail the pacing of recorded lines in the games, answer
questions from QA and Localization, and write marketing materials like trailers
and demo scripts. And, aside from the act of actually typing words on the page,
you’ll share responsibility for these tasks with your fellow writers.

7
Foff = “eff off” or get lost. The lines an NPC says when they have nothing left to say. “Oh, are
you still here?”
180 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Friends and Allies

It’s the people who make game dev worthwhile. I heard this refrain over and over
when interviewing people: their colleagues were like family. Your fellow devs make
life at the studio exciting and fun, while your immediate team affects your day-to-
day happiness more than any other factor. They’ll understand you and the work
you do better than anyone else. Sometimes, they become your confidantes and
dearest friends. A writers’ room atmosphere brings you closer together too. People
throw out their raw thoughts and emotions and reveal who they are on a profound
level. You might be talking about a characters’ development in the story and
someone brings up abuse they experienced as a child and how it affects their
behavior now, as an adult. Their experience serves the narrative, but their vul­
nerability deepens your understanding and your bond.
Choose your friends because you care about them, but choose your allies
strategically. What’s the difference, you ask? Friends can be allies and vice versa,
but sometimes you make alliances with folks you don’t care for at all. An ally is
someone you work with toward the same goal. Maybe you don’t like that guy in
Audio8 but the two of you are the only ones who understand the serious ramifi­
cations of a change to the dialog system. Team up with them to get your point
across. The more voices speak out about a problem, the more likely it will get
attention. I realize this advice sounds mercenary and terrible, and for some people,
it is. But Eevi Korhonen has a pragmatic attitude toward it all. “Wherever there’s
power structures, there’s gonna be politics. And if the people in power don’t look
like you, it’s usually gonna mean that you have to fight harder to get some of your
thoughts and initiatives across.” She admits it can be exhausting and require
constant vigilance—and that can affect your creative output. She’s had to “derail a
whole week’s work to suddenly come up with a pitch or rally coworkers to save a
feature or a story beat” because higher-ups don’t see its value and want to cut it.
That’s when allies come in handy.

I’ve found it really helps to cultivate personal connections in a team, so

you can have a group of allies— preferably from across the whole
team— who feel similarly on the topic and leverage that group power
to show you’re not the only one who feels strongly on the topic in
question. And it’s even better if you can find an ally who’s more senior
or ideally even on the leadership level in the project or company.

Sometimes, politics and power games are so bad they get in the way of project
deadlines. In these extreme cases, Eevi says “it helps to document the lost work and
lost hours and make a case to higher-ups in the language they understand. And
that’s the language of business.” She suggests that you outline the problem in a

8
Before I get bewildered messages from the Audio folks I know, this is just an example.
 Moving Up ▪ 181

clear cause-and-effect format: “By having to rewrite locked scripts, we’ve lost X
hours. This will likely result in us not meeting the milestone goals. Now these
critical features are in danger of not meeting our internal quality standards. Has
this been accommodated into our roadmap? How can we prevent this from
happening in the future?” That’s how you focus attention on your needs! And
when management investigates, make sure your allies are ready to fight for your
common goal. It doesn’t even have to be a work-related goal. Maybe you and your
colleague want a different brand of tea stocked in the break room. Team up!
Demand your Yorkshire Gold.

Collaborators
Game writing is collaboration. You can’t make a AAA game without a team of
talented people. Josh says the fun of working with other departments is “figuring
out how to really sell a moment in the game, whether it’s a little one-off joke or
whether it’s some really dramatic moment. Making either of those moments work
requires a lot of cross-disciplinary collaboration.” Remember when I talked about
the interweaving of story, action, and mechanics to produce the “holy grail” of
game narrative? That’s collaboration.
In AAA, some teams break into small collaborative groups or workstreams
(called “pods,” “feature teams,” or “strike teams”) to make sure every discipline
has a voice in the creative process. Pods focus on a specific feature or region. So,
if your game is made up of four sectors or maps, there might be a dedicated pod
for each one. When you’re in a pod, your responsibility—regardless of
seniority—is to represent Narrative’s interests and keep your team informed of
updates, changes, and ongoing work. Your pod might plan the web of sidequests
in a town or slip secrets behind waterfalls. Through your collaboration, you’ll
start to see the world holistically and understand how the work of other
departments melds with Narrative to create a playable game. It’s eye-opening
how every discipline views the same problem through a different lens and how
their solutions never crossed your narrative mind. Pod-level collaborations can be
the most creative and fruitful interactions on a project. Some of the happiest
times in my career have been turning words into worlds with my pod colleagues.
I wish you the same joy.

The Game Writers’ Room

A writers’ room runs on collaboration too. Many game writers work alone or do
piecemeal work as contractors, so working in a collaborative environment might be
new to you. I’ve got some wonderful news for you: this is the fun stuff! I’ve never
worked in any type of writing room except game-writing rooms, and I hear they’re
182 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

different from the film and TV versions—but not by much. Game-writing teams
have specific roles and responsibilities for members in day-to-day work, but,
occasionally, the entire team gets together for what I like to call “story summits.”
At Remedy, these were days-long offsite meetings, where we answered questions
about the game universe. At other studios, it might be an afternoon brainstorming
in a conference room. The purpose is the same: You “break story” as Hollywood
types love to say—which simply means figuring out the parts of your narrative.
What are its beginning middle and end? What are the major story beats? You’ve
probably done this sort of work on your own plenty of times. What makes a
writers’ room special is the raw creative energy. There’s a strange and wonderful
alchemy that occurs when a group of talented people combine forces. They one-up
each other in a glorious back-and-forth of ideas and inspiration, until the story
becomes much greater than the sum of its parts. It’s magical. A writer’s room is a
great way to brainstorm, workshop scripts, and solve story problems. And, as I
mentioned earlier, it’s a great way to deeply know the people on your team.

KEY ELEMENTS OF A GAME WRITERS’ ROOM

■ A goal. Perhaps a question to answer, story to break down, or specific
topic to discuss.
■ A leader. They run the meeting and keep the discussion on track.
■ A notetaker. Someone has to write it all down.
■ A flat hierarchy. This is vital! A good idea can come from anywhere and
junior writers must be empowered to challenge leads and directors.

What comes out of a writing room is work in the form of individual tasks.
These should be familiar assignments like bios and screenplays, but don’t hesitate
to ask for clarity on what’s expected. You might worry that asking questions makes
you look stupid or inexperienced, but it’s actually a sign of diligence. It’s much
worse to fumble your way through an assignment and produce work that doesn’t
fit the brief. Ask! It’s your lead’s responsibility to give you clear instructions and
assignments. If you don’t understand and your lead leaves you to figure it out on
your own, you’ll inevitably run into problems. Head that off before it becomes
a crisis.

Managing Your Manager

Your lead can make or break your career. They will nurture your talent, help
you better your craft, and get you the tools you need to shine. A good lead will
 Moving Up ▪ 183

prepare you for the next step in your career and guide you along that path.
They’ll give you focused critique and actionable feedback. They’ll be as invested
in improving your work as you are. They can also shield you from the drama
and stress of the development cycle and look after your well-being. Nobody will
help or hinder your career path as much as your lead, so invest in that
relationship.
To get the support you need, you might have to “manage your managers.”
This means setting up short daily check-ins to get clarity on your tasks. It
means starting emails with a summary of work that you’ve done and why your
lead should care. In some cases, I’ve taken over the management of my own
schedule and created a bullet-pointed list of tasks to review and check off with
my lead as they’re accomplished. The goal is to get their guidance so you can do
good work.
It’s easy to become resentful of your lead. It’s their job to, well, lead and they’re
not doing it, right? I’m not here to defend leads who leave their teams to flounder,
ignore cries for help, or worse. There are some awful leads out there. Believe me,
I know and have the scars to prove it. But, in most cases, your lead is just buried in
work and can’t find enough time to help. Evan has always approached managers as
“human beings who are busy and need to be reminded that your guidance is a part
of their work. That’s what they should ultimately be trying to deliver on.” Like me,
Evan has come up with strategies for getting the support he needs from over­
whelmed management. “One small thing is meeting them on their terms, like how
do they like to give feedback and when do they like to give feedback. Stuff like
that.” He points out that every manager has a preferred style and a smart writer
learns to accommodate it. “Some people prefer to be grabbed, so say, ‘Do you have
five seconds to talk?’ and have a chat. Some people prefer a scheduled meeting.
Some people prefer to give feedback asynchronously. Work with whatever your
manager prefers.”
When you’re asking for a manager’s help, it’s important to understand your
own process. Every writer has their own system and individual needs. Maybe
you can’t write in an open office and need a quiet space to think. Maybe you
need written feedback after every draft. Some writers thrive with detailed
direction and extensive oversight. Personally, I like my lead to set clear
parameters and then free me to do whatever I want within those boundaries.
Whatever you need, articulate it to your manager. For Evan, constraints are
critical. “I think deadlines are helpful for me personally and writers generally,
but I think they’re helpful for managers too.” He points out that it can help you
both set a quality bar. A sort of “you have one week to get me a first draft”
understanding. He also notes that “a lot of younger managers think they’re
being kind by not giving you deadlines. But that’s not good for my creative
process, and it doesn’t teach you how to write professionally—which is really
different than just writing.”
184 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

It’s unusual for managers to push back when you’re asking for guidance (they
want you to get the work done too), but it does happen. Sometimes, you’ll ask
your lead to explain feedback and they think you’re being precious about your
writing. Stick with it! Be clear that you’re happy to change the problem; you just
don’t understand what has to change. Also, absolutely push back on your work­
load. If you have too much work and you can’t get it done within the expected
timeframe or to the expected quality level, let your lead know right away. Don’t
wait until it’s too late and you’re turning in poor or unfinished work. “Telling
leads when you have too much work is another thing that people can be pretty
scared of doing,” Evan says. “I’ve been scared of doing this, too, but it’s helpful to
tell your managers when you’re too busy or when you need them to set priorities
for you. You have to rely on them in that way because it’s a portion of their job.”
Unfortunately, Evan has gotten pushback from his leads on occasion. “The most
common reaction I’ve gotten is ‘I can’t believe you’re telling me that.’ Like initial
shock.” It’s scary to keep pushing after that, but he’s “gotten multiple compli­
ments” during his career where managers said, “the best thing about you is that you
push back when you have too much work on your plate.” Standing up for yourself
won’t go over well with every manager, so figure out what works in your particular
situation. You’ll develop an understanding of their requirements, and they’ll learn
your preferences. If you can’t get what you need after several tries, and your work is
suffering, go get help. Talk to your team about their strategies. Talk to your lead’s
lead. If you think it’s a personality issue, go to HR. But don’t suffer in silence.
Actively seek the help you need to do your best work.

Next!
Look at you! You’ve settled into your life as game writer. You’re collaborating,
delivering assignments on time, and finding creative fulfillment. Time to kick
back and enjoy the fruits of your hard work, right? Nope, not yet. Once you’ve
established a comfortable work routine, you should start planning your next
steps. Yes, even if you’re perfectly happy where you are. It’s important to have a
plan and goals for the future. Even if your goal is simply “be the best entry-level
writer this studio has ever seen,” you want recognition for that, don’t you?
Maybe you want to get better at your craft. Maybe you want more pay for your
extraordinary work or to secure a promotion with your stellar performance.
What’s next for you?

Know Yourself
There’s a corny job interview question that asks “Where do you see yourself in
five years?” I always roll my eyes at it, because five years is a long time in game
 Moving Up ▪ 185

dev years (an entire career for some people, remember?). What will the games
industry be like that far off? It’s impossible to predict. But know what you want
for your future in a general sense. Maybe your goal isn’t the specific “I want to be
the creative director at Big Name Studios reviving their Legendary IP.” But
knowing you want to be, say, a narrative director is a good first step toward
achieving that goal.
Take a look at the org chart you located on your first day. Where do you
want to end up? You might think this is an easy question. You’re probably
thinking, “Well of course I want to be at the top. I want to be a creative director
or narrative director and have control of the story.” But do you really want that?
Or is that simply what’s expected? There’s a lot of pressure in the games
industry—and society in general—to be on top. Success = career advancement.
It’s unthinkable to turn down a promotion or suggest that you’re happy with
your current role. What if you like writing and don’t want to take on managerial
responsibilities? What if story management sings you a (very efficient) siren song?
Now that you can see what these roles look like in practice, in a real working
environment, be honest about what interests you. Ask yourself what appeals
to you.

Personal motivators
■ High wages ■ People management

■ Bettering my craft ■ Travel

■ Setting vision ■ Organizing

Or perhaps something else motivates you. When I sat down a few years ago and
asked myself these questions, I realized I was project motivated.

■ I need creative fulfillment and innovation. Once a game ships (or sometimes
once the story is locked down), I get restless and want to move on to a fresh
project.
■ I want to be better at my craft and have some control over the story.
■ I like to travel and experience new cultures.
■ I like mentoring and teaching (surprise).
■ And I want the ability to walk away from toxic environments as quickly as
possible.

There are many different roles in the hierarchy that offer some of these elements
but add them all up and lead roles are the sweet spot for me. The role is usually a
mix of control, craft, team management, and mobility. So that’s where I landed.
You might decide to be a principal or director—or shoot for the moon as creative
186 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

director. Perhaps you’ll switch career tracks entirely and move over to production
or business management. Whatever you decide, make sure all your career choices
point toward that goal. Also, make sure you understand what those roles look like
at your studio. For example, I worked at one studio where the lead role was heavily
involved in production work, tasking, line management, and lots of administrative
work. And another where the lead writer … primarily wrote the story. Which one
is it at your studio?
The more you know about those roles and what they look like at your studio,
the more you might decide they’re not actually a fit for you. That happened to me.
I was initially excited to become a narrative director on a project, thinking I could
finally make the stories of my dreams. But being a director wasn’t for me. The role
requires diplomacy and political acumen, and it can take Game-of-Thrones levels
of maneuvering and alliances to get what you want. You also don’t (or shouldn’t)
write. Your job is to set a vision and guide your team toward it. For those reasons
and more, you might decide, like I did, to shoot for a different level on the
hierarchy. Or to stay in your current role, if you’re happy. The important thing is
to know your goal so you can actively work toward it.

Set Your Goal

I never met a “me” when I was a journalist. No one ever sat me down
in front of someone and said, “this is the writer for our game.”
Narrative just wasn’t talked about in the way it is now. I just looked at
the jungle of games development, saw an opening and began hacking
my own path through it
—Rhianna Pratchett, Freelance writer

Luckily, the narrative jungle has clearly defined paths now. Which one is right for
you? Check out the organization chart in your studio. You’re looking for two
things: where you are in the hierarchy and where you want to end up. Let’s say
you’re an entry-level writer and you dream of being a narrative director someday.
Look at the org chart to see how many steps you’ll need to take to get there. For
example, let’s say a mid-level writer wants to become a Principal.
In the chart shown on the next page, you need to become advanced and senior
before sidestepping into Principal, and those roles may have their own require­
ments and specializations. Now, read the job description for Principal and for the
next role on your path. Keep your ultimate goal in mind, but focus on the next
attainable step. What skills do you need? Are there opportunities in your current
role to start doing that work or do you need training? List the skills you need to
take that next step up and start planning for that promotion.
 Moving Up ▪ 187

An example AAA narrative org chart.

Keep Growing
One of the best ways to get promoted is to show that you’ve improved or gained a
new skill and can handle harder work. How do you do this? Get training! Many
companies have a wide range of training courses. Ubisoft has an entire mini-
university of short classes and seminars employees can partake in. Other studios offer
external sessions that range from giving better feedback to media training. One
studio even requires all new writers to take one of Robert McKee’s story seminars! It’s
to the company’s advantage to have an employee willing to keep up with tech ad­
vancements or learn more about their craft, so they’re usually happy to cover the cost
of training or classes. Talk to your lead or chat with HR about opportunities. If
you’re groaning at the thought of “school,” remember that your skill and knowledge
travel with you throughout your career. It might be the certification you need for a
specialist role or an additional skill you can add to your resume. Maybe it’s just the
satisfaction of getting better at the work you love doing. I can’t stress enough what a
fantastic chance this is to “git gud” on the company dime.
If your company doesn’t offer training, research public classes that teach the
skills you want—within reason. A class in technical writing is easier to sell as a
valuable skill than, say, Kpop dancing. (Unless you’re working on a romance
game about Kpop idols. Then that’s legit research.) Find a class, explain how it
188 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

will help you do your job better, and see if the company will pay. It’s at least
worth a shot, right?
If classes aren’t an option, talk to your lead about buying books for the team. Or
seeing a media installation. Or a play. Most AAA studios have funding for team­
building activities and education, so take advantage of it. And if all else fails, you can
always do research on your own. Toiya suggests watching “streamers and Let’s Plays.
See how players respond to game stories and what they enjoy and don’t enjoy. Watch
reaction videos of films, TV, and music, especially of stories that you’ve consumed.”
It’s helpful to watch players react to games in the same genre of yours. What do they
think about the tropes and conventions? “Pay attention to the way people break
down the story elements,” Toiya says. “What do they enjoy? What don’t they like?
What confuses them? What clues do they pick up on? Are they able to put together
mysteries, and what aspects of the storytelling helps them do it? Analyze how other
people consume and think about media, which will give you insight into your own
writing.” All the advice about consuming a wide range of media applies now more
than ever. Keep reaching outside games for ideas and inspiration. It’s easy to get
trapped in a games-focused set of references. Keep exploring. Feed your imagination.

Map Your Path

You should also keep learning, practicing, and acquiring the skills you need to
grow as a writer. When you’ve set your goal, have a one-on-one meeting with your
lead and ask for their help achieving it. A good lead will map out a plan with clear
steps for advancement and frequent check-ins, but your progress is up to you. Ask
questions about ways to improve, ask for more training to help you gain the
necessary skills, and ask for feedback. You should be receiving frequent feedback on
your work anyway, but how’s your performance? It always surprises me how few
reports ask for updates on their initiative, teamwork, or communication skills.
Those factors play a key role in any promotion, so make sure you’re hitting your
goals there too. If your manager is too busy for one-on-ones or hasn’t sat down and
discussed your career path with you, try to find someone else who can help. My
advice is to seek out someone who has the role you want and ask them to mentor
you. Document your own progress. Check in with your colleagues about the
promotion process, and get a list of role descriptions. Keep updating your lead and
remind them of your goal. And get ready for the next phase of your career.

CHALLENGE

■ Make a list of your motivations.

• What inspires you?
• What parts of the work do you like best?
• What don’t you want to do?
 Moving Up ▪ 189

■ Read the job descriptions for narrative roles at your studio.

• You might have to look at public job posts or dig through HR
information.
■ Locate the role that interests you on your company’s org chart
■ Talk to the person currently in that role.
■ Have a chat about their work and how they got where they are

OR

■ See if they’ll mentor you.

■ Talk to your current lead about your goal. Ask for work or assignments
that will help you achieve it.
■ Follow up every month by asking for feedback on your performance.
■ Document your progress and accomplishments.
Chapter 13

Steps and Obstacles

Remember that you are doing highly skilled work and that you are a
professional. Your work is deserving of respect, as are you. There
should be adequate time built into the schedule to allow you to do
your work well and iterate on it, as well as reasonable feedback and
approval loops. Don’t get steamrollered. Stand up for your work and
yourself.
–Richard Dansky, Narrative Director and
Central Clancy Writer, Red Storm/Ubisoft

Your first year in the industry is flying by. You’re developing your abilities and
learning new ones. You’re connecting and collaborating and learning your studio’s
unique way of making video games. But don’t get so lost in the project that you
neglect your own goals.

Keep Up Your Networking

All the networking you did before you got hired should continue. Your career
doesn’t stop growing just because you have a job. Now, you should shift your
focus from meeting industry folks in general to developing your network and
deepening your professional friendships. Other writers will have the answers you
need when you’re struggling and can offer advice. They’ll be the people whose
shoulders you cry on when you’re disappointed or who make you laugh with a
funny cat meme when you’re down. They’re also the people who can help you
find work if you decide to leave. One of the biggest mistakes I see people make is
to get a job, say “well, that’s that then” and let all the hard work they’ve put into

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-14 191

192 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

building their network and brand fall into dust. You’ll have to start all over again
unless you maintain it. Fortunately, that doesn’t require much work, just an
occasional check-in with folks.

