#dev interviews

It's been almost a year and a half, at the time of writing, since the first completed version of Iconoclasts was released to the public. Today, I sat down to share my story and then went back to sleep three times. I am just trying to write about the game but this is the legacy of Iconoclasts on my psyche.

Iconoclasts is arguably a 'metroidvania' - it's a game of classic platforming with abilities to unlock, two-dimensional pixel art and all that retro aesthetic while taking some modern liberties. The best known thing about the game's development is that I made it all on my own. I created the art assets, code, scripting, narrative, sound effects, music. All of it. I always wanted to create a complete and sprawling game entirely from my own mind. The only input from others was having a publisher in the latter half of development and the people who tested the game's functionality. I had completed games solo before but this was my magnum opus. After many hurdles, and about nine years of development I finally completed it!

Several times since then I have felt that I must have recovered from the workload. But if someone messages me on social media about Iconoclasts, I often choose to look away. If all it takes is a 'thank you', I will respond - I appreciate everyone who has loved and purchased the game because I am objectively not in a bad situation as a result of it. However, probably no amount of success would have made me feel like it was worth it in the end, when I put everything in my life aside for the whole of my 20s to create one project, entirely on my own.

How did I end up so destroyed by Iconoclasts? There are many reasons, of course - shutting myself away, rejecting romance, thinking I would soon be done and after that I could start a life. Part of me, however, believes that the pressure for it to be a success, increasing with every month and year that passed, led to me making design decisions that I didn't really feel were necessary or in keeping with the original idea. Implementing them sacrificed time, willpower and personal expression.

In my opinion, many people's perception of what is 'art' in video games extends only to visual material or marketing trailers. But, during development, I realised that artistry in video games comes from personal expression, how the interactivity of the medium resonates with players. This was just one of the many realisations during this time about what it was that I truly wanted.

So, what am I getting at? Well, I believe that the combination of changing things into what I wanted to be 'marketable', and continuing to make a game with a design completely driven by the narrative, contributed to the feeling that time had just melted away, and that I was wasting my youth and life.

That maybe sounds dramatic, but I spent nearly a decade doing what I started telling myself wasn't what I truly enjoyed. However, at some point I passed a threshold of no turning back. After spending so much time on something you cannot simply toss it all away. I did try to a few times. but it wasn't just a game, it was my life. In my view, I had nothing else to show for myself.

My collapse was a combination of feeling I had submitted to expectations and my changing thoughts about how games should present narrative. It is not lost on me that, these days, what I she best about game creation lies within its interactive expression, while by contrast Iconoclasts is a highly scripted and textual narrative. I wouldn't consider it art, but then you don't have to want to make art to create games. Your ambitions and preferences change a lot between your early 20s and your 30s.

And the game didn't turn out bad at all! If anything, my declining mental state is probably why the completed narrative seems to go somewhere more interesting, somewhere dark. As for how it plays, I still love running around and making things blow up, but only if I can get myself to play it again. That said, it's still a game I spent what felt like an eternity feeling insecure about and thinking I had made many concessions purely for greater commercial success.

I will present the most glaring addition I made to the game to illustrate my point.

For example, right at the end of development I added a system of powerups called 'tweaks' to complement the secret treasure boxes. Led by pressure for financial success and security, I told myself that the modern audience is expecting more rewards than simply overcoming adversity. Literal rewards. The game had been mostly finished at this point, so there wasn't really the freedom for it to be injected with new features and remain balanced and functional. It was already a full experience that didn't need powerups. So they ended up being blatantly pasted on top of an already functioning system, an approach I dislike in other games - one thing should complement the other. In feedback and reviews after the game's release, a bunch of astute writers agreed. I felt I had tarnished the game by adding the frustration of losing power upon taking damage, when no actual, meaningful power was lost. The new system fit thematically but in use, it was a shallow feature at best.

I have since set a goal for myself to use the means I have now to do something entirely as I want it.

You only have so many chances to create something that is entirely your personal expression, without real-life and personal risk.

Am I arguing for not listening to a potential audience? Yeah, in a way, at least not listening to the collective perception of what that audience wants. Whatever you might think makes a video game art, you should try to stick to it if art is what you want to make.

I have often thought I may not be meant to make any more videogames. It occasionally lingers in the back of my mind, but a larger part of me thinks I need to try again, without inviting in that pressure of pleasing an imagined audience. So I am still here, wanting to go solo again. Perhaps I am obsessed with control, in love with the individual creative vision. I'd just make it for me, and only adjust it according to tester feedback on how accessible the game is. Part of that is making something smaller. Something that - at least this time - isn't trying to combine an expression of gameplay with a strict linear way of telling a story, because that contributed to my stress and breakdown. I'm a much bigger fan of just playing these days rather than watching a story unfold.

I still feel as if I failed in treating my own life right, so I don't often give advice, as I haven't felt like the right person to hand it out. But I would say don't enter this industry without the means to prototype your idea, with no outside pressure. The industry is harder than ever right now so don't start out as a studio or with your biggest idea, when you have most to lose. There is nothing I want less for you than getting into financial or emotional debt before you know if your idea is good or not. My depression and severe anxiety were made worse by creating this game. It was an evil combination of pressure to please, worry that I would come out of it broke and a change in my personal taste over many years. So create safety nets for yourself. Start out as a hobby.

In conclusion, make games for yourself but don't lose sight of life beyond work. Most of all, express what's in your head. Bring interactivity to the forefront. But only if you have the means.

(Image description in alt text. This image is taken from the official page for APWOT Issue 2.)