Promote Yourself
Now that you’re a working dev, you’ll find social doors opening. People will
follow you on social media simply because you work in games. You’ll be asked to
chat on podcasts or to do interviews for gaming sites. It’s gratifying and exciting
to talk about your craft to an audience. Just make sure you’re not violating your
NDA or the studio’s media policy. Most companies have an internal permission
process and want you to clear opportunities with them first. They have specific
marketing and promotion plans, so make sure you’re not interfering with them.
I’ve found that as long as you’re discussing narrative work in general and not
discussing a specific or current project, most studios are happy to let you do
podcasts or have your own livestream. It’s a way for studios to promote the
creativity and knowledge of their devs and to do some light recruiting. With
marginalized folks, it’s a way for studios to show the industry that women,
BIPOC, and LGBTQIA+ devs are a key part of the company and valued for
their expertise. Your company should offer promotion opportunities throughout
the year, not just during Black History Month or Pride.
If you’re forbidden to do any sort of professional promotion—and this is
rare—you might still be asked to participate in game marketing. This can be
anything from helping out in booths at conventions like PAX or ComicCon to
recording “dev diaries” of your work. At ArenaNet, the entire studio held a
week-long “slumber party” where we stayed up all night to play our demo with
fans at gamescom. It was exhausting and exhilarating and an experience I’ll never
forget. For interviews, you’ll get media “talking points.” Those are key state-
ments you’ll be asked to repeat so the game’s message gets out. See if you can
spot my talking points for CONTROL in the First Look interview I did with
Engadget at E3 2018.1
If you want to present at GDC and other cons, get permission before sub-
mitting your talk. Some global studios have so many devs volunteering for panels
and talks that they hold internal speaker competitions. If you’re not selected, you
can’t go that year. Disappointing, but a minor setback. Suggest a different
convention or try again next year. Absolutely get out there and share your
professional wisdom, but make sure you know what your studio’s policies and
rules are first.

1
Some keywords were “metroidvania,” “world within a location,” and “gameplay-driven.”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ShSltxoEDlg
 Steps and Obstacles ▪ 193

Press
I’ve had extensive media training during my time in gamedev and heard the same
refrain: “Reporters are not your friends.” That’s not technically true, as I’m close
friends with several reporters, but I concede the point. It’s literally a reporter’s job
to find and publish news. If you’re hanging out with a journalist at a bar and
feeling relaxed, your slight slip of the tongue could end up on the front page of
Kotaku. Or you could be having a nice chat on a livestream and accidentally reveal
a game feature. Don’t be that person! If you mess up, there can be significant
consequences, and none of them are pleasant. If there’s the faintest suggestion that
you leaked something on purpose, or if it happens more than once, you can be
fired for violating your NDA and contract. Games are a multibillion-dollar busi-
ness. Do you really want to be the person who helps your competitor succeed by
leaking information? Just for clout or a quick dopamine hit? That tiny thrill could
cost your entire career. It’s not worth it. Don’t do it.

Fans
If you become even moderately successful, you’ll pick up some fans. Whether they
love the games you work on, your witty banter, or they just really connect with a
talk you gave, they’ll write to you and follow you on social media. Your rela-
tionship with your fans is one of the most rewarding parts of gamedev. I mean it.
At the end of the day, that’s who you’re creating stories for. This is interactive
media, and they’re the ones who bring your work to life. It’s gratifying when
someone gets—really, deeply gets—what you put into your work. All your cre-
ativity and hard work culminates in their experience. We often design characters
with cosplay in mind. What’s a unique feature that instantly identifies your
character? What can cosplayers do with it? Some fans will even create fanfiction or
fanart of your story and characters, which can be both touching and, uh… .um …
yeah. Let’s stick with touching. Interactive work craves that symbiosis. When you
and a player walk an open world together, side by side, and actively co-create a
story in real time? That’s the deep magic.
You’ll become friends with fans, and that’s okay too! Just be very careful what
you say. Remember that you’re still under NDA. You can’t drop hints or talk
about your work in any but the most general ways or you could lose your job. Also,
some fans may believe you’re closer than you are. They get attached to you through
your work or through your public presence. If a fan crosses the line into stalking,
let your studio know immediately. They have Community and PR people who can
step in when a situation creeps over the line. If worse comes to worst, they can go
with you to law enforcement. But even with your studio’s help, you’ll have to take
steps for your own protection, both physical and mental. Here’s how one writer
handles her aggressive fandom.
194 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Because I’m a woman with a visible public presence, I tend to get

blamed for anything players don’t like, even in the junior years of my
career. The high-level story isn’t what they were expecting? It must be
that junior writer’s fault. Character models not up to par? Let’s harass
this woman about it even though she’s never modeled a character in
her life. It can get really exhausting, but I’ve created rules for myself to
limit how much I see of it. I avoid forums at all costs. I block the worst
offenders on social media. I remove all ways for strangers to contact
me privately. It’s awful that I even have to take these steps, but
unfortunately that’s the reality of being a woman in the spotlight.

Every gamedev sets their own limits for fan relationships, so I won’t tell you what
to do or what limits to set. But set your boundaries early in your career, long before
you have a following. Fan relationships are incredibly rewarding and enduring
(shout-out to my amazing GW2 family who’ve been with me for a decade), but
know your limits and protect yourself.

Obstacles
Guarding your public presence and finding ways to network and promote yourself
are only a few of the challenges you’ll face in games. You’ll encounter obstacles
along every step of the path. Keep working and growing, and eventually you’ll
reach your goal. But what happens when your goal is right there, your path is
obvious, but there’s something—or rather someone—standing in your way?

Imposter Syndrome Part 2

Oh no, here we go again. One of the worst obstacles is yourself. Imposter Syndrome
can twist your reality into knots. I’ve known people in our industry who have done
legendary things, worked on games that are jaw-droppingly good and have won every
conceivable accolade for their work. Yet they truly believe they’re faking their way
through the industry and any minute now, they’ll be exposed as a fraud. Imposter
Syndrome is irrational like that. The higher you climb, the more people will try to
tear you down and make you doubt yourself. Don’t help them. Don’t do their work
for them. I know it belongs on a poster with a kitten and some flowers but Believe in
Yourself. You have to be your own biggest fan. You’ll reach low points in your career
when you’re fighting for something—a role, a raise, a chance—and nobody will
think you can do it. Believe in yourself. When you’re defending your work in cri-
tiques and you have Big Name on the Project scoffing at your vision, you need to
know in your heart that you’re right, it’s good, and fight for it. Nobody’s going to
believe you if you doubt yourself. Remember how far you’ve come and all you’ve
 Steps and Obstacles ▪ 195

accomplished to get here. Then stand up and fight for what you want. If all else fails,
then do it for spite. You might think I’m joking, but it’s a powerful motivator! Show
everyone, including you, that they were wrong to doubt you.

How to Ask for a Promotion

So, you’ve been at the studio for a while now, and you’re feeling confident. You’ve
crushed your Imposter Syndrome, picked up some speaking opportunities, and feel
good about your standing with the team. You’ve mastered your current respon-
sibilities and learned new skills. You’ve grown as a writer and taken on more work.
All your colleagues agree that you’re ready for the next big step in your career. It’s
time to move up.
Asking for a promotion can be scary. I know, because I’ve done it myself several
times. Sometimes, it seems easier to wait and hope the studio promotes you on their
own initiative. They’ve seen all your hard work, right? Unfortunately, it doesn’t always
happen that way. You have to advocate for yourself. Tara acknowledges that
people—especially feminine-presenting folks—are “conditioned to believe that if they
do good work, that will naturally be recognized by management and rewarded
accordingly. The hard truth is that no one, and I mean NO ONE, cares as much about
your career as you do.” But don’t worry! I’ve got you. The same tactics you used to
negotiate your salary will come in handy here. It’s about knowing your worth and
standing by it. Document your achievements as you go along. Remember that desktop
folder you created to combat Imposter Syndrome? Dig through it for reminders of
everything you’ve done. Tara files her accomplishments as she goes along. “When you
get a great email from a coworker thanking you for your contributions, chuck it in your
folder. A nice Slack message from your boss about your work on a recent project?
Screencap and throw it in there too. Make it a habit, and at the end of the year you’ll
have a nice little collection of kudos.” Not just kudos! It’s the proof you need to make
your case. So grab your receipts and approach your line manager.
If you and your lead have been communicating well, they’ll already know
you’ve hit the agreed-upon targets and this promotion chat will be a formality.
Even so, keep formal requests like this performance-based and backed by data.

■ Bad: “I feel like I should get a promotion because I’ve been here a while.”
■ Good: “I do the same work as the senior writers so I think I deserve the
title too.”
■ Best: “I meet all the requirements for the senior role and have been doing
work at that level for a while. The senior role description states that I need to
coordinate with other teams. I’ve done that by doing x, y, and z … etc.”

It’s hard to argue with facts, so stick to those and make your case. Send your lead an
email outlining your position. The email should contain the following information:
196 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

■ A reminder of the goal you both agreed on (“As we’ve long discussed … I’ve
met the criteria for being a senior writer.”)
■ A summary of the role requirements and how you meet them. (“Looking at
the job description for a senior writer, I meet all the criteria. I write quality
screenplays, coordinate with other teams, etc.”) Use keywords from the
desired role’s job description.
■ Any additional information you think will help your case. (“I wrote the
trailer dialog when …”)
■ A clear statement of what you expect. (“Now that I meet the criteria for the
role, I’m ready for my promotion!”)
■ Next steps. (“What happens next in this process?”)

From that point on, it’s on your lead to make it happen. Hopefully, they’re ready
for the request and have laid the groundwork to make it happen. It might take
longer than you’d like. “The reality is that a promotion is seldom granted by a
single person alone. In any mid to large-scale organization, performance evaluation
is a process,” Tara says. “One that your manager may need to go to bat for you to
achieve.” Be patient while your request goes through the approval process; it won’t
happen overnight. But it’s reasonable to expect progress within a week or two of
your request. My fingers are crossed for you!

Balancing the Scales

Promotions aren’t the only time you’ll have to advocate for yourself. What if you
do everything right during salary negotiations—if you do your homework,
demonstrate your worth, haggle hard, and arrive at a figure you can live
with—but you still end up with a lower salary than you should have? It hap-
pened to me once. Despite all the help I had from friends in the industry and
despite all my research, I learned a year into one job that one of my male reports
was earning more than I was. I wasn’t happy, to say the least. But I didn’t sit and
seethe. I approached my lead with my case for a higher salary, and he agreed. I
ended up getting bumped to the top of my salary band. A happy ending to an
unfortunate situation.
If you ever learn that you’re underpaid—or if you’d just like some more
money, please—you know what you have to do.

How to Ask for a Raise

The process for this is very similar to asking for a promotion. Find out what the
pay bands at your studio are. This can be surprisingly difficult to do. Many studios
won’t have that information posted anywhere, so you’ll have to ask HR or Finance.
 Steps and Obstacles ▪ 197

If you want to know if your salary is fair, talk to your colleagues. Some variations
might exist for experience or expertise, but if you’re doing the same work at the
same level, your pay should be the same. When you know the wage at your
company, look at similar roles at other studios, check Chapter 10 salary sheets for
comparison, and then submit your request. Use a similar format to the one for
promotions. Here’s my current salary. Here’s what I think I should make. Here’s
why I deserve it—backed by many examples of your improvement and stellar
performance. There are many articles out there about how to properly do this, so I
won’t go into more detail. Definitely do your research! But I will add that if you
don’t get a cost-of-living adjustment every year to account for inflation, you’re
effectively taking a pay cut. It’s absolutely reasonable to request an adjustment for
your cost of living, even if you’re not requesting one based on merit.

When the Answer Is No

But what if you make a reasonable request for a promotion or raise, bolster it with
data, and it still gets rejected? There are a wide variety of reasons why companies
might say no, including your performance and the timing of your request. What
matters here is your takeaway. Can you live with their decision? Yes or no?

■ If yes, then wait, gather more proof of your performance, and ask again when
you’re able.
■ If no, then what are your options?

Here’s where I again point you to the internet experts. There are excellent resources
out there for pushing back against an unfair decision at work. You can do things
like appeal the decision up the approval chain, rework your request and ask again,
speak with your guild, labor council, or union representative (if you have one), or if
you suspect discrimination, report it to HR. Alternatively, you could leave and find
a better situation.
Switching studios is, unfortunately, sometimes the best way to get a raise or
promotion. It’s better to move and find a place that pays you well than stay and
simmer in resentment. Sometimes, the threat of leaving is enough to get your
company to come around and give you what you asked for. Sometimes, it’s not. If
you give an ultimatum or threaten to leave, then be prepared to follow through.
Don’t make idle threats. Hazel has this advice if you find yourself in this situation,
“It’s a hard thing to do, and requires a lot of introspection and confidence. But
ultimately it is necessary if you feel you aren’t being valued. You have to value
yourself, and your skills, and recognize that what you bring to the team needs to be
adequately appreciated and compensated for.” If you’ve tried everything you can to
negotiate with your current studio and you can’t reach a mutually satisfactory
agreement, then leaving might be your only option. I’ll talk about what leaving
198 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

looks like in Chapter 15, but for now, be reassured that it’s fairly common. As
Hazel says, you “should never feel beholden to a studio that is not valuing you.
Look for other opportunities. Network with other writers elsewhere. Keep advo-
cating for yourself. It is so easy to feel discouraged and stuck, but we have to keep
trying to move forward and believe in our abilities and our worth.” Knowing your
worth, standing up for yourself, and doing what’s right for your success and well-
being spill over into other aspects of studio life too.

Crunch Part 1
You will inevitably crunch when you’re in the games industry. I say this with
exhaustion, frustration, and the weary impatience of someone who’s been there
countless times and doesn’t want to go there again. Avoiding crunch is a never-
ending battle. One writer says that “It’s not just crunch itself, but also the fore-
boding way it permeates everything. The way people are like, ‘You know, at some
point in this project, we’ll probably have to crunch.’ And it kills you. It’s this
dread that’s always kind of there.” At this point, the industry knows that crunch is
bad. It’s not effective, it reduces productivity over time, and it ruins the lives of
developers. It destroys personal relationships because devs don’t get to spend time
with their family and friends. It kills creativity too. Your mind travels along the
same well-worn path day after day, and there’s no time to feed your imagination
with outside influences. Crunch also causes significant, severe health problems,
such as burnout, mental illness, heart attacks, and in some cases, death.
There are notorious stories of crunch in games. Some of the biggest game
studios in AAA are famous for their so-called death marches to get projects out the
door. Devs are asked to work up to sixteen hours a day for months on end, and
they’re often paid no overtime for it. The company will buy dinner for people
staying late and there might be bonuses and incentives for hitting goals, but most
salaried workers are getting paid the same rate. I once worked 107 hours in one
week to do an emergency rewrite of an entire story script. I received nothing for
it except my normal wage and “thanks.” Let that sink in the next time you hear
about crunch.
Crunch is painted as an unforeseen, unavoidable turn of events, but the sad
truth is that some companies build it into their schedule. One company I worked
for bragged that crunch is “where the magic happens.” Mikki told me a story about
a scriptwriter who got holes in his memory from working so many hours of
overtime. He’d crunched hard, without complaining, but he finally decided to
leave the studio. When he was leaving, he confessed that he’d had blackouts. His
last memories were of being at work, then he’d suddenly find himself at home,
several hours later. He didn’t know what he’d done in between. “Presumably, he
just did some work and then came home. There’s no reason to believe that any-
thing else happened. But for all he knew, he could have been doing anything,”
 Steps and Obstacles ▪ 199

Mikki said. Crunch literally stole time from his life. He’ll never get that back.
That’s what crunch means to devs. Yet, you’ll still very likely be asked to crunch on
your project.

When It’s Crunch Time

First, find out if you’re contractually obligated to work it. QA testers, for example,
sometimes sign agreements to work up to 80 hours a week. If they don’t agree then
they won’t get hired. If you refuse to crunch after signing a contract saying you
will, you’re in a precarious position. The studio can say you’re violating your
contract and technically you are. You’ll have to weigh your options at this point.
Crunch can affect your career—in good and bad ways. One writer says he didn’t
want to crunch, but his studio valued him more when he did. “I don’t think it was
necessary. I don’t think it was productive. It made me reconsider whether I wanted
to be in this industry. It also creates this messed-up feedback loop. I very much
noticed that feedback on my writing and my performance improved when I started
crunching, and that’s not a good way to train your workforce.” It shouldn’t
happen. It’s terrible that it does. But … it does. Many devs face this dilemma: If I
refuse to crunch, how will this affect me later? Another writer said that “When I
crunched, if I had said I was too busy, I don’t know how that would have gone
down, to be honest. Probably not well.”

Pressure
I know that it’s easy to look at this from the outside and say “On the one hand you
might lose your job, on the other you might die. Where’s the dilemma?” But things
look very different in the moment when you have bills to pay or a family to feed or
you just desperately need that first game credit to launch your career. A lot of
people suck it up hoping that the crunch will be short, not too terrible, and worth
it in the end. I wish I had advice to give you, but all I can say is know your options
and do what’s best for you. Do I think you should crunch? No. I don’t think it’s
worth it. But I don’t know your specific circumstances.
The personal decision to not crunch can feel even tougher because of peer
pressure. I’m sorry to tell you, but some people like crunch. You’ll encounter a
“warrior” (I’m rolling my eyes here) mindset in the industry that views crunch as
a badge of honor. For some people, work is their life. Therefore, the more work
the better. Some managers will compare your dedication to these workers.
There’s also the softer pressure of not wanting to let your team down. As I’ve
said before, you’ll be very close to your friends and coworkers and want to help. It’s
hard to leave at the end of the day, even when you know it’s the right thing to do,
when your coworkers are all still there plugging away. And they might come to
resent you, however unfairly, for letting them shoulder the burden alone. The good
news is that people are beginning to rethink work-life balance and this happens less
200 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

often. Increasingly, we understand that crunch is bad and that being asked to do it
isn’t right. Let the cleansing light in!

Flow State
There’s another kind of crunch that the industry still hasn’t confronted: self-
imposed creative crunch. When you, as a creator who takes pride in your work,
want to stay and finish a task you’re absorbed in. When you’re in “flow state”2 and
know you’re doing good work, and you just want to keep riding that wave. Or
when you’re hyperfocused and don’t realize you stayed three extra hours. There’s a
growing understanding that some places take advantage of creators’ perfectionism
to encourage crunch-like conditions. Many companies present their crunch as
voluntary “People stay and work because they want to. It’s their choice.” This is
tricky because if it’s completely voluntary and short, then … I’ll be honest, I do it.
I’m doing it as I type these words. Nobody’s pressuring me except me, but it’s still
crunch … or is it? Here’s a good test:

■ Am I staying because I want to, not because it’s required?

■ Is it a short time span (a few hours or one day)?
■ Is it a rare occurrence?
■ Am I doing extra work outside of my normal day-to-day responsibilities?

If you can answer yes to all these questions, then it probably is a genuine desire to
stay in flow. Even with yeses across the board, it’s fine to call it a day. But if you
have any nos, then you’re crunching and need to make a call about what’s best for
you. One game writer said that once you’re established in your career, “you
become more confident saying ‘what’s a reasonable timeline? What’s a reasonable
amount of work?’ and you can set some boundaries in your workplace. But people
have to respect your work first. So, you’re vulnerable to crunch in that early-middle
phase.” Decide on your stand now, before crunch comes knocking. Know your
contract, set your own limits, and be careful opening that door.

Burnout
Crunch enough and you’ll burn out. That makes sense, right? But it might surprise
you to know burnout frequently comes without overwork. It can come from
having no control over your work or schedule. Or having so much work that you
can’t do a good job. If you’re a creative person, it might come from having no

2
Flow is when you’re immersed so deeply in your work that the world and time fall away. Being
“in the zone.”
 Steps and Obstacles ▪ 201

creative outlet or doing unfulfilling work. Burnout can ambush you. You think
you’re living a healthy life with reasonable hours and wham! It drops on you like a
Looney Tunes anvil. That’s what happened to me in 2014. I ignored the warning
signs for years, kept my head down, and persevered through a soul-killing project. I
thought I’d be fine when the difficult project ended, so I took on another project
soon after. I’d just rolled onto the new game when it hit me: ten years of built-up
stress, anxiety, frustration, and grief. I ended up having a complete mental and
physical breakdown. It was so bad that I had leave my shiny new job and take time
off to recover. It took six months before I felt like myself again, and over a year
before I got my writing back. And I’ll be honest, I’m not the same person I was
before the breakdown. My friends say the experience “knocked some of the fun
out” of me, and … yeah. That feels about right.
The industry is starting to take burnout seriously. Where people used to think
it was purely mental exhaustion or a sort of emotional deadening, now we know
that burnout is a real, medical problem and can cause serious physical harm to
people. It’s taken a few high-profile cases of burnout to get us to that realization.
Osama Dorias recently went public with his burnout experience, and it’s one of
the worst (and saddest) I’ve heard. He agreed to share his story so that other people
could learn from it and get help for their burnout before it became a problem.

CASE STUDY: OSAMA DORIAS

Osama is a Senior Partner Relations Manager at Unity Technologies and a

career game designer with 15 years of experience in the industry. He’s been
all over the industry and shipped over 30 games, so he was no stranger to the
hard realities of gamedev life. But burnout still hit him hard. Here’s his story
in his own words:

There were a lot of things that contributed to my burnout. My

mother was diagnosed with cancer, and so I had to work reduced
hours (4 days a week) and take care of her the other 3. My bosses
were kind enough to accommodate me, but this took a huge toll on
my energy and health as literally everything else took a backseat to
my new schedule. I no longer had time to socialize, teach, exercise,
even to spend time with my kids.
Thankfully my mother recovered, but that happened just in time for
COVID to send us all to our homes. My life had been so thoroughly
disrupted that I buried myself in work. It didn’t take long before
I started feeling the effects of burnout.
I started dreading activities that once brought me joy. I couldn’t find
the energy to leave bed, but if I called in sick I’d instantly get a little
202 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

bit of a boost. And worst of all … I would get angry. I’d sometimes
wake up angry, without anything specific to be angry about.
Eventually this led to being physically unable to get myself to do any
work at all. I couldn’t focus on anything. I couldn’t find joy in doing
anything, even things that I once loved. I would get SO angry for no
particular reason, mostly at myself I suppose.
Because I buried myself in work, I also never left the house or did any
kind of physical activity. It got so bad that even walking for a couple
of minutes gave me intense knee pains. I couldn’t sleep. On a good
night I maybe got 2 hours of sleep. I had panic attacks. My anxiety
was through the roof.
I finally told my boss that I couldn’t keep going like this, and I
went to see a doctor who immediately put me on medical leave
and prescribed me meds. I started seeing a physical therapist for
my knees and a personal trainer for my general health. I’m still in
the process of recovering. It’s been a year and a half and I can at
least work now. I used to be an overachiever. I’m just an achiever
now, but even that realization brings me so much joy! I get waves
of fatigue out of nowhere, but I can take naps or go for walks to
recharge. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back to my seemingly endless
reserves of energy, but honestly even if I just maintain my current
levels, I’ll be happy.

So how do you avoid burnout? Sure, you can say no to crunch, that’s an obvious
step. But if it’s so insidious, how can you make sure you’re not nurturing it with
your daily routine? Osama points to several factors. Taking care of yourself
physically is part of it. But you also need to clear room for enjoyment. His biggest
mistake “was cutting the activities that gave my life purpose and gave me joy in
order to make room for the work that was burning me out. My career goals have
changed. Work-life balance is now more important to me than anything else. Not
title, salary, project, team …. nothing else comes close. I simply will not allow
myself to burn out again.” Protect your time. Protect your happiness. And do
whatever it takes to get balance back in your life. Osama offered a final bit of advice
for writers. “This may be controversial, but if you’re feeling burned out, I strongly
feel that a change of context is necessary to recover. You can’t heal in the place that
hurt you.”
Wherever you are and whatever your circumstances, take steps to avoid
burnout right now. Talk to your leads and colleagues about what you’re feeling. If
you’re overwhelmed with work, see if another writer can help. If you’re making
yourself sick to meet a deadline, see if you can get extra time. Maybe the task isn’t
 Steps and Obstacles ▪ 203

that important and you can drop it altogether. If it’s work overall that is burning
you out, then maybe you can step back from it for a while. In Sweden, they have a
specific program for “burnout leave.” You take off work entirely for a month or
two, then gradually ease up to your normal working hours. You start at 25% of
your schedule, then 50%, then 75%, until you’re well enough to work normal
hours again. You could also consider cutting down your hours permanently. Four-
day work weeks are increasingly popular now. Here’s how Eevi persuaded her
studio to reduce her hours: “It was quite easy at my current employer, since they
don’t just talk the talk when it comes to work-life balance. I went to HR, ex-
plaining that I was experiencing burnout and laid out reasons why a four-day
workweek would help me get back to a healthier space both physically and
mentally.” She also agreed to a pay cut for the reduced hours but says it was worth
the exchange. She’s even had a promotion and pay raises since then, so it didn’t
affect her career. Eevi says she’d tried reducing her hours at a previous studio but
“was met with a lot of hemming and hawing and ‘needing to check project needs’”
so don’t assume it’ll be easy. If you decide to try for it, Eevi recommends nego-
tiating it into your contract from the start or taking advantage of moments when
your work is critical to the project and “you have the upper hand.”
Whatever steps you take to improve your work-life balance, start right now.
Use your vacation days. Fight for creative control of your work. Find a schedule
you can live with. You have a long, fulfilling career ahead of you if you take care
of yourself.

CHALLENGE

This one is simple. Take three steps today to improve the quality of your
work life. Here are some suggested actions:

■ Talk to your lead about your workload and deadlines.

■ Find time for activities you love or pick up a new hobby that is
unrelated to your professional work.
■ Set your personal boundaries for crunch and know ahead of time
where you’ll draw that line. Stick to it!
■ If your work is unfulfilling, start a side project as a creative outlet.
Don’t monetize it or let it become a second job. Be creative for the
joy of it.
Chapter 14

Leadership

The real problems are hardly ever creative or artistic or tonal, they’re
organizational.
–Ed Stern, Lead Writer, Splash Damage

Hey! You made it! You worked hard for your goals, made your case, and
got promoted. Now, you’re stepping into your new role with a heady mix of
excitement and fear. Where do you even start? And how can you maintain your
healthy habits when there’s an entire team of people looking to you for answers?

When You’re Senior

Before you run amok with newfound power—or panic—take a moment to look
back at where you came from. Remember when I had to explain what a “golden
line” was? Now, you’re a seasoned professional with shipped titles to your credit.
You’ve earned this spot. What you don’t already know, you can figure out. Learn
your job description inside and out so you understand what’s expected from you.
Look to other seniors as advisors and role models. If your studio offers manage­
ment training seminars, sign up for them right away. Know what the studio thinks
good leadership looks like.
If you’re a line manager, a whole new world of documentation will open up for
you. You’ll need to know the procedures for reviews and raises, hiring and firing,
supplies and opportunities. You’re now the go-to font of wisdom for your team, so
make sure you have the information they need—or at least know how to get it.
You’ll discover a fervid new interest in internet articles about How to Be a Good
Manager. There are many resources out there for general management advice;

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-15 205

206 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

that’s not what you need from me. Let’s focus on the game-writing-specific tasks
you’ll have in your senior roles:

■ As a mid-level: The best thing you can do is show entry-level writers and
NDs what the industry is all about. They might know almost nothing about
writing games professionally, so show them the ropes. Any new knowledge
is useful at this stage. Be supportive, try not to dim the stars in their eyes,
and help them navigate this strange new industry. Educate!
■ As a senior or principal: Help juniors with their craft. Teach them what
you know about interactive narrative, realizing a vision, creating characters,
writing within systems, etc. You’re their role models when it comes to craft
so help them shine. Feedback!
■ As a lead or manager: Help juniors with their journey. Keep them invested
in their work. Don’t let folks slip out of that leaky pipeline. Support team
members with special needs. Help your team learn specialized skills: How
to collaborate with other teams for holistic work. How to estimate a line
count.1 How to map a character arc against the story. How to plan a nar­
rative that works within existing systems and features. How to work with
actors in a mocap studio. Mentor!
■ As a narrative director: Provide a story vision and help the team understand
it. Show off their work and present the team in the best light. Be Narrative’s
liaison to the publisher and public. Inspire!

Fight for What You Need

Steering the story ship means you’re responsible for providing a clear vision for the
team to follow. Narrative drift is inevitable, so you’ll have to adjust your course to
account for surprise cuts and changes. (I refuse to let this maritime metaphor take
over.) Directors and leads must negotiate with other disciplines to achieve their own
agenda and get the time and resources the team needs. This often means evangelizing
your story to people with no interest—or too much interest—in game narrative. This
is when you’ll often encounter Rhianna’s “story by committee” situation. She warns
that you’ll have to work with “numerous people who have no narrative experience,
big titles and even BIGGER thoughts about story. You must be extremely flexible
and try to leave your ego at the door. But at the same time, you have to work out
what’s worth fighting for, which hills are worth dying on. Because you’re going to
find out that there are A LOT of hills.” I learned this the hard way. When I first
became a lead, I used to snarl at every little story change like war was declared.

1
Exactly what it says on the box. An estimated number of all the voiced and unvoiced lines of
text in the game.
 Leadership ▪ 207

I thought of every cut as retreat. I worried that I’d be forced to fall back and fall back
until there was only a tiny strip of story left to stand on, so I wouldn’t give an inch.
Ed Stern understands the need to defend your work. He says that much of game
writing is “trying to use words to fix tonal or thematic problems that lots of the team
might not see as problems.” Ed has great advice for moments when you’re fighting to
keep parts of your story. As always, it comes down to good communication. He
advocates for clear phrasing of the problem and its consequences.

■ “You want X changed? OK, but you realise that means that Y isn’t going to
get done, right? Here’s an email from me, so … . “

Ed stresses the importance of a clear chain of command. Know who owns each part
of the game and who has a stake in it. Know who actually has the power to cut or
change your work. If someone demands a change to your team’s work and they
don’t have the authority to override your ownership, then he suggests you say,
“Sorry you don’t like this, but the deadline for feedback was a week ago and also
we agreed that you don’t actually have veto, so … ” The language of these
responses is blunt but effective. Being clear and direct can cut through to the heart
of the problem. And to avoid any nasty surprises in the future, try Ed’s technique
for spelling things out clearly:

Brief and Back-Brief to double-check you’re aligned (and to get it all down in
an email paper trail):

■ Why: general context/summary of current situation

■ What: what specific problem will this solve?
■ Who: Who’s doing the work, who’s Responsible and Accountable, Consulted
or Informed, who does feedback and final approval? Also, Who’s the audience
for this thing? Team? Management? Publisher? Public?
■ How: format, tech specs, wordcount, level of detail (Game Bible? Bullet points?)
■ When: deadlines for initial back-brief, initial delivery, feedback, next itera­
tion delivery, and final deliverable.

And then get them to reply in their own words so you can tell if you’re all on the
same page.
Even when you’re being straightforward like this, don’t forget to use the language
of the discipline you’re talking to. Sketch a diagram if that helps Concept Art. Toss
some figures into a spreadsheet if that’s what Production needs. Make a short slide
presentation for your publisher. You’ll quickly learn that nobody on the team wants
to read a wall of text from Narrative. That’s how we communicate, but it’s not the
best way to get your ideas across to other disciplines.
However, sometimes friction can force you to see an outside perspective.
“Perversely, I think miscommunication is a greater risk with teams where everyone
208 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

gets on really well,” Ed says, “because when you’re personally and socially aligned it’s
easy to assume everyone’s on the same page with the same information. If you’re all a
bit more cautious, you check.” However you communicate, the important thing is to
listen as much as you talk. That’s how you get the information you need. Don’t fight
to the last ditch like I used to do. Game development isn’t a battle; it’s a dance. If you
step back in one area, step forward in another. If you lose fifty lines from this feature,
add them to another. If a key character gets cut, give their lines and traits to another.
It’s a ballet of give and take, wins and losses. At the end of the day, you’re all working
together to make a game, and you all want the game to be good. If you’re smart,
everyone wins this dance battle.

Sharing Your Vision

The best way to win people over is to tell them a story. Advertisers know it.
Politicians know it. It’s clear throughout human history. And lucky for you, you’re
a storyteller. I don’t mean “tell a story” in the literal sense. Don’t go into a meeting
and recite The Odyssey at stakeholders. I’m talking about engaging their imaginations.
Get people excited about the work you’re doing. Actively involve them in solving
your narrative problems. And, okay, yeah, that does sometimes mean sitting down
and telling them your game story. But there are other ways to share your vision.

■ Wikis: An obvious way is to make a searchable wiki out of your team’s work.
The story bible especially makes for engaging reading and helps other teams
understand how your work meshes with theirs. Make your documentation
interesting and inviting. Share links to it often.
■ Newsletters: Monthly updates are usually enough to show off your team’s
latest work. Borrow some concept art and stuff your updates with puns, and
people might actually read them.
■ Presentations and Talks: If colleagues are having trouble understanding a
particular aspect of your story or game world, give a short presentation about
it to the whole team. Eevi Korhonen and I gave a tentacular presentation
about New Weird because it’s a tough concept to grasp. The slides on the
next page show how helpful even a simple presentation can be.
The important thing is to speak your collaborators’ language and always
bring your talk back to why they should care. Get their buy-in!
■ Open Office Hours: At one studio, I set aside a half-hour every week for
Story Time. Anyone could stop by with questions about any aspect of the
narrative and get an immediate answer. Shy people who “didn’t want to
bother” us would come by because they knew they were welcome at
that time. And busy leads poked their heads in with “just a quick question.”
That dedicated half-hour can end up saving you hours of time otherwise
lost to emails.
 Leadership ▪ 209

Mystery! Tentacles!

Horror.
210 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Sci-fi and Fantasy.

New Weird.

■ Envoys: Your team members make great evangelists. Empower them to talk
about their work on the story and what parts of it excite them. Send them
out to the wider team!
■ Signs, posters, ravens, telekinesis: I’ll try any method to get narrative
information to the wider team. The more they know, the better aligned we
are and the greater our chance for that coveted synergy. This sometimes
means resorting to devious tactics.
 Leadership ▪ 211

THE HERO’S JOURNEY SIGN

The Infamous Sign.

Here it is. The infamous sign. It’s become a running gag in game-writing
circles. Sometimes I hear groans, and sometimes I hear chants of “RESET
THE SIGN!” with me. What few people realize, however, is that the sign
has a serious purpose. I alluded to it back in Chapter 2 when I poured salt
on unqualified narrative teachers. The truth is that most people don’t
understand writing or story. They think they do. They’ve been writing
their entire lives after all, right? How hard can it be? Maybe they’ve read a
book about Story. They now know everything there is to know about game
writing and want to explain to you, an industry veteran, what you’re doing
wrong. Invariably, they reference the Hero’s Journey or Star Wars or Save
the Cat. There is nothing you can do for those folks except smile, nod, and
reset the sign.
However, the ritual of resetting the sign gets attention. People get
curious. They ask why it’s bad. They ask about Joseph Campbell. They want
to hear alternatives. And it kicks off casual-but-critical discussions. Beyond
that, The Sign becomes a shared joke. It unites the team and raises awareness
of your work as a craft in its own right. Other disciplines learn to understand
and respect your team’s expertise, and that’s the goal of it. Building respect
for the work we do.
Some disciplines think of writers as a service department, instead of an
equally skilled part of the team. They think you’re there to make their work
212 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

“sound pretty” or provide a “narrative wrapper” for the essential game

elements—their work, of course. Give this attitude no air. Kill it on sight. If
you don’t, you’ll see non-writers slip their own work into the game because
they have writing aspirations. Or add “just a little joke.” If you discover it,
they’ll say they knew that Narrative would catch and fix it before anyone saw
it. Only sometimes we don’t. And the joke is bad or offensive. It slips
through the cracks, stays in the game, and a player finds it and posts it online
somewhere. This is dangerous on its own (never put anything into the build
you wouldn’t want going public), but also because it disrespects our work.
Narrative isn’t there to polish other people’s writing. We are the writers. We
write the game.

Documentation
That’s enough about guiding other teams! Your own team is waiting for your
instructions.
Your writers and NDs need extensive documentation to help them with their
tasks. Don’t make them chase you around the studio for answers to basic ques­
tions. Stuff your wiki or Confluence page with templates, style guides, references,
and examples. If you don’t have time to scribble out all this documentation—and
you won’t have time—delegate the work and answer questions along the way. Your
team is more likely to remember a template if they create it themselves anyway.

Priorities
You’ll soon discover that you’re not just short of time for documentation; you’re
short of time period. It took Ed “too long to learn that you can only Take Time,
not Make Time. Everyone’s busy all the time. If you try to fit something in as well
as everything else, you’re not being honest about the fact that it’s not going to get
done. It’s ‘Instead Of,’ not ‘As Well As.’” This is another hard reality of leadership.
You will spend an absurd amount of time in meetings, a problem that has only
been exacerbated by the pandemic and work from home, and your tasks will
languish untouched at your desk. Eventually, they pile up, your team demands
your attention, you feel overwhelmed, and you start to hear this weird, loud
ticking-clock sound in your mind. That’s the road to burnout, my friends. To head
that off, learn how to do three things:

■ Prioritize: What’s on fire? What has to be done for an imminent deadline or

because it’s blocking other work? Who is waiting on it? How much work is
it? My readers with Executive Dysfunction are trembling, but this is easier
 Leadership ▪ 213

than it seems. Enlist a producer to help you triage your tasks and come up
with a plan of attack. They love this stuff!
■ Assess and Adapt: If this is important, does it have to be done this exact
way? Can we simplify it? What’s the MVP2 version of this task? Can it be
moved? Do we even still need this?
■ Delegate: Do you need to do this task or can one of the writers do it? Is this
something your team needs to do? Can another discipline do it? Can a
codev3 team do it? Can it be outsourced? (Careful with those last two. You
want to maintain oversight of your work.)

Above all, you have to get comfortable with letting things go. You can’t do it all,
and some things will fall off. It’s unavoidable, but you know what? It’s okay. If you
did a good job prioritizing, it won’t be anything important. But if you’re an
overachiever, you’ll find this part of leadership hard.

Finding Balance
Another challenge of leadership is finding time for creativity. You became a
game writer to write games, not sit in a conference room and talk about them.
Ed finds that “one of the perennial struggles in more senior positions is making
sure you do the stuff that’s long-term vital but not immediately urgent.
Reading. Writing. Mentoring. Acquiring and practicing new skills. Being bad at
something first, then doing it again and again until you suck less at it.” I have
the same struggle as Ed. In fact, when I talk to writing leads around the world,
I hear pretty much the same story: it’s a constant balancing act between
managerial work and creative work. The happiest leads have made time for
creative work in their schedules. Their manage/create ratio is uniformly about
60/40. If less than 40% of your job is creative work, it can start to feel like
drudgery. I’m sorry to say that some writing leads have ratios of almost
9:1—and they’ve fought to maintain even that sliver of creative expression. To
be fair, some leads prefer the management side of things. Mentoring and
oversight are their north stars. But other leads looked at me with naked despair
when I asked about their writing or creative output. What can those leads do?
How can they stay creative when there’s so much administrative work weighing
down their schedules? Samantha splits her time between her duties as a lead and
her individual contributions.

2
MVP = Minimum Viable Product. The simplest version of something. The baseline version.
3
Codev = co-development team. Another studio that is working on the same project with you.
Ubisoft has several studios that exclusively do codev work.
214 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

On any given day I can be maintaining the high-level outline of the

story, attending brainstorming and planning meetings with other leads
and directors, and providing guidance to my writing team, but then
I also need to make time to complete my portion of the actual
scriptwriting for the game. It’s fun to be able to float back and forth
between lead work and writing work, but it is a game of balance. I need
to constantly assert my boundaries, even to myself, and not let the
work overtake my life and become two employees in one. I think that’s
a danger every lead faces.

It’s tempting to let the administrative work slide, to cancel all your meetings and
sit down and write the game yourself. But if that’s what you want, then you should
be a Principal. That role requires no mentoring or people management. Perhaps
you’ll realize that your goal has changed. Perhaps a different path suits you better
now that you’ve achieved this goal. That’s not uncommon! Set a new goal and
start working to achieve it. But right now, your first responsibility is in your title.
Your team needs a good lead.

Leading with Empathy

The good news is that by the time you become a line manager, you’ll have seen
the role of lead practiced countless times. I hope you’ll have many examples of
wonderful leadership to model yourself after, but odds are you’ve also got some
bad examples. Sometimes people become managers when they have no interest in
or aptitude for the role. Maybe it’s a necessary step on the way to a role they
really want, or a promotion’s the only way they can earn a raise. If you survived
your bad managers, then you have perfect examples of what not to do. Some of
my best and most inventive leadership comes from remembering a terrible
manager. When faced with a tough decision, I’ve stopped and asked myself,
“What would that Bad Lead do?” And then I’ve done the exact opposite. This
is the secret to being a good line manager: remember what it was like when you
were more junior. That insight is invaluable. Ann Lemay believes that “being
a good leader means constantly exercising empathy.” There’s a lot of stress
involved in making games and it takes a toll. “Practicing empathy means that
when something goes wrong or someone does something that upsets you, there’s
a reason for it that’s not malicious. It’s easy to assume the worst of people.”
That’s especially important when you’re busy. Stepping outside your whirl of
responsibilities and trying to see tasks from your team’s perspective can be tough.
A producer once explained to me that time flows very differently for leads and
their teams. A writer or ND might spend days researching, taking notes,
brainstorming with other teams, and crafting work they’re proud of. Then they
 Leadership ▪ 215

go to pitch their idea, which is always a nerve-racking experience, and their lead
whips through it all in a half-hour, giving fast, verbal feedback. The writer is
devastated. It seems like the lead didn’t care. But the lead might think they were
being efficient. Or they might have fought to clear that half-hour in their
schedule and knew they had to give feedback then or never. It’s important to
stop and see those moments through your team’s eyes. Ann says you should
“Establish relationships with the people you work with, learn how to work with
your peers, and when it comes to your team, always, always spend the time to
listen to them, pay attention to how people treat them and how they react,
understand what drives them.” Some writers will meet you halfway, or learn to
manage you like Evan does his leads. But ultimately, it’s up to you to give your
team what they need and to help them grow.
One of the greatest temptations you’ll face as a lead is to do the work
yourself. Sometimes you’ll watch an ND struggle with a flowchart or a find that
a writer’s character bio is way off base. Instead of writing up feedback and
instructions, you might think, “I could finish this task myself and get it done in
half the time.” Yes, you could. But then you’ll always have to do that work
because your team learns nothing. Ann says she’s tried to fix that impulse in a
conscious way. If “someone on my team is not doing something the way I would
have done it, that doesn’t mean it’s bad. My job isn’t to rewrite or edit scenes to
the way I myself would have chosen to do it—my job is to take my team’s work
and make it the best possible version of what it can be. And make sure my team
gets to shine.” While doing that, leads also have to manage “the expectations and
needs of the game as a whole, the IP holder as relevant, the Creative Director’s
vision, etc.” Piece of cake, right? But to be serious, maintaining empathy for
your team and yourself is the hardest part of leading a writing team. It’s also the
most rewarding. Because if you’re lucky, you’ll handpick the writers and NDs
for your team and can choose people with talents you’re excited to nurture. The
hiring process can be a frustrating churn for everyone involved, so here’s another
place where empathy serves you well.

Building a Narrative Team

Remember how it felt to interview for a job when you were first starting out?
How intimidating the whole process feels? Yes? Then don’t be a jerk in inter­
views. Don’t create monstrous writing or design tests that waste candidates’ time.
Give applicants a fair chance when you’re reading writing tests. You might only
have a few stolen moments between meetings to look at resumes and read
through tests, I get that. But remember what it felt like to pour your heart into a
test for a job you really wanted and give each test your full attention and fair
consideration.
216 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Step 1: Assess Your Needs

The first thing you should do when you start putting together your narrative
team is assess the project needs. This means breaking it down by scope, schedule,
and skills.

■ Scope: How big is the project? How many tasks have a “long tail” that
includes passes by other teams like Cinematics, VFX, Audio, or Design?
How much is voiced and how much is text only? If you haven’t already
estimated your line count for the game, do some napkin math to assess the
total amount of work remaining. Output: A workload estimate in the form
of specific tasks and features.
■ Schedule: Look at the project road map.4 How much time do you have to
complete the work for each task or feature? (For example, recording dates are
usually set in stone because you have to book studio time, work with actors’
schedules, and process VO.) How fast does your current team produce work?
At that writing rate, how many people would you need to get all the work done
on time? (Again, get a producer to help you. They’re amazing at these kinds
of assessments.) Output: A staffing estimate, like “four writers and an ND.”
■ Skills: What abilities does the work require? Is it mostly screenwriting or
barks? Do you need someone to structure the story or create narrative sys­
tems and features? What skills does your team already have? What abilities
are missing, if any? Output: A list of skills and requirements, like the one in
job posts.

Step 2: Make a Hiring Plan

■ Assemble the information you’ve gathered into a hiring plan. “To do
X amount of work in Y time, I’ll need Z number of people who have
the following skills … ”
■ Meet with your lead and producer to review the plan and figure out a hiring
schedule. Your lead can help you determine what you should hire for. “We’d
need two mid-level writers and a narrative designer to do that amount of work
that fast.” Production will help you figure out when to bring the writers on and
will cross reference your needs with the budget. They might suggest alternatives
to hiring, such as codev or outsourced work. Output: A hiring schedule. “We’ll
hire a senior ND in the spring, a mid-level writer next summer,” etc.
■ Meet with Recruitment to review your needs and discuss the job require­
ments. Output: A job posting.

4
This is the Big Picture schedule for (ideally) the entire duration of the project, with deadlines
and publisher check-ins.
 Leadership ▪ 217

Note: I sometimes hear applicants complain that companies “don’t know

what they want” when they’re hiring, and I understand that it seems that
way. But needs are constantly shifting because the project scope has changed,
features got cut and new ones added, or internal priorities got revised. Hiring
managers sometimes have to adjust midstream when their “perfect”
candidate no longer matches the project needs. It’s tough on everybody,
especially the writers applying.

Step 3: Alternatives to Hiring

After coming up with a hiring plan and reviewing your budget, you might decide
there’s no need to hire FTEs. If the work is for a short period of time or for a
specific task like writing a story treatment, then you’re better off spending your
budget on short-term solutions. Hire a freelance writer for a limited contract.
Many talented writers prefer to set their schedules and rates and do “mercenary
work” on AAA projects. Some of the top talent in game dev works this way, so it’s
worth exploring your options. Kim Belair suggests rethinking the entire idea of
permanent hires or fixed contracts. If a studio says “‘Listen, we have only $10,000.
We can’t hire another writer.’ I think, ‘No, but you have $10,000 of a writer’s
time. How do you want to use that?’” Instead of a permanent role where writers
might spend half their time waiting for tasks to come available, leads can break the
work into focused, concrete tasks. “Do extra prep on your side to make sure that
$10,000 is fair to a worker who comes in for a little bit of time, makes changes that
you need, who gets credited, and who gets compensated,” Kim says. “If you can’t
hire full-on, make a contract, figure out what you need and scope it.” Another
solution is to hire writers for brief, onsite workshops. One AAA lead said their
studio had experimented with this solution and achieved great results.

We knew we wanted to bring some writers from outside the project

early on, since the concept was more ambitious than our previous
project. It involved several ideas that were outside our usual wheel­
house and required respect and care in their handling. We wanted to
mimic the writers’ room concept from TV to quickly generate and
validate ideas, but we couldn’t sustain that big of a writer headcount so
early in the project.

The studio found workshop writers by digging through the existing stack of ap­
plications from previous narrative hiring rounds. They chose their top candidates,
contracted them for a few weeks of brainstorming, and got the material they
needed quickly and efficiently.
218 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Step 4: Hiring
If there’s enough work for full-time writers, and there usually is on AAA projects, you’ll
likely hire several writers for your team. Every team will be different because every
project is different. When I’m putting together a narrative team, I’m looking for
completion. I hire to fill in missing abilities and round out the skill set of the entire
team. So let’s say you’re hiring for a fairly linear, narrative-driven game like TLOU.
You’ll need to hire strong cinematic writers, sure. But you’ll also need to hire people
good at narrative design and barks and coordination with other teams. Someone has to
write all the weapon and inventory text, and all the objectives and menus. That’s lot of
different types of writing, requiring different skills. Most game writers I know are
versatile and can write all in sorts of genres, styles, and formats. But that versatility
comes with experience. Most younger writers get in more time writing thousands of
barks and UI text and might not know how to craft an emotional cinematic where
every word is carved from gold. Think of the project holistically when you’re hiring.

Points to Consider When Hiring

■ Every manager and writer will have different taste when it comes to writing.
Try to get many different eyes on candidates’ work and make decisions based
on consensus, not personal preferences.
■ Check with your studio for training to avoid unconscious bias in hiring and
interviewing. I use a point system to assess each candidate. It helps me judge them
on their own merits rather than comparing them to each other. I give 0 or 1 point
for every stage of the hiring process. Great samples? 1 point. Solid writing test? 1
point. Terrible interview? 0 points. I sometimes give a final bonus point for
extraordinary work, effort, or knowledge. At the end of the process, if you’re torn
between several candidates, you have numbers to help you make your choice. Of
course, you’ll encounter dealbreakers along the way. I once had a candidate say he
didn’t “really care for video games.” Shockingly, he didn’t get the job.
■ I also recuse myself from the process when a friend is applying. I let a
director or a senior writer assess candidates in my stead. That way, I know
I’m not playing favorites or only hiring my cronies.

An All-Purpose Team
Whatever your specific staffing needs, most AAA narrative teams have some of the
following people:

■ Strong, skilled seniors who can bang out glorious, polished work quickly and
mentor the younger writers.
 Leadership ▪ 219

■ Mid-level writers to do the meat-and-potatoes work of bringing writing from

pitch to polished and attend meetings as team envoys.
■ Juniors to write a bajillion barks and UI text and process VO strings and
coordinate with localization. They should be drafting scenes and getting
feedback from the seniors so they can move up.
■ Contractors to swoop in and flesh out your world with vivid writing and
minimal oversight.
■ Narrative designers to plan and integrate your work.
■ You might need to outsource some work to other studios, so somebody will
have to oversee and coordinate that entire process.
■ You’ll need an editor to put that final gloss on everyone’s work because it’s
an endless sea of typos without them.
■ And everybody needs to evangelize the game and work with other teams.

Writing Tests
If you’re a senior or lead on a AAA project, you’re no doubt familiar with writing
tests. I discussed these at length back in Chapter 9, so I’ll only remind you to
design a test that you’d want to take. What that looks like will vary according to
your project’s needs. But keep it short. Respect the applicants’ time—and your
own. Ann says, “A good writing test will specifically focus on what was lacking
from a candidate’s portfolio, or will seek to be specific to your project as a last
check. Making a round of feedback and second submission part of the interview
process can help get a sense of a candidate’s personality and reactivity to feedback.”
You might decide that you don’t need to offer a writing test. If the writer or
designer has experience and you know their work is good, why put them through that
process just to tick a box? Alternatively, you could treat the test as a short contract.
James Phinney did exactly that when he was hiring writers for an unannounced
project. He didn’t have “infinite money” or a “guarantee of success” so he had to be
careful about who came on board permanently. He ended up “treating these as
small contracts rather than, hey, write a bunch of stuff for me for free so that I can
maybe get back to you and tell you no.” Phinney went with the best structure for
his project and studio, but it also allowed him take a chance on less experienced
writers. The writers got paid and they got real-world AAA experience and a credit.
Phinney got a small bit of work done for a reasonable cost and a chance to see what
the writers would do with an actual assignment. Everybody won!
Once you’ve hired your amazing team, you’ll need to onboard them and get
them set up for success. Follow your company’s standard processes, but make sure
they also have the Narrative-specific info they need. Give them a buddy to shadow
for training in the day-to-day. Do all the things you wanted done for you when
you started. That will always be your touchstone: remembering how it was for you
and fixing the problems you had back then.
220 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Running the Writers’ Room

Once your team is up and running, you’ll start holding writing summits to figure
out the story. Hopefully, you’ve had the chance to run a writers’ room before so
you’re prepared. If you’re not, and you don’t know what that process looks like,
here’s what to do:
Safety First: To have an effective writers’ room—heck, to have an effective
team—your writers need safety. They need to feel comfortable suggesting ideas
without fear of being laughed at. They need emotional safety to talk about difficult
subjects like rape and suicide without fear of disrespect or re-traumatization. And
they need room to talk out ideas without being dismissed, discounted, or talked
over. In a good writers’ room, amazing ideas come from anyone and everyone. Ed
agrees. “The best meetings are the ones where at the end of it you have a solution
so bloody obvious it looks stupidly simple once written down, but nobody knew it
at the start of the meeting, and everybody contributed towards it and it’s no one
person’s idea.” He told a story about spending all day trying to fix a cinematic
scene with designers, “racking our brains, trying to remember if this problem had
been solved in any other story in any other medium at any point in human his­
tory.” Finally, one of them said, “‘Wait … why doesn’t the character with the gun
just … shoot it?’ The most obvious, basic, game-ish action you could think of, and
we thought of it last.”
Share the Fun: As lead, you’ll usually run the show. You’ll drive the discussion,
bring up points to debate, keep conversation focused, ask questions to push ideas
along, and walk people through story logic to ensure it works. It’s an exhausting
role! But it’s also incredibly rewarding. Make sure you step aside occasionally and
give your team a shot at leading discussion, especially your seniors. Help them
grow and flourish. And not just in their work. You’re responsible for every aspect
of their work experience.

Crunch Part 2: Protecting Your Team

Crunch is hard on managers too. It’s tough to keep team spirits up when everyone
is physically exhausted and emotionally worn down. And while you might be
personally opposed to crunch, you could be asked to make your team crunch. If
that happens, you can become the focal point of their frustration and aggression,
whether or not that’s fair.
The number one thing you can do as a manager to help with crunch is to avoid
it. Schedule your work in such a way that you’ve built in massive time and resource
buffers against it. This requires working with your leads and producers to come up
with a plan, a fallback plan, a Plan C, and an emergency contingency plan to
protect against the issues that lead to crunch. Be loud about wanting to avoid it. If
you work at a pro-crunch studio, share articles and studies that show how
 Leadership ▪ 221

ineffective crunch is and propose strategies like harder downscoping or out­

sourcing. However, despite all your best efforts, the entire project might end up
in crunch and your team will be asked to work overtime. What can you do in
that situation?

■ Talk honestly to your team about what it means. If you’ve built a good
relationship with them, they should be comfortable sharing their concerns.
■ Even if the project is in crunch, you might be able to find solutions or
shortcuts to lessen your team’s load. Put everyone’s heads together and
strategize.
■ Find solutions that fit your team. Maybe there are writers who can’t work
extra hours. Maybe some can work long hours only twice a week or on
weekends. There’s no one size fits all for crunch. See if you can tailor the
extra time to people’s needs as much as possible. Be flexible.
■ Take no for an answer. You have to be okay with someone on your team not
wanting to crunch. What if they have young children at home? Or they’re
taking night classes? Or they understand the health risks and just don’t want
to do it? Be okay with a no and defend your team.

An especially tricky part of being on Narrative is that our crunch comes before
everyone else’s. We often enter Production while other teams are enjoying the
relative freedom and languor of Prepro. By the time other teams start crunching,
we’re talking to loc, dealing with bug fixes, and planning for DLC and sequels. Or,
worst case scenario, we’re still crunching and are already worn out. It can look
like writers are leaving early when the rest of the team is staying late, or that
Narrative is being sour about a “few weeks” of overtime. Here are some tips to raise
the visibility of your team’s hard work:

■ Be ostentatious about your team’s deliverables and deadlines. I get up in

people’s faces about the fact that my team is crunching when nobody else
is. Keep it funny, keep it light, and don’t point any fingers, but make
your point.
■ Call out the fact that Narrative is the canary in the coalmine. If we’re
crunching now, they’ll be crunching later. Not only does this spotlight your
team’s extra efforts, it can bring scoping problems into focus early and
(ideally!) help the project to change course so nobody else has to go through
what you are.
■ Propose cuts. You’ll have to make some hard choices about what your team
can and cannot do. If you’re looking at crunch, revisit your narrative
plan and see what work you can cut. Take the revised plan to your lead,
or Production, or anyone who has the power to enact change. Explain the
situation and propose alternatives to working more. Maybe now’s the time
to suggest outsourcing or contract work.
222 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Whatever solutions you arrive at from these steps, you’ve made leadership
aware of the problems and fought for your team’s well-being.

Work-Life Balance
It’s super easy to burn out as an ambitious lead, so maintaining balance is
critical. For your own health, of course, but also because you’re modeling work
habits for your team. Trust me, they notice when you tell them not to work
overtime, and then you send emails all weekend. Or when you tell your writers
to leave on time, but you stay until 8:00 PM every night. Make it easy for
them to advocate for themselves by practicing what you preach.

CHALLENGE

Create a hiring plan for a AAA project. Pick an existing game to plan for.
For this exercise, I recommend a smaller title like Stardew Valley’s core game.
Follow the steps I outlined in this chapter.

■ Break the game down into its various features: NPCs, conversation
systems, seasonal content, etc. Give yourself two years to make the
game.
■ Assess your needs with scope, schedule, and skills. Your goal is to
determine how many writers and NDs you’d need to do all that
work. (Yes, I know Barone did all the work himself. He says it was
hard, lonely work, so let’s not be him.)
■ Put together a dream team based on your assessment. How many
senior writers would you need? How many narrative system designers?
How long would you need them for?
■ Write job ads for each of your dream team members. Make sure
you’re covering every skill set you’ll need.

Now do that for your own project. Enjoy meeting all the wonderful,
talented folks who will apply for the roles.
Chapter 15

Moving On

Successful companies are not always stable and stable companies are
not always successful. If you’re lucky, you might get to work for one
that’s both.
—Josh Scherr, Narrative Director, Crop Circle Games

What happens when you’re stuck in a role that’s losing its zest? Maybe there’s
no promotion on the horizon, or perhaps you got one and the role isn’t what
you hoped. What if you’re working on a project that doesn’t interest you?
Or what if you’re bored and long for something new? There are countless
reasons people decide to move on. During the pandemic, record numbers of
people moved jobs. They had time to sit and think about their lives, or they
realized their current workplace didn’t value them, or they simply got a better
offer somewhere else. Whatever the reason, there was a Great Exodus by the
workforce in recent years as people left to find more rewarding work. The
games industry experienced it too. Almost every day, I’d see someone announce
a new job or a new role. But taking that risk can be scary. You don’t want to
quit your job in a fit of frustration or exuberance and not have something lined
up. Always try to have a new gig lined up before leaving your old job. I
understand that sometimes you’re in a toxic situation and have to get out
immediately. That’s understandable. In emergencies like that, your health and
safety come first, so do what you gotta do. But in situations where it’s a matter
of being bored or ambitious or simply eager to see what else is out there, don’t
leap without a safety net. It can take a while to get your next gig, so start
planning ahead. But how do you know if leaving is the best choice? And how
do you know when it’s the right time to move on?

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-16 223

224 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

The Right Time

Every few months, check in with yourself. Remember why you got into games?
Your north star? See if it’s still burning bright. Are you still motivated by the same
things as before, or have you found a new aspect of the game dev universe to love?
It’s okay if you have! It means you’re growing and learning new skills. That’s a
wonderful thing. If that’s the case, ask if your current job feeds your new interest.
Are you doing work you care about? Are you being paid the wage you want? Do
you have opportunities to grow? Whatever you desire, are you getting it? If the
answer is yes, then you’re good. Possibly chat with your lead about ways to get
more of what you enjoy. But if the answer is no, then it might be time to move on.

Just Looking
I joke that I’m always looking for my next gig because I keep an eye on what’s out
there, even when I’m happy where I am. There’s no harm in looking, and it’s
healthy to see a tempting job and do a temperature check on your situation. If
nothing else, it will reaffirm that you’re where you want to be right now. As long as
you’re discreet about it, there’s no problem. You’ll meet some new people, poke
your head out of your project bubble long enough to see what else is out there, and
come back to your work with a fresh sense of commitment. Or you might see your
dream job and be grateful that you were alert and didn’t miss the opportunity to go
for it because your head was buried in a project you were only so-so about. Reading
job ads also lets me glimpse what other studios are working on, even if I don’t
apply there. It’s a good way to keep up with how Narrative roles are evolving.
There are some writing roles I’d never heard of until I started snooping around for
this book. Story manager was a new one for me, but it makes sense when I read the
job description.
If you’re considering a change, go back and follow the steps in Chapter 3 to
start your job hunt. Research the possibilities available to you now that you have
experience. Maybe nothing will catch your eye. In that case, try to fix whatever’s
making you dissatisfied with your current situation. But maybe you’ll see a project
or role that lights you up and makes you feel the excitement that’s withered on
your current project. Maybe you’ll find an easier commute, or a higher salary, or a
chance to switch your specialization. When something piques your interest and
lights you up inside, you’ll know it’s time.

Working While Applying

Before you rush in and apply to a studio, go back and look at your contract again.
Now’s the time to thank Past You for negotiating so hard. Good job, you! Refresh
 Moving On ▪ 225

your memory on the different binding clauses. You’re looking for two things: your
notice period and the noncompete clause.

■ Noncompete Clause: Look for language about not working for competitors
in certain geographical regions or for any corporate affiliates. When I was a
freelancer, one company tried to limit the work I could do for other studios
by genre, mechanics, and themes until their game shipped. Obviously, I
pushed back because it would’ve ended my career. If the game I was working
on had never been released, then technically that clause would have kept
from me from legally working on a project again. We know from Pete’s
advice that clauses like that are often unenforceable, but still. Scary stuff!
Most noncompete clauses are regional. They’re meant to keep you from
leaving one studio with top-secret info and walking across the street to work
for another studio. Those clauses are very rarely enforced. Writers ping-pong
from studio to studio within major game hubs without retribution from
studios. It seems like every writer in Montreal has worked for every studio in
the city at some point. Even so, you’re technically violating your contract
and that always makes you vulnerable.
■ Notice Period: This one’s straightforward. How far in advance do you have
to submit your notice? In the United States, with at-will contracts, it’s
usually 2–6 weeks. In Europe, it’s usually much longer. It’s not unusual to
see notice periods of 3–6 months, especially for hard-to-fill senior roles. Look
carefully at the language around the notice period to make sure you
understand the process. Do you have to give notice in writing? Do they need
to sign off before it’s official? Are there any penalties incurred by your
leaving? For example, the company might require you to repay a percentage
of your relocation costs if you leave within the first year. Make sure you
understand exactly what your leaving means and decide if it’s still worth it.

Make a New Plan

Once you know the fine print of leaving your studio, you can start to plan. First,
look for a new gig. Remember that it can take a while to go through a studio’s
hiring process. Get started early. Send in your resume or application, and then
figure out your timeline.

■ Timeline: When I’m planning, I give myself six months from the time
I start looking to the time I start working. The equation is “however long
you think it will take to get to the contract-signing point” plus the time of
your notice. Add extra time for relocation. So, let’s say three months to
find a job, two months of notice, and a month to pack and relocate. That’s
six months if everything goes right and you find a job right away. It might
226 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

happen much faster. You could tell a friend you’re looking and get a job
offer from their studio within dayss. Or you could have trouble finding
a project you want to work on and spend six months just waiting for the
right project to come along. Make sure you plan for the worst-case scenario
and budget your time carefully.

A NOTE ON ANGER

Sometimes you’re looking for a job because you’re angry about your current
situation and you want to let work know that you don’t need them, screw
you, boss, I’m outta here! I get it. If you’ve been mistreated at a studio, it’s
especially tempting as a means to take back some power and even the score
a bit. But it’s not going to help your situation to act out like that. Save it for
your letter of resignation.

Be Discreet
If you’re applying for a job while you’re working, I advise discretion. Most em-
ployers aren’t going to be thrilled that you’re out talking to other studios. It’s
perfectly legal—and I would argue normal and healthy—to explore opportunities,
but many employers view it as risky behavior or a lack of commitment on your
part. My advice is to wait until you’re serious about an opportunity. If you have to
take off work for an interview, you don’t need to announce it to the team or tell
your lead. An appointment is an appointment and that’s all anyone needs to know.

References and Samples

References are especially tricky when you’re looking for work and you’re not telling
your current employer. You can’t show your current NDAed work as samples,
and you don’t want your potential employer to contact your studio and reveal that
you’re exploring your options—especially if you haven’t landed the job yet. So,
what should you do?
For samples, fill your portfolio with work from other projects and possibly write a
custom piece or two in a similar style to the work you’re currently doing. Do not do
not DO NOT violate your NDA at this stage. I cannot stress it enough. Showing
current work while you’re under NDA is extremely dangerous—especially if the
game hasn’t shipped or been announced. Leaks happen that way. Be careful how you
handle anything that could be construed as a breach of contract. You won’t impress
either company that way and could sabotage both your current gig and any future
 Moving On ▪ 227

work. I interviewed a writer once who desperately wanted off a bad project. He
wanted to work somewhere that would treat him “like he was human.” We were very
sympathetic to his plight, but during the interview he broke his NDA over and over.
He revealed so much about the (unreleased) game that I came out of the interview
knowing the entire plot. The producer on our call vetoed him as soon as we hung up.
“Poor guy,” he said. “But absolutely not.” So don’t do it. Better to show older
samples or personal work than to risk it. If you explain that you’re under NDA,
hiring managers will understand.
If you need references, either confide in your lead or a senior team member.
Anyone you trust to keep your secrets. But it’s also okay to just acknowledge that
your current company isn’t aware you’re looking. It happens all the time, trust me.

The Big Decision

So you interviewed for another job and reached an understanding with the new
studio. They like you; you like them; everyone’s excited about you joining the
project. They send you an offer letter and it looks great. What do you do? This is
the big moment. It’s real, now. You have to choose. I hope you’ve been checking
your options and emotions all along to know that you’re taking the right steps. But
now, check your feelings one last time. Just to be safe. Do you feel overwhelming
joy and relief? Then sign that offer letter and get things rolling! If you’re not happy,
then ask yourself why. Maybe you’re not as ready to leave as you think you are? If
so, that’s okay! For most people, leaving a job is bittersweet. It’s especially hard if
you’ve been at the company for a long time or if you’re leaving from frustration.
It’s perfectly fine to ask for time to think things over.

Leverage
If you decide you’re not ready to leave after all, don’t just chuck that job offer in
the bin. Use the opportunity as leverage. Maybe you want a promotion? Maybe
you want more ownership? One writer used their leverage to secure a four-day
work week, remember? It’s a well-known industry truth that the fastest way to
increase your salary is by hopping studios—use that fact to your advantage. Decide
what you want, then go to your current company and let them know you have
another offer. See if they’re willing to make the changes you need. Maybe they can
fix the problem that made you want to leave in the first place. Most studios, if
they’re happy with your work, will try to match the offer. If they can’t or won’t,
then it’s decision time again. You can still stay, but you’ve lost this negotiation if
you come out empty-handed. And they might not take future threats to leave
seriously. If they say they can’t offer you anything now, but promise you a raise at a
future point: get it in writing. Negotiate hard. However, be prepared to walk away
228 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

if you can’t get the changes you want and it’s unbearable to stay. Hopefully, you’re
moving toward a better situation. One ND asked for a raise so that their salary
would be the same as a new ND who’d just been hired. The studio told them to be
patient. Instead, they applied to a studio in the United States and took the job.
They’re happier and more fulfilled in their new role—a role the old studio said
they weren’t ready for. “They did give me a raise, just before I left, to about 500
USD a year higher than the new narrative designer. I found that really pitiful. I
make 1.5x more now than my salary at my old studio, even including the raise.”

At the Crossroads—Two Perspectives

Careers are made or broken in that electric moment when an offer letter arrives.
Should I stay or should I go? Both options have their pros and cons. Personally,
I’m very much a “devil you don’t know” kind of writer. I’ll always take the new job
because if it’s hell, at least it’s a fresh hell. And it might be a dream job! But I’m a
risktaker, and I have more freedom to move around than most people do. It’s
common for devs to stay at studios for 5, 10, even 20 years. They make deep
friendships, ride the ups and down with the company. and it’s the right choice for
them. Both paths are valid, so how do you choose? I chatted to some Lifers and
Leavers about their decisions.

Lifers
What makes someone stay at a studio year after year? Sometimes it’s hard to leave,
even when you know it’s the best thing for you. Mikki was at Remedy for ten years
before making the big leap to another studio. “There was a lot of emotional
attachment for me,” he said. “And, to be honest, a really fulfilling attachment.
Something really worthwhile. Something that I still miss quite a bit sometimes.”
He was aware that “this can be an industry that’s kind of crappy to storytelling and
writers,” so he wasn’t confident leaving would land him in a better place. So, is it
fear and inertia that make people stay? Not so, says Ed. For him, it’s the challenge.
“The projects kept getting bigger and more challenging and I wanted to know if
and how I could do it. The studio (Splash Damage) and the games have grown
enormously over that time, so it hasn’t felt like standing still.” Josh said much the
same thing. He worked at Naughty Dog for over 21 years because he had “a
consistent progression of new and interesting challenges. Plus compared to my jobs
in feature animation, I had a ton of creative freedom.” At previous jobs, he felt
“like the proverbial cog in the machine” but then, all of a sudden, he was at a
studio where “you were encouraged to put your own stamp on the project, express
yourself, and grow beyond your job description, so long as you were helping and
not hindering.” When a studio gives you the support and resources to experiment
 Moving On ▪ 229

and try new techniques, it’s mind-blowing to creators. Both writers appreciated the
opportunity to develop their skills and, as Ed said, “develop deep institutional
knowledge and muscle memory. Whether you realize it or not, newer hires will
regard you as the custodian of the studio’s Special Sauce.”
On the downside, one veteran writer says the experience you gain might not be
good or useful in the wider industry. It’s easy to fall behind the latest innovations
in our craft—and game narrative evolves fast these days. “Stay too long you get
taken for granted. Always think: ‘If they had to replace me and my skills and
experience with a new hire, what would it cost them?’” they added. Josh advises
anyone who feels like they’re stagnating to move on. “The goal in your early career
should be to get a good broad range of experiences. I was lucky and managed to do
that at one studio for two decades. If you feel like you’re stuck in a rut and there’s
an opportunity for you to grow somewhere else, so long as your circumstances
allow for it, then that’s what you should be aiming for.”

Leavers
I’ve already explained several reasons why writers get the itch to move on, but are
boredom or ambition the only motivations? One writer says they felt they had
no choice.

To be completely honest, I’ve found it absolutely necessary to move on

from a job when you hit a ceiling. At each studio I’ve been at, there’s
been a moment—whether it’s been a stagnation of raises to the point
of bringing me below industry standard, or the reluctance to give me a
promotion or more responsibility, or even just the feeling that I can’t
grow as a writer anymore in the current environment—when I’ve said,
“Okay, it’s time to move on.” I think we’re conditioned to think that
loyalty to a single company for many years will always reward us in the
end, but I’ve seen so many talented writers who are underpaid and
underpromoted because they stay with a studio that doesn’t value them

Leaving a studio comes at a cost, as Mikki said. It’s a gamble for the writer and a
loss for the studio. As a contractor, Kim has to leave over and over again. “I’ll work
with someone as a contractor on a team, and we have an incredible rapport. We
made something really good. Okay, bye now. They’re going to stay there because
the project was successful. They’re going to stay where I can no longer collaborate
with them because I’m going on to other stuff.” She says the industry can’t “value
collaboration and creativity in any way because these structures are in place.” But
until those structures change and there’s greater inter-studio collaboration, leaving
a studio means leaving behind your friends and work you’ve poured your heart
into, perhaps for years. Either path you choose, it’s not easy.
230 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

How to Leave
If you make the call to leave, you’ll have to submit a resignation letter. Or rather,
email. My advice is to keep it crisp and professional. A short paragraph explaining
that you’ve accepted another role and will be leaving on whatever date you’ve
specified with the other company. I like to very clearly state that I’m giving my
three-months’ notice to invoke the terms of my contract. I’m ashamed to say that I
have written some passive-aggressive resignation letters in the past, filled with
unhelpful complaints and grievances as explanations for why I was leaving. I cringe
to think of them now. Don’t do it. Your studio will likely have an exit interview
with you. You can provide feedback or vent or air your grievances in that forum.
The recruiters expect it and it’s the appropriate forum for it. If you prefer to have
your complaints in writing as you leave, you can email them a written document of
your feedback. But again, keep it professional. Think about how you’d feel if the
letter was read out loud in a court of law. That should guide your wording.
However, this doesn’t apply if you’re leaving because of abuse or harassment. Say
whatever you want because that ain’t right. I’d still advise you to apply the court-
of-law standard and stick to the facts, but hey. I understand if you can’t.
Your resignation is also the appropriate stage to lock down permissions for
samples. Have discussions with your studio about what work you can and abso-
lutely cannot share. If they say you can’t share anything, then try to pry some
concessions from them. What if you share work after the game releases? Can you
share it if you scrub the serial numbers off? Work with them to reach an agree-
ment. And get it in writing. It’s easier to secure this now and in person than it will
be three years down the road when the current team is gone and nobody re-
members your contributions. Also, be careful if you’re downloading documents for
your own records. Do that, for certain, but make sure you understand what your
NDA covers and what you’re free to take with you. You don’t want to accidentally
abscond with company secrets.
That brings me to another critical point: credits. Hopefully, you secured an
agreement during contract negotiations. If you didn’t, lock that down now.
Again, in writing. When it comes time to submit names for the credits, you’ll be
long gone and the memory of your contributions will have faded. Even places
with the best intentions might not correctly recall all you accomplished. And, to
be blunt, there are cases when someone left because of harassment or bullying,
and their harasser was in charge of compiling the credits. Bullies can and do
retaliate by diminishing your credit or changing it altogether. In many cases, a
game’s history gets rewritten to erase people a manager doesn’t like. Sometimes
out of a personal grudge and sometimes out of a desire to take credit for their
work. What I’m trying to say is that once you’re gone, all bets are off for credits.
There are a million things that could happen to deprive you of the credit you
earned. Don’t leave until you’ve reached an understanding. Don’t leave it to
chance. Know in advance what you’ll be credited for. Regardless of how you’re
 Moving On ▪ 231

credited—or if you’re left out of the credits—you can still list the job in your
resume. The work you did there is valid.

Paperwork
Once you’ve resigned, you’ll have to fill out a metric crapton of paperwork to leave.
Danger danger danger! Be very careful what you’re signing. If you negotiated hard
with your contract, don’t ruin everything by signing away any rights now. If you’re
not leaving on good terms, especially don’t sign anything that binds you to arbi-
tration, puts a gag order on you, or any other limiting factor you don’t want.
Remember, you’re already leaving. There’s no reason to sign anything like this!
Most companies only ask you to confirm that you’re leaving on a specific date and
have returned any company property. That’s the sort of final paperwork you
should feel comfortable signing.

Don’t Burn Bridges

I’ve given a lot of worst-case scenarios in this chapter, but most of the time you’re
going to leave a studio amicably. Game devs come and go from the same studio
many times in their career. You night work at one company, leave for another
project, then come back when you’re done. I’ve worked at Ubisoft twice, on two
different continents. And there are several studios from my past that I’d happily
work for again. Keep that door open if you can. It wasn’t the right project or role
for you now, but it might be in the future.

Take a Break
What if you’re not happy where you are, but you’re not ready to leave yet? You’re not
a Lifer or Leaver, you’re a … Lifever? Leafer? You’re someone who just wants a break.
In that case, chat with your lead and see if your studio offers any sort of sabbatical
program. Maybe they’re happy to let you take off for three months to study or travel
or take on a short contract. Academia is a popular side gig for narrative folks and the
path that many of us choose when we’re ready to leave the industry for good. Mary
taught some game-writing classes while working at Insomniac. She had to teach on
top of her regular responsibilities, but it was “a great chance to reconnect with best
practices in narrative design outside of my own studio and team.” But don’t go into
teaching thinking it’s an escape. Academia has its own set of problems and politics.
Hazel says that she “left academia because, believe it or not, it is more precarious and
exploitative than the game industry.” She’s “eternally thankful I managed to build a
fulfilling career outside of academia.”
232 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

When I was burned out, I took a break and worked outside AAA for a bit. I
contributed to art installations, ghostwrote a memoir, designed a serious game, and
wrote two (abysmal) novels. It was exactly what I needed. I went from feeling dead
inside and thinking I didn’t have another major game in me, to exploding with
creative energy. I came back to AAA and did some of the best work of my life.
If it’s a possibility for you, I highly recommend it.

On Repeat
So there you are! One way or another you shouldn’t come out of this chapter
unchanged. Maybe you moved on to a new studio or negotiated a better situation
where you are. Or perhaps you simply stepped back and found new avenues for
fulfillment. You will find yourself at this crossroads time and time again in your
career. You should make it a habit to question your comfort every year. Lift your
head and scent the air. See if new adventures are right for you. The decisions you
make—stay or go, here or there—link together over time to form the golden line
of a long career. I wish you joy in your choices.

CHALLENGE
■ Follow the steps for finding work in Chapter 3. Apply for any role that
interests you.
■ Do the initial phone screen with the recruiter.
■ If it seems like what you want, continue through the hiring process.
■ If you get an offer, weigh your pros and cons. What are you giving up if
you leave? What can you get there that you don’t have now?
■ If you’re unsure of what to do, talk to your current lead about your offer.
See if they’re willing to sweeten the pot.
■ Make your decision to stay or leave. READ YOUR CONTRACT before
you resign.
■ Enjoy your farewell party OR your improved work situation.
Chapter 16

International Work

You should go on a trip of some kind. Might be good for you.

–Joseph Campbell, probably

When you’re thinking of writing work in the games industry, especially AAA, you
probably think of the big studios in the United States: Naughty Dog, Sony Santa
Monica, Insomniac, Blizzard, Riot, Crystal Dynamics, and places like that. There
are a few key game hubs in the United States—Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, and
Austin are the biggest ones. And there are plenty of smaller studios scattered around
the country. These studios seem to dominate the headlines and get outsize attention
because of their big blockbuster games. Living in one of these regions is a distinct
advantage because there’s a gaming network built up in these areas. If you’re
unhappy at Blizzard you can hop over to Riot. If you’re tired of working at
Bioware, you can talk to Arkane. There’s a high demand for games industry folks
and being local gives greater access to opportunities. Or maybe you live in the
US and dream of working in a European studio with their legendary healthcare
and vacation benefits—or maybe studios in China, Japan, or Korea are more
your dream. Maybe you live in a country with no video game companies or
opportunities at all and dream of moving anywhere that has a vibrant gaming
hub—like the cluster of studios in Montreal. Whatever your circumstance, re­
locating to a tech hub gives you an advantage in finding work. Heck, I once
found a games job through the Seattle Craigslist. It was that easy.
Of course, not everyone can pick up and move their entire life for work. Older
writers especially, who might have partners or kids in school, can’t simply sell their
homes and relocate to an expensive tech hub halfway around the world on a whim.
Relocation disrupts their kids’ lives, costs a fortune, and often means leaving your
support groups behind. And what about your partner? Maybe they like their

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-17 233

234 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

current job. Maybe they don’t want to move. Relocating for a job comes with big
changes and many unknowns. Even when you’re fairly fancy-free, like myself, it
means leaving behind the friends, connections, and familiar routine to start a
new life in an unfamiliar culture. This can be a real hassle for reasons ranging
from the logistical to personal. At the time of this writing, I have bank accounts in
three countries and have to shuffle money between them for various bills and
obligations.

Remote Work
One of the only good things to come out of the pandemic is that we proved remote
work is viable long term. AAA studios that were once sticklers for in-studio work
have loosened their requirements for working offsite. That makes working at these
big US studios possible in a way it hasn’t been before. When you’re applying for a
job and you know you can only work remotely, have that conversation with the
studio at the start of the hiring process. I’ve heard people say to wait for an offer
and then see if the studio will let you work remotely. Maybe they’ll be so blown
away by your brilliance that they’ll let you work from wherever. While it’s possible
this could happen on (extremely) rare occasions, most companies are unlikely to
change the working arrangement on a case-by-case basis. That’s because
hiring—especially international hiring—involves numerous political and legal
considerations. For example, some governments offer tax breaks to incentivize
game studios to set up base there.1 Tara warns that “these benefits sometimes come
with hiring requirements, so the company might be legally obligated to search for
candidates locally first.” Make sure you know the restrictions for a gig before you
enter the lengthy AAA hiring process. Companies like Bungie can only hire remote
workers from certain US states. Other companies can only offer remote roles to
independent contractors. And contract work means you lose all the benefits that
come with full-time AAA roles. Maybe that’s fine with you! But go into the process
with all of those issues resolved so you don’t waste time applying for a job you can’t
take.

Applying for International Work

Global job aggregators like GrackleHQ have made it easy to find international
work. If there’s a specific country you want to move to then GameDevMap helps

1
The Kerryman. “Tax breaks for video game firms can open a door for Kerry.” Kerry
Newsletter/Independent.i.e. 18 May 2022. https://www.independent.ie/regionals/kerryman/
business/tax-breaks-for-video-game-firms-can-open-a-door-for-kerry-41663305.html
 International Work ▪ 235

you find studios there. But before you start applying for an international job, it’s
good to know what the country’s visa requirements are. Some countries require
that studios prove your expertise to justify hiring you over local candidates. That
proof usually comes in the form of your education and employment history. If
you’re applying for a Special Expert visa, common for work in the EU and
Nordics, you’ll need to submit diplomas and contracts representing years of work.
The application process for international work can take a long time and cost a lot
of money, so definitely find out upfront what you’re in for. Talk to the recruiter
about this stuff before you get too far into the process. Here are some good
questions to ask:

■ Is remote work an option for this job?

■ Who qualifies for remote work?
■ Does the studio pay for relocation?
■ What does the typical relocation package include?
■ If I relocate, what type of visa does this job require?
■ How long does a typical relocation take?
■ Does the studio have any requirements outside of the standard application
process?

This last point is particularly important because some companies require a back­
ground check that can double the length of your relocation time. It’s good to know
your timeline so you can plan accordingly. For example, I usually give myself three
months to find another job (a standard notice period), but I add another three
months on top of that for international relocation. That means I might start
looking for work six months (or more!) before I actually leave the studio. A gap this
long means planning way ahead.

Relocation
When I started at Ubi, the guy who hired me was a creative director
who knew he was a bad fit for his job. He hired me to replace him. He
had offers from a bunch of companies. He told me, “I’m not that great,
I’m just willing to relocate.” I think about that conversation a lot.
–Palle Hoffstein, Producer at Ubisoft Massive

Let’s say you’ve talked to the studio, you’re excited to relocate, and you’re ready to
get that process started. What do you do now? No clue, right? Luckily, most AAA
companies are familiar with the process and have trained professionals who can
walk you through the paperwork. Some studios offer more support before you
move; some offer more support after the move. There are advantages to both
236 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

approaches—and tons of paperwork you’ll have to figure out—regardless of what

help you get. Let’s go through this step by step.
Relocation Package: Usually, your relocation package is written into your
offer letter or contract. Some companies offer a lump sum that you can spend
however you want and some companies have preferred moving services that will
move up to a set cubic amount of your belongings for you. Some companies pay
for the whole shebang and all you have to do is get yourself and your family/pets
there. But for lead roles and down, you’ll usually have to make arrangements
yourself. Find out what your studio covers and what you have to sort out on your
own. Tara says it’s easier to negotiate “a better moving package than a higher
salary, so if they won’t budge on the latter, push for more on the former. Moving
internationally is expensive, and you will end up eating into your own funds
quicker than you anticipate.” Research your travel costs and the local cost of living
for your studio to get an estimate for your move, and use those figures to make the
case for more money. Unless you travel light, most packages don’t cover enough.
I’m happy if I break even on costs for an international move.
Passports: you will need a valid passport to travel. This is a long, multistep
process that you should start immediately if you don’t already have one. Apply
through your country’s state department (or equivalent) and follow their
instructions carefully. The passport industry is rife with scams, so be very wary of
fake document services. Make sure you’re going through a reliable, accredited
service before you hand over sensitive documents like your birth certificate or
identification card.
Visas: As I mentioned above, you’ll need a visa to work in another country.
They come in all flavors and types, but they’re basically permission to live and
(importantly!) work in that country. You’ll have to supply documentation
ranging from diplomas to travel history to proof of sponsorship from your
company. Sometimes you’ll get a temporary visa that will allow you to enter the
country and pick up your final visa once you arrive. Sometimes you’ll get stuck
in limbo between two countries while they issue your permanent visa before
entering. There are also tricky timing issues associated with the visa—when you
can enter the country, how long in advance you can apply for one, and how
recently you’ve visited the region. It’s a bureaucratic labyrinth, but most com­
panies help you navigate it. If not, ask for professional relocation assistance as
part of your reloc package. Trust me, you don’t want to mess this up. One US
game writer moved to Australia to work for a small studio there. The studio was
new and unfamiliar with the visa process and flubbed his paperwork. The
writer’s visa expired, unbeknownst to him, and he got thrown into a detention
center (jail!) for several weeks while they decided his fate. He ended up being
deported to the United States and barred from returning to Australia. Needless
to say, the experience was incredibly traumatizing. Don’t let this happen to you.
Don’t risk getting any detail wrong. Have a professional walk you through the
process step by step.
 International Work ▪ 237

A SIDE NOTE ON VISAS AND IMMIGRATION

If you’ve only lived in your home country, you have no idea how hard most
countries make it to emigrate. Visas are one way to weed out applicants. If
you don’t have an advanced degree, you’ll have to compensate for it with
work experience. Tara says Germany required two years of work experience
for every year of a degree she lacked. The United States has even stricter
requirements. If you want an O-visa for “individuals with extraordinary
ability” 2 or H-1B visa, which is the kind they give to skilled tech workers
and game designers, then for every year of college, you need to have three
years of experience. 3 Clara notes, “Here’s where that diploma comes in
handy, because without it you’ll need the equivalent of sixteen years of work
history.” That’s a significant obstacle. It’s not like you can suddenly come up
with a degree or experience, so international relocation might be closed to
some writers.
Evan says that “government bureaucracy is way scarier” when you’re
working in a foreign country. “As a native citizen of a country, the
government has an implied obligation to you. They almost owe you a
certain level of protection, as a member of their state. But those
relationship dynamics are completely different for migrants. They don’t
owe you that same protection, and both sides know it.” This was brought
home to him when he lost his UK visa and had to get a replacement. All
his travel plans got canceled when he was forbidden to leave the country.
“It was a bureaucratic nightmare for a long time. And I was lucky enough
to actually get the replacement in the end. But if I lost my equivalent in
the US, which would be a driver’s license, it would be replaced in a week.”
He says it’s not just the red tape. “You get treated differently in different
parts of the world. In some ways that can be better, but in some ways it’s
unexpected and worse.”
Tara recommends that you “get multiple certified copies of every single
important document you could possibly ever want” before moving. If you
can, “get all of these certified with a notary or apostille. Stick the documents
in a giant expandable folder” and tote it everywhere you go for the first year
of living abroad. “You never know when you are going to need a specific
document, and sometimes they absolutely will not tell you ahead of the

2
US Citizenship and Immigration Services. “O-1 Visa: Individuals with Extraordinary Ability
or Achievement.” Accessed 20 August 2022. O-1 Visa: Individuals with Extraordinary Ability
or Achievement | USCIS.
3
Shihab & Associates. “Degree Equivalency & Work Experience.” Accessed 20 August 2022.
https://www.shihabimmigrationfirm.com/employment-based-immigration/h-1b-visas/degree-
equivalency-work-experience/
238 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

appointment that it is critical that you have it with you for the appointment.
Don’t have the document and you may end up with costly delays in setting
up essential services.” Be prepared for any type of bureaucratic demand. In
fact, be overprepared.

Biometrics: In this digital age, you’ll be asked to provide biometric informa­

tion as part of the visa application. That’s a fancy word for fingerprint and facial
scans. You can only get these done at specific, limited locations. This can be a dicey
part of your relocation process. You must go to an embassy or consulate of the
country you’re moving to, which might be located quite far from where you live.
Appointments must be made in advance (no walk-ins) and they’re usually booked
solid for weeks (or months) in advance. I lucked out when I moved to Finland
from the United States because I lived in Washington, DC. I was able to stroll
downtown, get my biometrics done, and return home a few hours later. In Sweden,
I had to take a train and stay overnight in Stockholm for a next-day appointment
at the British visa agency there. And in Canada, I was stuck in airport limbo with
two scared cats while authorities quickly threw together a temporary visa for me.
My advice is to triple-check your documentation before going. If you’re missing
anything, they can’t process your application. Then you’ll have to rebook your
appointment and do the whole process all over again. Don’t take chances!
Hidden Fees: All that paperwork I just mentioned costs money. You’ll need to
pay for passport pictures, processing, and delivery. Visa applications can be en­
ormously expensive. The United Kingdom requires that certain applicants pay for
five years of NHS services in advance, on top of standard application and pro­
cessing fees. And if you go for biometrics, you’re potentially paying for flights,
hotels, and meals on top of the processing fees. Add all of this up and you can be
looking at fees ranging from 5000 to 10,000 USD upfront. Many agencies don’t
accept credit cards, so you’ll need cash in the bank. This might be a deal-breaker
for many writers, who rarely have stacks of gold piled in a vault. Talk to your
company about including these costs in your relocation package. They absolutely
should. A standard arrangement is for writers to pay all the costs and then get
reimbursed for expenses on arrival. But if you don’t have enough money to cover
the costs until then, ask for a prepaid credit card to cover the costs. Explain your
situation and talk through options with them. Be clear that you can’t move
without their help, and they’ll find a way.
Household Moving: Now comes the hard part: what to take with you. Once
again, check your package to make sure you understand what the company does
and does not cover. If they’re paying for movers, what’s the limit on what you can
pack? If you’re paying for movers, what’s your budget? Depending on where you’re
moving to, you’ll have a wide range of options from packing it all yourself, to pods
and shipping containers that you load and they move, to full-service movers who
 International Work ▪ 239

wrap and pack everything for you. Just remember that if a price seems too good to
be true, it probably is. Look for hidden costs like harbor fees, ship-to-door costs,
and insurance. Price isn’t your only concern, as international shipping is
unsurprisingly riddled with scams and shady companies. It might cost a bit more
to ship with reputable movers, but at least you know your stuff will arrive intact.
As for packing itself, keep in mind that countries have voltage differences.
Unless it’s an unusual electrical item (a beloved antique lamp, for example), you’re
better off ditching your appliances and buying all new ones there. I know it’s hard
to part with belongings, but embrace the spirit of adventure and replace your
household items with products from your new country. If you got rid of everything
you could bear to part with and you’re still over your shipping budget, consider
putting some items in storage or leaving them with a friend to send later. Ask the
studio to put you in touch with someone who made a similar move to yours.
They’ll be a goldmine of tips about good movers and what difficulties to expect on
the other end.
Pets: Of course you don’t want to leave your darlings behind! But traveling
with pets is one of the trickiest parts of international moves—especially if you’re
relocating to another continent. The moment you even think you’re moving to
another country, look up their requirements for importing pets. You’ll need a
specific type of microchip, proof of negative rabies and titer tests, and a verified
health certificate stamped within a few days of your trip. If you’re flying, airlines
have strict rules about pets flying in cabins or in cargo, and they require crates that
meet rigid standards. The entire process gets much easier if you get your pets a
passport, but getting one of those is a process all by itself. Plan ahead and make
sure you know exactly what you need to do to get your pet legal and able to enter
the new country smoothly. The last thing you want is to arrive, discover you’re
missing critical documentation, and have your pet put into quarantine for months.
Some quarantine periods, like Japan’s, can be up to six months! Don’t risk it. Pet
relocation is also unbelievably expensive. It will eat up a huge part of your relo­
cation package, so budget wisely.

Arrival
I love to travel, so arriving in a new country is always exciting for me. If you know
people in the new country, see if they can recommend good local restaurants or
stores for your first few nights in town. If you’re traveling with pets, you’ll also
have to make arrangements for their arrival. They will likely be stressed by the
travel, so anticipate their needs. They’ll want food and water, and cats will need a
litterbox right away when you arrive. See if a friend can bring pet supplies by. For
my last move, one of my coworkers lived next door to my company apartment, and
she kindly let me order supplies to her house. But I have also been that haggard,
240 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

haunt-eyed woman roaming the streets at 10 PM on a Tuesday to find an open pet

store. Don’t be me. Plan ahead for your pets and your sanity.

Housing
Most studios will offer some kind of temporary housing for relocated devs. This
can range from a nice hotel or extended-stay housing to actual dormitories where
devs from your studio live. The quality of these accommodations varies widely. I’ve
generally had good experiences, but some housing situations are … less than ideal.
Company quarters are meant to be short term and provide a landing spot while
you get on your feet. You’ll have a lot to do in your first few weeks, so not having
to worry about immediately finding a place to stay is nice.
If the studio has no accommodations for you and no plan to help find
them, that’s a huge red flag. It’s incredibly rare. I only know of one instance
where that happened and it was an accident—it was a new studio and they were
hiring internationally for the first time. But make sure you have everything
lined up, especially for that first night in the new town. You’ll want a place to
crash facedown after your long travels. When I moved to Finland, I was so
exhausted after a 24-hour day of moving and travel, that I drank an entire can
of juice I was allergic to rather than get up and go buy another. Make sure
everything is in place.

Settling In
If you’re lucky, your studio will hire an agent to get you settled in. You’ll need
to register with the new government, set up a bank account, get a local phone
plan, learn how to get around the new city—and a million other little intri­
cacies of life that we don’t think about until we have to start over. This can be
difficult and frustrating when you don’t speak the language, so try to negotiate
for a helper on that end. Google translate is an incredibly valuable tool and you
should lean on it as much as you need to. The best advice I can give you for
getting set up in a new town is “ask for help.” Being independent is great, but
there’s a limit. How else are you going to find out which restaurants the locals
like and which ones are tourist traps? Where are the hidden secrets in town?
One town I moved to had tiny little finger monkeys you could pet at a local
zoo and mysterious little mouse houses that appeared in random spots. Another
town had a local tradition of burning a straw goat every year in the fall during a
pagan ceremony. This is the kind of stuff you need to know! Don’t be afraid
to ask for help and advice on every network you have access to. You’re going to
have a hard enough time adjusting to life in a foreign culture without trying
to do it on hard mode.
 International Work ▪ 241

Culture Shock
Tara had this to say about culture shock:

You are walking into a fundamentally different culture. That sounds

obvious on the surface, but don’t underestimate the impact that will
have on your day-to-day life. Culture is what happens when no one is
looking, and it’s in those smaller moments that cultural frictions
sometimes come to a head. What is considered rude in one country is
being polite in another, and it is easy for tempers to flare. There are
absolutely going to be things that utterly confuse, frustrate, and try
your patience. And so many times it will be something utterly ridic­
ulous in retrospect.

Even if you love new experiences and view your move as an exciting adventure,
you’ll likely experience culture shock. It can strike at the strangest times. I almost
broke down in tears when I tried to find American pancake mix at a Finnish
supermarket. I felt overwhelmed by all the flour choices—none of which I could
understand. Every society has a host of unspoken rules and behaviors that we know
so well they’ve become invisible. When you’re in a new country, you’ll bump up
against those all the time without realizing it. If you’re lucky, people will think
you’re charming or helpless and understand. In Finland, if I asked for directions,
the person I asked would invariably walk me in the direction I needed to go. They
took one look at me and realized I was hopeless, so they helped me even when it
clearly ruined their day to do so. Tara tells a story of trying to buy aspirin in
Germany “and you need to tell the pharmacist why, so they can ensure they are
giving you the right medication.” Her headache was so bad that she couldn’t
remember the right words. “I was frustrated and tired, and in a not small amount
of pain. I could have gotten flustered and left the Apotheke in a fit of frustration
and shame, but instead mimed head pain to the best of my ability. The baffled
clerk suddenly lit up and laughed, ‘Ah! Kopfschmerzen!’” and Tara finally got her
aspirin. She says that “learning to just lean into the awkwardness with a cheerful
attitude has helped diffuse many situations and gotten me what I needed in
the end.”
Do your best to learn the language and local customs. Your studio might
offer language classes or offer to pay for tutoring. Absolutely take them up on it.
The best cure for culture shock is to understand the culture. And that means
engaging with it. Explore your city. Learn the language. Make friends. Put down
roots. It’ll be tempting to live out of suitcases and not decorate your apartment
much at first, but I strongly advise against that. Unpack. Put up pictures. Make
your rooms comfortable. Give yourself a safe space that feels like a home. And
make an effort to build a new life. If you don’t find ways to connect with daily
life there, you won’t last. Evan says that having his partner travel with him
242 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

made things a lot easier. He has someone to get out into the new culture and
share his experiences with. And that’s important. “I think it’s specifically useful
for a writer to better understand the world around you, but also culturally how
things are different. To realize the background of the world that you take for
granted.” You won’t realize how much your perspective has changed until you go
home and look at your old, familiar world with fresh eyes. It’s illuminating to see
how many aspects of day-to-day life became invisible to you through sheer
familiarity. Being able to see them clearly again is the great gift of traveling and
living abroad.

Isolation and Friendships

Another reality of moving around for writing work is that friendships fade. You’ll
meet all sorts of wonderful new people and make new friends, but maintaining
those friendships is hard when you keep moving around. You might drift away
from people you’ve been close to for years, and that increases your feelings of
culture shock and isolation. You have to keep reaching out. Social media has been
my lifeline as I’ve moved around. I’ve made five international moves in the last
nine years. That means that I was moving on as soon as I established a comfortable
life. It felt like I was always starting over from the ground floor again. Even for
someone as adventurous as I am, it’s been tough to keep rebuilding. You’ll have to
work at keeping your friendships going—especially when time zones mean your
best friend is on the exact opposite sleep schedule as you are. But having those
connections is what makes it all possible. It can take anywhere from six months to
a year before you really get settled into a new country and it feels like “home,” so
be patient with yourself.
Sometimes, despite everything you’ve done, you’ll feel isolated. I remember
walking through the busiest mall in central Helsinki, surrounded by dozens of
people speaking five different languages, and feeling completely alone. Loneliness,
isolation, culture shock—they strike when you least expect it. The pandemic has
made meeting new people harder too. The United Kingdom was in lockdown
when I arrived, and we didn’t return to the office until about a year after I moved
here. It’s tough to make friends with those obstacles. But somehow you do. And
you will. You’ll pick up a board-game night here. A running partner there. A chat
with your neighbor on bin collection day. And before you know it, you’ve woven
these fragile threads of connection into a rich new life.

When It All Goes Wrong

Sometimes, despite all your best efforts, a move to another country just doesn’t
work out. It can be a mess-up with paperwork like the writer who landed in an
 International Work ▪ 243

Australian jail, or it can be a role that turns out to be a bad fit. I moved to the UK
right when Brexit hit and the country went into lockdown. Flights were canceled,
imports stopped, services went on hiatus. I’d make moving arrangements, cross
that item off my list, only to have the arrangements canceled the next week. To get
my cats there, I constructed a four-country Rube Goldberg machine of flights,
taxis, hired cars, and ferries. It worked out, but it took twenty-two hours for a
journey that usually takes three.

Studios think globally.

Sometimes, even with all your efforts, everything can go wrong in a perfect
storm of literal crap.
Amazon Studios Game Designer Jennifer Klasing told a story4 about relocating
that shows exactly how bad it can get. She says, “I moved overseas in late 2020 for
an opportunity at a game company that will remain unnamed. This is the story of
how I came and went in only 5 weeks.” Here’s a condensed version of Jennifer’s
horror story:

■ She responded to an opportunity on Twitter. “‘Come make content for our

new game! It’s set in [cool franchise that I like]!’ I got excited. I inquired.”
■ She interviewed and got an offer which included a “relocation package which
amounted to about 4k USD ... to move internationally. I made it clear that
this would only cover part of my expenses, but they didn’t budge.”
■ They asked her to move earlier than she wanted to, which she explained
“would trigger a non-negotiable lease break fee.” The company insisted, so
she began making preparations.

4
@CallMeQuestifer, Twitter, 29 November 2021. https://twitter.com/CallMeQuestifer/status/
1465427892532248578
244 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

■ The relocation package barely covered her lease break fees, so she tried to
move as cheaply as possible. “I ended up giving away or selling all but one
piece of furniture and about ~10 boxes of belongings.” It ended up being
about 75% of what she owned. “I sold my car, rather than ship it over. I also
rehomed my dog, since it was going to cost me 7k to relocate him with me
and his health was suffering from the stress of moving already.”
■ Once she’d stripped her belongings down to “3 suitcases,” she booked her
flights.
■ She didn’t worry about her visa because the studio said, “they had relocated
dozens of Americans and that this was standard procedure for them.”
■ A month before her flight, she still hadn’t heard anything about her visa. Her
relocation coordinator said they would start the process. She trusted them to
handle everything.
■ She kept working at her job “until 2 weeks before I’m supposed to ship out.
I wanted to make sure I didn’t leave my team hanging, and frankly I needed
the income right up until the move. Still no word on the VISA.”
■ The relocation coordinator said she should have her visa by then, but it
apparently got lost in the mail. She frantically tried to hunt it down, but then
four days before she was supposed to move, her home was threatened by the
California wildfires. She had to evacuate to a hotel room with her suitcases
and the rest of her stuff in storage—a half mile from the fires.
■ Still no sign of her visa. “Crickets from the relocation coordinator. You’ll
notice that I’m still trying to make this work at this point. All I can say is that
I truly assumed it was going to make my life better, and escaping a literal
fiery hellscape, both physically and politically, was SUPER appealing in that
moment.”
■ She spoke to the Swedish Embassy at 4 AM, to see if she was ever granted
a visa but they couldn’t answer over the phone. She was finally able to get a
rush copy of it from an East Coast consulate.
■ The fire “evacuation was lifted. I now have 48 hours to get ready to leave the
country. It was tight. I was MAX stressed.”
■ She gets to the airport, goes to the gate and shows her passport, itinerary, and
other documents. But “they asked if I had a negative COVID test. 4 days
ago, a test was not required. I checked.” Her coordinator hadn’t mentioned
it. She scrambled to meet the new requirements and fly out that day but had
to change the second leg of her flight. “I was supposed to fly into Denmark.
Instead, I fly into Stockholm, 5 hours north. I was supposed to arrive at
2 PM on a Saturday and start work on Monday. Instead, I arrive at 1 AM
Sunday.”
■ She was told to pick up her keys at a hotel near the train station, so she
walked there with her suitcases. “No one mentioned the cobblestones.
So here I am, trucking three suitcases over cobblestones at midnight, past
a few nightclubs, getting all sorts of strange looks. I am also on the verge
 International Work ▪ 245

of crapping myself because I’d eaten nothing but grab-and-go meals in the
past 48 hours.”
■ When she finally arrived (“exhausted”) at the company-sponsored apart­
ment, she couldn’t get in the front door. “I’m fried. I’m staring at this
keypad without a code. The note with the keys mentions nothing about a
keypad or a code.” In a stroke of luck, one of the other residents was
out walking their dog “at 12:30 AM. On a Saturday night.” He showed
her the trick for entering with a key fob and helped carry her suitcases up
the stairs.
■ “I quite literally crap myself on the threshold of my new home, shower,
collapse into bed, and pass the **** out for 18 consecutive hours.”

Jennifer’s temporary housing was small and dank, and she had problems with
local food. She also had problems at work.5 It won’t surprise you to hear that
she decided to move back home a few weeks after she arrived. I share this story
because it demonstrates how many moving parts there are to international
relocation and how many disparate elements need to line up perfectly for a
successful trip. Jennifer did everything right, but she still had problems with
negotiations, budget, paperwork, communication, logistics, natural disasters,
health regulations, travel, dietary requirements, time differences, culture shock,
and, well, even bodily functions. Hers isn’t the worst story I’ve heard either.
She made it to her studio. Some people don’t get that far. I’m not trying to
scare you off the idea of relocation, but I won’t conceal the darker side of it. It’s
complicated and requires enormous amounts of meticulous planning. Don’t
enter into the process lightly. Make sure it’s right for you.

Communication
Your saving grace through all these adventures will be language. If you speak
English, you can go almost anywhere in the world and make yourself under­
stood. English is the new French (a little joke for you language buffs out there.)
English has been the common language on the floors of most AAA game studios,
so you’ll be able to make yourself understood. And you’ll usually write the game
in English. It’s very easy to not learn the local language, but that’s a huge
mistake. There are many practical reasons to speak the language. It’ll help at tax
time, for sure. But also, as writers, as storytellers, we know how much culture
lives inside the words people use. Learning to speak the native language will not
only help you understand your new culture better, it will expand your intel­
lectual horizons. Make the effort. Take some classes with friends or colleagues.

5
There’s a Swedish Adventure Part Two thread, if you can stomach more horror.
246 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Pry back the surface of conversations and learn the nuance and history that lies
underneath. Learn the local myths and legends in their original tongue. It’s an
incredible opportunity for wordsmiths like us to have, so don’t throw it away
just because English is easy. You could stay home, if that’s how you feel. You’re
in a new land. Embrace every part of it.

One of the joys of travel.

 International Work ▪ 247

Final Thoughts
I’m a big fan of living abroad, but I sincerely understand it’s not for everyone.
If you can’t pick up and move, or you simply prefer not to, there’s no judgment
here. For those who remain at home, I encourage you to reach out to game studios
around the globe and see if you can work for them remotely. That way you can
enjoy some of the glamour of travel from your desktop.

CHALLENGE

I have no challenge for you because the move is challenging enough. My

only advice is to know the visa process and immigration requirements
of your new country inside and out. Don’t leave a single detail to chance.
The consequences could be dire in this current political climate.
Chapter 17

Strategies for
Marginalized
Communities

Find your people. Find your communities. Try to get involved where
you can give as much as you take.
–Kim Belair, CEO, Sweet Baby Inc.

It’s time to talk about problems in the games industry. I struggled to write this
chapter. Not because I had nothing to say, but because the flood of words over-
whelmed me.1 I’ve touched on a few industry problems throughout this book:
crunch, burnout, difficulties getting the promotions and pay you want, and the
leaky pipeline among others. I haven’t sugarcoated things, but I also haven’t ad-
dressed one of the industry’s biggest problems: the playing field isn’t level. Being a
game writer is harder for some people than it is for others. Breaking in is harder.
Staying in is harder. If you look at the highest levels of leadership in most Western
AAA game companies, it is overwhelmingly white and male. Yet, studies by
groups like the Entertainment Software Association (ESA) and United Kingdom
Interactive Entertainment (UKIE) routinely demonstrate that the player base2 and
development communities3 are far more diverse. I’m not going to jazz-hand this

1
The current chapter is 1/3rd its original length. Yeah.
2
Entertainment Software Association. “2022 Essential Facts About the Video Games Industry.”
3
Taylor, Mark. “UK Games Industry Census Report 2022.” United Kingdom Interactive
Entertainment.

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-18 249

250 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

question and ask “Why do you think that is? What do you think is happening?”
because we know. We’ve all read the headlines and followed the lawsuits. We’ve
seen the studies. We know what’s happening, and I won’t play that disingenuous
game. That’s not what this chapter is about. While interviewing people for this
book, I heard some shocking and heartbreaking stories—enough for a whole,
separate book, to be honest. I’ve included a couple here as examples, but that’s not
what this chapter is about either. This chapter is for honest talk about what to
do when bad things happen.

Even When It’s Good, It’s Bad

Everything you know is a problem out in the wider world is also a problem in the
video games industry. These issues are exacerbated by industry demographics, which
lean whiter and more male than its player base.4 In games, as in society, you’ll find
the usual lineup of suspects: sexism, racism, homophobia, ableism, ageism, and a
bunch of other discriminatory practices. There are glass cliffs and glass elevators,
misogynoir, and unconscious bias toward every marginalized group you can imagine.
I can’t begin to cover every issue you’ll encounter in this one little chapter, but let’s
hear from your mentor collective about some of the problems they face.

All the -isms

■ Racism: BIPOC face hurdles everywhere they turn in games. It’s harder to
break in. Their ideas aren’t valued or understood. They’re held to a different
standard than their White peers. Intersectionality can make it worse. Son M
says she “can’t tell you if it’s because I’m femme presenting or because I’m
Algerian and Muslim or because I’m pretty outspoken on my goals. I can tell
you that these factors, their percentage of involvement varying based on who
I am talking to, is weighed.” Kim got called to work on an Afrofuturism
project at a AAA studio. When she met the writing team, “it was three white
dudes from Canada, and I was like, ’Oh no, that’s probably not going to get
you where you need to go.’ And they responded, ’We’d agree, but these ones
had the experience and the writers who were Black and had the skills, didn’t
have the experience.’" It’s rare to see the industry’s problem with race so
clearly illustrated, but you’ll encounter more subtle variations of this same
problem all over. Son M says it’s not just AAA; it affects the pitch system for
indie games too.

4
61% male and 67% White/Caucasian, according to the IGDA’s 2021 Developer Satisfaction
Survey Report.
 Strategies for Marginalized Communities ▪ 251

We have this joke, called the strike rule. When talking to a publisher or
a funder, there’s a secret strike rule to gauge how risky your project is.
Marginalized identities often fall into this “high risk” factor, and can
lead to difficulty securing funding partners. Your main character is a
woman and she’s brown and your studio is led by people of color?
That’s three strikes of risk. Why is that risky?
That same sort of risk affects BIPOC on individual levels. Kim says
it’s hard “when somebody comes to you with a portfolio, that is great,
right?” But they’re having trouble breaking in “and you see that
blocker of the industry. Because you see it’s not a meritocracy.”

■ Transphobia: Race isn’t the only vector of discrimination. While the games
industry has a reputation for being more open and accepting toward LGBTQIA+
folks, Willow still feels the need to limit her presentation in the office. She avoids
it partly to avoid making colleagues uncomfortable, but “the biggest part is not
knowing how a change in apparent appearance might impact how I am treated
or perceived by colleagues.” She grants that “studios of all flags and sizes are
steadily getting better at supporting gender diverse people as an increasing per-
centage of developers find themselves working with trans and/or non-binary
colleagues.” But homophobia and transphobia are significant prejudices—as
recent headlines reveal. It’s already tough to get a foot in the industry, but biases
make it harder for transgender people. “Nowhere is going to simply tell you they
are discounting you based on your gender, but it can and does happen. Cultural
fit can be important but when it devalues diversity it’s a problem.”
■ Sexism: “I’ve been talked over in meetings or had my experience as a woman
and/or bisexual person explained to me by someone who was neither of those
things more times than I can count,” Mary says. It’s not unusual. Talked over.
Passed over for promotions. Glass-ceilinged. Glass-cliffed. Gaslit when they
complain. The problems women in games face are well-known. Many writers
have trouble proposing ideas for female characters. Pitches about menstruation
or female friendship often garner a baffled reaction from leadership. “Why
would anyone be interested in that?” The answer is “because half the human
race has those experiences,” but it doesn’t always go over well. One lead said a
writer’s female-focused work was “too political.” Female-presenting writers can
get a lot of push-back when they fight for their ideas. Sachka says that people
“listen to women as long as those women have suggestions that fit predefined
models of a ‘good idea.’ So for a long time I tried to fit in and to guess what
those people wanted to hear.” She didn’t feel confident pushing the issue. When
she was finally ready to pitch ideas that reflected her “true personality and ex-
perience, then these ideas were generally regarded as weird, or silly. Because
many people still haven’t understood that inclusion and diversity aren’t just
about who you hire but also about what new ideas you’re ready to consider
worthy of interest.”
252 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

■ Neurodivergence: “Open offices are hell.” That sums up many of the problems
I heard from neurodivergent game writers. They also mentioned that clear
communication is an issue and they often feel misjudged or misunderstood.
Considering communication of all sorts is the baseline work for writers, it can be
a significant obstacle for neurodivergent game writers and NDs.
■ Disability and Ableism: Imagine you’re a disabled writer and you can’t get to
your job. The elevator at the studio is broken that day, and you physically cannot
get up the three flights of stairs to your desk. Situations like this are commonplace
for disabled game devs. Writers with invisible disabilities or mental health prob-
lems have trouble accessing healthcare or have to justify their absences. While
companies have a legal obligation to make reasonable accommodations, disabled
folks can still face daily challenges that non-disabled folks never have to consider.
As writers, we’re also becoming aware of how insidious ableism is in our everyday
language. We see how often we use words like “crazy” or “lame” as pejoratives and
try to replace those terms with more neutral language like “wild” and “dull.” It can
be a challenge. When I was working on Dishonored: Death of the Outsider, I spoke
with a disability consultant about how to write disabled characters like Billie Lurk.
The consultant explained the ambivalent relationship that many disabled people
have with their prosthetic devices and cautioned us against depicting disabilities as
“inspiration porn” that only serves to make non-disabled people feel better.
■ Ageism: When I first saw the trailer for Housemarque’s Returnal, I gasped.
There, as the central protagonist in a major AAA title, was an older woman. A
woman with visible lines and nasolabial folds. A woman who looked like her
model had been designed with care and wasn’t just a poorly and artificially aged
younger model. And her age wasn’t presented as a stigma. It’s shocking to say
this as if it’s revolutionary, but in video games, it is. Men fare only slightly better.
Game companies are still coming to terms with the fact that their market—and
their developers—are getting older. I’ve been in hiring discussions where a
veteran writer asked for a high salary—not extraordinarily high, but commen-
surate with his experience—and one of the managers joked that the studio could
hire two mid-level writers for the same price. And don’t get me started on those
“Thirty Under Thirty” lists. That’s what you’re up against.
■ Healthcare: You might be wondering why I put healthcare in this chapter. It’s not
a contentious issue, is it? If you think that, you’re probably not in a marginalized
community. You’re not a trans man wondering if HRT treatment is covered.
You’re not a woman in the United States wondering how much longer birth
control will be available or if the company health tracker is going to report you to
the police if you miscarry a pregnancy. You’re not neurodivergent and struggling
to get diagnosed for the first time in your life. You’re not a Black woman dis-
covering that the company-provided doctors don’t listen when you try to get
treatment for chronic pain. Healthcare is less of a concern in some countries with
socialized medicine that guarantees some kind of treatment, however long you
might have to wait. But in places like the United States, healthcare is simply out of
reach. For most of my career, and this is true for many USians in games, any sort
 Strategies for Marginalized Communities ▪ 253

of preventative healthcare was simply unattainable. The problem is worse for

contractors, who might work full time and not have any healthcare at all. As a
contractor, I chopped up my finger to the bone in a blender (accidentally) and
almost didn’t go to the ER. I stared at the bone protruding from my mangled
finger and wondered if I could fix it with duct tape. (I didn’t. I went to the
hospital.) But I hesitated because I had no health insurance and very little money.
As a full-time writer on a AAA project! For people who have healthcare, the fear of
losing it can keep them in an unsatisfying job.
Even if your employer offers health insurance, your plan might have huge de-
ductibles or low coverage so healthcare is prohibitively expensive. If your wages are
low on top of that, then you might not be able to afford it. Even with coverage.
When stats show that marginalized folks earn less, this is another area where the
-isms can hurt.
■ Maternity and Parenting: “I need a wife.” That’s the joke many women crack
when they’re juggling careers and domestic responsibilities. Add kids to that
equation and it becomes more difficult. As we know, the games industry
doesn’t always provide a good work–life balance under the best circumstances.
If your entire studio is crunching until 9:00 every night and you have to leave
at 4:30 to pick up your kids, it can look like you’re not committed to the
project or pulling your weight. Even if you jump online to finish up at home,
the optics can be bad. As women are generally the primary caretakers, it can
have serious consequences for their careers

I’m going to stop here, but this is a thin slice of the problems people face. I think
we all know I could write an encyclopedia of examples and anecdotes related to
these prejudices and the others I haven’t listed. It’s a lot to take in. As some of my
examples show, these problems seep into the fabric of your work as a writer.

When Biases Affect Your Work

When game devs transition, they worry it will impact their perceived performance.
Willow describes a potential shift in attitude from some studios and the fear of “pre-
viously positive assessments suddenly turning negative, missing out on advancements,
feeling excluded from social events, or having your feedback ignored or sidelined as you
transition.” Dealing with bias on top of your usual work is the reality of every mar-
ginalized game dev. It can hugely impact the daily creative work of game writers. For
Evan, it’s meant that his leads sometimes don’t value his ideas. They get “shot down as
not interesting or not worthy of exploration because they don’t resonate with my su-
periors. I’ll pitch something, and it will be centered on a specific experience of a mar-
ginalized person or a minority or a Black person. And it will either get changed or taken
as not interesting.” He believes the judgment is “a subconscious thing” that comes from
the industry being “so white and so homogenous, people aren’t picking up on the
experience that you’re trying explain or tell a story about.”
254 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Unconscious Bias
The hardest part of being a marginalized writer is often unconscious bias. You have
options for battling outright discrimination, but unconscious bias is insidious and
tricky and hard to document. It can make you doubt yourself and feel gaslit. After
all, your lead respects you! There’s no way they wouldn’t treat you fairly when it
came time for annual reviews … right? The problem with unconscious bias is that
it’s unconscious. Nobody’s doing it on purpose. It’s not the overt racism or
homophobia of calling someone a slur. It’s the rock-solid belief that you hired that
guy who’s just like you because he’s “the best one for the job,” not because you
unconsciously associate certain traits he has with greater competence. You just
don’t want to “lower your standards” by hiring for diversity. It’s the way your lead
prefers your male colleague’s pitches because “he’s more persuasive” or has meet-
ings with your White report instead of you because “he’s easier to talk to.” It’s most
painful when you hear statements like this from people who are generally nice and
well-intentioned. They’d be shocked if you told them their behavior was an -ism.
The only way to combat this kind of bias is to acknowledge it exists, stop being
precious about it, and actively work to counteract it. (Here’s another time where I
direct you to the internet for advice.) My advice is to gently educate the people
around you and ask your studio for unconscious bias training. That should ease the
unintentional issues.

“Allies”
Sometimes the people who should help you are the ones you cause the most harm.
Rhianna has experienced this with other women writers. She calls it “Highlander
Syndrome.”

When I started out, there were very few women working in narrative
which meant that we didn’t often come across each other to compare
notes and offer support. That’s definitely changed for the better.
However, although the number of women in the industry has
increased so too has the culture which seeks to set them up against
each other. It pits women against each other and gives them the
impression “There can be only one!” and they must vie to be the
queen bee on a team. It’s nonsense, of course, but I’ve seen it actively
encouraged by male developers and been on the receiving end. In
fact, the worst behaviour I’ve experienced in the industry – which
included gaslighting, abusing contacts and trying to block me
speaking at conferences - came from another woman who perceived
me as a threat. It was heartbreaking.
 Strategies for Marginalized Communities ▪ 255

But this syndrome doesn’t just affect women, it affects any writer who feels they
have to compete with other marginalized folks for a spot in the industry.
Sometimes the people you count on to defend you against problems—leads, ad-
visors, support groups, and allies—actually are the problem. People are individuals
with ambitions, schemes, and traumas of their own. Give people the benefit of
the doubt, but don’t assume that someone will help you just because you’re both
marginalized.
On a final note, be wary of any self-identified ally. There is a special place in
Hell for a certain type of progressive dev who is outwardly sympathetic to mar-
ginalized communities, but who reaps the benefits of discrimination against them.
These are the people who ask what it’s like working at Studio X, hear that mar-
ginalized folks won’t work there because it’s terrible, and say, “Well, I should be
okay then” and take the job. They enable the entire toxic system.

Enemies
I live my life such that my very existence pisses off those that would oppress
others. Making no enemies means never standing up for what’s right.
– Calvin Wong Tze Loon

I have a feeling this might be the line that haunts me most from this book, but here it
is: don’t be afraid to make enemies. If you stand for anything, if you stand up for
yourself or others, you’re going to make enemies. Nobody with integrity and a spine
is going to be liked by everyone at every studio. It’s impossible. The sooner you
accept it, the better. This isn’t an excuse for bad behavior because “Oh, Anna said it’s
okay to be mean.” That’s not what I’m saying at all. What I’m saying is that everyone
comes into the workplace with their own set of beliefs and values and you might find
yours in direct opposition to someone else. There’s a reason that many studios have a
“no politics, no religion, no sex” rule for discussions on internal chat. These are all
heated, polarizing issues (especially these days) and it’s better not to discuss them on
the floor. You can try to find common ground with people who don’t share your
views, but sometimes it’s impossible when you believe fundamentally different
things. Sometimes their beliefs challenge who you are. I worked with a man who
thought women didn’t belong in tech. Flat-out thought that women should stay at
home and raise kids. How was I, a woman whose mere existence at the studio
violated his core belief, supposed to find common ground with him? I couldn’t. And,
frankly, it wasn’t on me to do so. But there’s no way you can be collegial with
somebody who thinks you don’t belong in your job and undermines your work and
your career with contemptuous behavior. In situations like that, it’s perfectly fine to
say, “This person is actively harming me and is therefore my enemy.”
256 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Sometimes it’s less personal, and you’ll see someone doing something that
violates the studio’s values. Or the law.

Sexual Assault and Physical Abuse

My only advice here is to do what you have to do to protect yourself. I encourage
you to tell someone you trust outside of work first, whoever that may be, and go
from there. I’m not going to pretend that some career advice from me will fix this
problem. But if you want justice, or help, or comfort, please reach out for it.

Inappropriate Conduct
In theory, inappropriate conduct at work is illegal. Yet, it seems no studio on
earth is free of it. It can take many forms, the worst of which are sexual
harassment and extreme bullying. What if your lead is sexually harassing
someone on your team? Or you. What do you do? If you report them to HR,
they might get reprimanded but remain in their role. And they might be aware
that you’re the one who reported them. They’re legally forbidden to retaliate
against you or their victim, but guess what? Sometimes they still do. Legally,
these are the protected classes:

Protected classes
Sex/Gender Religion

Age Pregnancy

Race Marital status

Disability Veteran status

National Origin Genetic information

If you’re being discriminated against in any of these categories, don’t try to

handle the situation on your own. You have legal recourse. Document the hell out
of every incident and report it to HR right away. They have legal obligations here
and generally take these issues quite seriously. Keep records of the discrimination
outside of work. You need to be able to access all your documentation even if you
leave suddenly. Also, make sure you’re keeping colleagues and friends outside of
work informed about your situation. They can both support you and verify your
story later on. But the proper legal channel to start with is HR.
 Strategies for Marginalized Communities ▪ 257

A NOTE ABOUT HUMAN RESOURCES

“HR is not your friend.” If you’ve been in the industry for any length of
time, you’ve heard this saying. You see it in articles about abuses and you
hear it in whisper networks. For the record, I know a lot of people who work
in HR who are lovely people with great intentions. HR does a lot of unsung
good in people’s daily lives. I’ve seen it as a hiring manager and been grateful
for the support they gave my team during crises. But sometimes HR’s
mandate conflicts with your individual best interests. In those cases, it’s sadly
true that HR is not your friend. I’m not talking about edge cases where
there’s a conflict of interest, such as the head of HR covering up misbehavior
because they’re dating the abuser. That’s a shameful abdication of
responsibility regardless of department. Or perhaps the person abusing or
harassing you is the CEO or the game director or someone directly tied to
studio leadership. Then there’s not much HR can do to help. At the end of
the day, they’ve been hired to manage people as a resource for the good of
the company. And they might decide that the best thing for the company
isn’t what’s best for you. In those extreme situations, I’m sorry, but you’ll
have to go outside the studio for help.
I can’t emphasize enough that you should give HR a chance to do right
by you. Don’t assume they won’t help you or won’t take your problem
seriously. Give them a chance. Document everything and hope for the best.
If they aren’t taking your case seriously and you have no recourse to any
internal support group like a union or labor council, then do whatever’s best
for your well-being and look to outside support groups instead.

Here’s where you lean on your friends and allies. Stick together. Document
together. Report together. And if things don’t get better, leave together. There’s
power in a united front. I was part of a group of women who exposed a longtime
harasser at one company. HR did the right thing and got rid of him, but it was a
harrowing experience—being harassed and going through the awful procedure of
documenting and describing the mistreatment. Perversely, it brought us all closer.
Our shared trauma created a sisterhood of survivors. I’m still friends with those
awesome ladies today.

The Answer
Whew, enough of the bad stuff about the industry. I’ll bet you’re ready to hear
solutions to these problems. Well, guess what? I don’t have them. Or, rather,
258 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

I don’t have The Answer that will fix all the problems in the games industry.
What I have is advice from your mentor collective. We’ve all dealt with these
problems in the past and have developed strategies for handling them.

Be Heard
What if you find yourself in Evan’s spot and your work is being dismissed or
judged harshly? What if nobody appreciates your ideas? He recommends “getting a
network or a group of people who can validate your work.” When you doubt your
work or have questions about feedback, then you can “turn to them and say, ‘Do
you think this was an interesting idea or do you think it wasn’t?’ It’s gaining a
system of people that you can trust with your work and show your work to. They’ll
help you be more confident.” Evan says that his confidence grew with time and
seniority and he felt more comfortable fighting for his ideas and saying, “no this is
worth exploring.” But you don’t have to wait until you’re a senior to defend your
ideas. Here are some strategies:

■ Frame challenges as questions. For example, if your client thinks the

lead character should be White, but you wrote her as Black. Calmly ask
questions like, “That’s an interesting direction! Can you walk me through
why we need the change? What are the character requirements?” Make
them justify their choices but in a pleasant way. Your attitude should be
open and curious, not combative. Even if you have to grit your teeth into
a smile, it’s important that you appear relaxed and friendly so they don’t
start arguing with you.
■ Talk it through. Hear what they have to say. Sometimes there’s a good
reason for what they want. Sometimes not. Find out which one it is.
■ Back it up. Make sure you’re bringing data to discussions so it’s not a matter
of differing opinions. If they’re saying “Well, I think the character should be
a guy” and you’re saying “Studies indicate that player bases like ours prefer
female protagonists by a ratio of 3:1 and are more likely to spend money on
cosmetic items for a woman …” Then you’re arguing from a professional,
informed place and not defending your opinion. It’s not about you anymore;
it’s them vs. the data.
■ Yes them to death. I learned this skill as a bartender! Say yes even when
you’re saying no. If they want you to change something, never say no. If your
client says, “I don’t like dark hair. Make her a blonde.” Then you respond
with something like “Changing her hair is a great idea! I’ll talk to the artists
about a different look for her.” It sounds like you agreed to what they want,
but you’ve actually bought yourself a chance to repitch the dark hair in
another look. Worth a shot, right?
 Strategies for Marginalized Communities ▪ 259

I realize these are very granular examples, but you can apply them to the big stuff
too. The main thing is to not let Imposter Syndrome drag you down. You’re an
experienced professional with good ideas and a body of work behind you. Stay
pleasant and reasonable during heated arguments and keep the focus on the issues,
not you or your abilities. It can feel deeply personal at times, I know, but force
yourself to step back and stay calm. It’s okay to say, “I need some time to consider
this issue. I’ll get back to you,” and pick up the discussion again when you’ve
cooled off.

Know When to Stop

For me, the hardest part is learning when to let go. Sometimes, the client or your
boss or colleague is right and they’re making the call based on data you don’t
have access to. Fair enough. Sometimes they’re wrong, but you’re not going to
win. You have to learn to recognize when to stop arguing. That’s been the
hardest part of game dev for me. When I know my idea is good, but I have to
settle for someone’s less-good idea. It happens. Know when you’re beating your
head against a wall and walk away. You’ll be less frustrated. Try to find a
compromise with them so you can get the important part of what you want in
the game. That ballet of give and take, remember? It’s very easy to get labeled
“difficult” as a marginalized person in games, so you have to learn to walk the
line between compromise and making work you believe in. People’s confidence
in you will come from a series of interactions where you demonstrate your
knowledge and skill. And even then, some people aren’t going to respect you.
They never will. It’s not fair. It’s horrifically unfair, in fact. But that’s the world
we’re working in.

Real Allies
From WIT organizations to groups like Black Girl Gamers to Pride discords, there
is growing support for marginalized groups in the games industry. They’ll
understand what resources are available to you and what legal recourse you have. In
some cases, they can provide legal aid or advice. Rather than sit here and list all the
help they can give, I’d rather point you to them and encourage you to reach out.
But please remember that orgs like these have their own problems and limitations
too. Problematic people can find their way into these orgs under the guise of being
allies or members, and then take advantage of the people there. It’s not the norm
by any means, but it happens. I’m not saying this to discourage you, but rather to
advise you to go in with caution. Be wary, but give them chance. Hopefully, you
can get the help you need.
260 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Organized Labor Groups

Increasingly, game developers are forming unions to secure better benefits and
treatment at AAA studios. If you’re unable to find the resources you need through
your studio or support groups, then reach out to a labor group. Some studios have
formed their own unions, like Activision-Blizzard’s ABK, while places like Sweden
have national organizations like Unionen. Game writers have had mixed success
with our trade guilds. WGGB invited game writers and NDs into the guild with
open arms, while WGAW in the United States has been less welcoming. There are
too many developments happening on the labor front to list here. I suspect the
information in this section will be woefully out of date by the time this book
gets to you.

Mentoring
Of course, I have to mention mentoring! I hope this book has shown you the
value of having an experienced writer to guide you. But my book wouldn’t exist
if finding a mentor was easy. There are groups that offer limited mentorships,
like Limit Break, and there are some spreadsheets for mentoring volunteers
floating around out there. Nobody has vetted the list, so dig out your saltshaker
one last time. Apply the credentials test to mentors same as you would any
instructor. It’s also worth setting up a mentorship program at your studio. See
if you can get management to support the idea and throw some money at it.
Barring that, set up a monthly sync with someone at your studio, maybe
someone who’s doing the job you want. And don’t be afraid to approach people
you admire for advice! Nobody’s going to get upset if you message them and
respectfully ask a few questions. They might not have time to help you, but they
won’t mind if you ask. So ask!

Be a Mentor
It’s not on already-marginalised people to make things better, it’s up
to privileged non-marginalised individuals and organisations not to
pull the ladder up after them.
–Ed Stern, Lead Writer, Splash Damage

You don’t have to wait until you’ve been in games for decades to be a
mentor. You can reach out and support juniors at any stage of your career.
Once you’ve learned how to navigate any part of the games industry, pass that
knowledge along! However, it’s especially important for non-marginalized
 Strategies for Marginalized Communities ▪ 261

writers to reach out and lift up their juniors. Eevi lists some simple ways you
can help.

Seek out and lift up marginalized voices whenever you have the
power to do so. Take time to diversify your media consumption –
read, listen and watch media produced by marginalized people.
But when you inevitably get inspired by them, don’t just steal
their ideas and culture. Pay them actual money for their time, their
talks, their consultancy. Hire them, preferably! And not just as ju-
niors, get them into positions of leadership and seniority in your
company.

She acknowledges that this work entails looking hard at yourself and your
company culture to find problems and the courage to fix them. Ann’s advice
is simpler: “My god, just – fight like hell” to make games a better place for
everyone.

Whisper Networks
Sometimes when big revelations about abuse hit the headlines, marginalized people
in your life shrug and say that they already knew. Sexual predators, “broken stairs”5
and abusive leaders are all notorious in their communities before they hit the news.
Talking to people is your best way to protect yourself. Asking around in SIGs and
support groups can help you tap into whisper networks. These network groups
aren’t infallible, but sometimes they can confirm your gut feeling about someone.
Which brings me to …

Trust Your Gut

If you think something is wrong, it probably is. Mary wishes she’d trusted herself
more “when it comes to sensing and responding to abusive or disrespectful
behavior.” Early in her career she’d convince herself that she was overreacting
to toxic behavior or not giving others a chance. “That led to me ignoring very real
warnings about the way certain people and studios treated me, and it took much
longer for me to break free of toxic relationships.” Don’t stay somewhere that
makes you miserable. Trust yourself and get out.

5
That predator in your friend group or at your studio that everyone knows about, but nobody
does anything about.
262 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

Open Up
As time passes, the friends you made while trying to break into the industry will
get jobs at other game companies—or perhaps your own studio. Your current
colleagues will move on to rival companies. Or you’ll move on to another studio
and leave them behind. You’ll encounter the same faces time and time again.
The games industry is a kaleidoscope of shifting pieces, their patterns forming,
breaking, and assembling in new configurations. Through all the rotations and
permutations, you’ll still be friends—albeit friends who are on different sides of
an NDA. One thing I wish people understood was how silly studio rivalries are
for working devs. Most devs will switch studios several times in their career. As
you can see from this book, I have colleagues in every corner of the industry;
companies and consoles don’t matter to our friendships. Do I speak openly to
them about release dates, project details, or studio plans? Abso-fracking-lutely
not. Do I confide in them about a difficult coworker or how much I hate
spreadsheets or ask for advice on creating better casting materials? You better
believe it. Be smart and don’t blow your NDA, but feel free to enjoy some of the
most rewarding friendships you’ll ever have.

Break the Rules

Kim wants you to worry less about NDAs and more about practices around them.
Not violating your NDA doesn’t mean “protecting a company that’s working
poorly. For me, it’s never going to cover like, ‘Hey, this person’s racist to me on the
daily’ or ‘Hey, this person is talking down to me in meetings.’” The important
thing to remember is that “the rules don’t exist for you. The reason you’re having
problems is because of the rules that exist, so you cannot listen to them.”
Refusing to play by the rules helped her do better work and actively fix
problems on the project. You know the narrative hierarchy, but you have to
understand that there are unspoken rules about who can talk to whom in that
system. It’s unusual for, say, a junior writer to routinely email the creative director.
But Kim consciously broke that rule.

It took breaking my view of the system in order to work within it and

to understand where I could actually move. To say, “Hey, creative
director, this isn’t working. I see a problem.” And obviously that’s not
always going to be received well. Only do it if you feel safe. But if it’s
an avenue that you can pursue, always try to find ways to advocate for
yourself in those spaces. Or try to break the chain of command if that
command is being unkind or oppressive to you. It’s worth finding ways
to work collectively.
 Strategies for Marginalized Communities ▪ 263

Don’t Get Pigeonholed

I remember the first time I was asked to talk about game writing instead of what
it’s like being a woman in games. It sounds strange, but that’s when I knew
I’d made it. I was successful enough as a writer that people saw that instead of my
gender. Toiya says being pigeonholed by your marginalization is common—and
it’s a trap.

If you get invited to speak somewhere, it’s to talk about being

marginalized in the industry or how to write marginalized charac-
ters. Your team members want you to give a monolithic perspective
about marginalization to make the game’s representation better.
There’s nothing wrong with discussing these issues, but it should be
because you’re wanting to address them, not because you’re the
token in the room.

She managed to avoid this trap and carve out her own niche, by moderating panels
about writing and by teaching game narrative workshops. “The other thing that
helped was being around a narrative community that wasn’t labeling me as a
marginalized writer. I was just a writer.”

Even When It’s Bad, It’s Good

Finding a group of people to be open with makes all the difference for mar-
ginalized writers. It’s the greatest gift you can give yourself. I spent the first
eight years of my career feeling alone as a game writer. I didn’t really know any
other successful game writers or have friendships with the few I did know
outside work. Then one day I went to ECGC. It’s a smaller con in North
Carolina with a Narrative track run by Richard Dansky. That was the first time
I sat in a room completely surrounded by people who understood the work I do
and what it means to me. There were 20 other game writers, with varying levels
of experience, and they all got me in a way nobody ever had before. I was just
coming out of bad burnout, and I was still pretty sick. My self-esteem was
circling the drain, and I was creatively broken. I wondered if there was a place
for me in video games or if I should find a different career entirely. Talking to
those writers made me remember why I was in games. It made me remember
why I love interactive writing. Their kindness, their acceptance of me as a
fellow writer, made me feel welcome. For the first time in my career as a game
writer, I felt like I belonged to a community. I saw a place for myself in the
industry and a path forward. That convention, that community, changed my
life. It saved my career. I stayed in games because I found it. I’m in games now
264 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

because of it. That’s what it means to have friendships with your fellow writers.
That’s finding your community. It’s that important. And it helps every problem
in this book.

CHALLENGE

This one’s simple: Go out into the world, find someone doing the exact
work you want to do, and ask them to mentor you.
Conclusion

So here we are, at the end of my advice. Twenty years of industry experience

condensed into a few hundred pages. I said so much, but barely scratched the
surface of what you need to know. Perhaps you read this book in a few hours or
days, but for me, it’s been many long months of steady writing. I began this literary
venture in December 2021 and I submitted the manuscript in August 2022. Those
months are a blur of words and interviews, yet a few memories stand out: The
mystery of Speaker 3 haunting my transcripts. That night Word got possessed and
sent me a cryptic message (That’s it. That’s all recruiters need. That’s it. That’s all
recruiters need. That’s it. That’s all recruiters need). And all the times I despaired
of finishing this work and the writing community rose up to support me through
my doubt.
If you remember nothing else from this book, I hope you remember my final
lesson: even when it’s bad, it’s good. Your experience in games will have its ups and
downs like any career would. You’ll work at studios that support you and studios
that don’t. Some of your games will win awards, and some games will flop. Your
passion for games and game writing will wax and wane. Sometimes you’ll question
why you’re in the industry at all, and some days you won’t want to be anywhere
else. You’ll share your adventure with friends and colleagues. You’ll swap resume
tips as new writers and shout “congratulations!” for each new job. You’ll brain-
storm story ideas together in the giddy early days of Prepro, and console each other
through the hard cuts and reworks of Production. You’ll speak on panels together,
and do interviews, and craft a trailer for a game you all love. You’ll hold your
breath together when the game is announced and pop champagne at the release
party. And above all else, you’ll grow together as writers. You’ll watch your col-
leagues’ skills improve over time, and you’ll see your own work grow stronger,
deeper, and better. You’ll learn, as your mentors promised, to trust your writing
and yourself.
The quotes that begin each chapter are answers to a single question: “What
one thing does every game writer need to know?” The responses, many from

DOI: 10.1201/9781003282235-19 265

266 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

writers I admire intensely, illuminate every aspect of game writing: our craft, our
careers, our ambitions, and our creative struggles. I hope you’re as fascinated as I
am to see what writers value and consider significant. The heartbreaking part of
writing this book was reducing hours of interviews and insights into, in many
cases, a single pithy pull quote. (Oh, the knowledge lost to the cutting room
floor!) But there’s one answer that encompasses the message of this entire book,
and I want to share it in full. So here, now, at the end, are Sam Lake’s words
of wisdom:

In my experience, in practical terms, writing for games is iterative

teamwork. This, for someone dreaming to be a game writer, is the
one thing you should know. This one thing then translates into several
things.
It’s vital to understand what the game is to write a story for it. Your
story can be the best story ever, but if it doesn’t fit into the game, create
a dialogue with the game, it will not turn out good. You should work
hard to understand the storytelling methods and tools available for this
game to tell the story. And the budget and the cost of these methods,
the scope. The better you understand this, the better you can tailor the
story to fit the scope. Once again, the story can be brilliant, but if the
tools you have are not the right tools to tell it properly it will not turn
out good.
You need the team to turn your writing into a game. You need to
sell the story to them, make them as excited about it as you are. But
you also need to understand that when they get excited about it, they
will feel it’s their story as well, and they will have opinions about the
story. You should be willing to take their feedback and find ways to use
it when you write new drafts of the story, or if some of their ideas don’t
work, take the time to make them see why they don’t work, why
something else works better.
You will need to change the story. There are a million reasons.
There are many good reasons, and then there are reasons that are not
that great, but they are still there. Technical reasons, creative reasons,
schedule reasons, budget and resource reasons. You should always talk
this through with the team to make sure the reason is valid. If it is, you
should not fight it. You should make sure the cost of the change is
understood, but beyond that you should be willing to make changes.
You should embrace this, you should be excited about it, you should
see it as an opportunity to make the story, and the game, better. Every
change is an opportunity to find ways to make the story better.
Sometimes this is not possible, but you should try, take it as a chal-
lenge. You should roll with the punches and hit the ground running.
You should learn to love the change.
 Conclusion ▪ 267

Some of the reasons to change the story are commercial reasons.

Unless you are making a small indie game, you are making a product
that is expected to make profit. It’s business. Some of the notes might
be that it needs to be simpler, safer, to make sure it doesn’t offend
anyone, that it’s not too difficult. Or that it needs to be done faster,
that quality doesn’t matter that much. My screenwriting teacher,
Pentti Halonen, once told me that our job is to find ways to hide art
into our work. I think it’s our duty. If you don’t need to hide it, then
great, congratulations, you are in a writer’s paradise. But often, its
value might not be understood, and with that you need to hide it to be
able to keep it. Because we should always strive to make art. And if art
is not wanted, we should disguise it, but still, always, always, we should
put it there. Go the extra mile, find ways to elevate it. It’s important for
your own sake, for all of us, for the audience, even if they don’t know
it. How do you know what’s art in this case? Art is subjective, and this
art is your art. You will know. You will feel it. It’s the sharper edges.
It’s what thrills you. It’s what makes you feel proud. It’s passion and
it’s what makes this work worth it.
My teacher also told me another thing, and this is a thing of mercy.
Sometimes the work can be stressful. Yes, you should always aim to do
your best and you should always be ambitious. But you should never
fall into the trap of thinking that your best effort today can or needs to
be your all-time best work, that you should only be satisfied with your
all-time best. It very rarely is, because of, well, life. You should aim to
create the best work you can today, given whatever the current cir-
cumstances are, and then be happy and satisfied with that. To me, this
has been a very comforting thought through many years of working as
a writer.

If I could presume to offer advice on top of Sam’s, it would be to enjoy your

collaborations. We make some of the most extraordinary stories the world has ever
known. We dream new worlds into being and then convince a team of brilliant
people to help us craft them into reality. It’s magical work, but it’s hard. Don’t do
it alone.
Don’t get worried or panicked because you’re not moving up as fast as you
think you should or because you’re comparing your career to someone else’s.
Remember why you’re here in the industry, and find the right path to satisfy your
goals. Those 30 Under 30 lists are poison and ageism is a terrible problem in the
games industry. Go at your own pace, measure your progress against where you’ve
been and how far you’ve come, and take the path that makes you happiest. Be kind
to yourself.
Writing this book has been a journey (don’t say it), but it’s brought me a
measure of peace in this burning world. I found reassurance in the wisdom of the
268 ▪ The Game Writing Guide

people I interviewed. We commiserated over broken systems, and they inspired me

with their brilliance and compassion. I found comrades striving to create a better
world. I found deep generosity and kindness and eagerness to lend a helping hand.
Above all, I found a new love for the games industry. I thought I knew it all after
twenty years, but I learned so much while writing this book. I found corners of the
gaming world I’d never seen before and met people making games with fresh voices
and visions for the future. I want to stay in this industry and make games with
them. I want you to join us. I hope you will. I hope I help you make it here. And I
hope to work with you soon.