Tuning

When I first tried it out as a game rather than a program, I instantly realized that I had created a turkey of the highest order. The game was slow and tedious; the Germans slogged through the Russian line with all the excitement of a World War I infantry offensive. I was heartbroken; I had expected that the game would need tuning, but I didn't expect it to be so terribly bad.

At this point, my design instincts served me well. First, I took a long walk to think about the design in the largest possible terms. I refused to start throwing patches at the problem; I wanted to characterize the problem precisely, to put my finger on exactly what was wrong with the design. Some good ideas came to me, but I still refused to act on them; I wanted to be sure of my next move. After two days of intense cogitation, I had my answers.

Four related problems turkified my game:

• There were too many units for the player to handle.

• It took too long to play.

• There was little opportunity to maneuver.

• The Russian AI was too stupid.

I resolved upon three solutions. First, I would introduce zones of control into the game. This dramatic change would have no effect on the Russian AI, and it would permit the second change: a drastic reduction in the unit count. With zones of control, fewer units would be needed to hold a solid line. My third solution was merely a decision to proceed with a feature I had already determined to put into the game: logistics. Units were required to trace a clear line of supply back to their home edge of the map; if not, they were "out of supply" and their combat strength was halved. This would make encirclements an attractive ploy.

After carefully considering all possible implications of these changes, I set to work. It took me just three weeks to complete these changes. When I brought the new game up for the first time in mid-June, I knew that I had a winner. The game still had plenty of rough spots, but as a designer I could see that they were blemishes, not structural defects.

It required another eight weeks of playtesting and tuning to get the game just right. I spent much of that time expunging trivial bugs, juggling the reinforcement schedules for the Russians, and fine-tuning the AI algorithms. I also had a number of friends playtest the game. They all had lots of suggestions; I rejected the great majority of these suggestions and eagerly embraced a minority of them. My playtesters were mystified by my reactions to their ideas. Some suggestions I dismissed instantly without any further discussion; it seemed that I was a stubborn ass. But other suggestions I would pounce upon enthusiastically. "What was the difference?" one of them asked me.

Most suggestions are additions; some are embellishments, some are corrections, and some are consolidations. The additions are new features; those I dumped instantly. You don't add new features to a game during playtesting. If the game needs major improvement, then it should be redesigned; if it doesn't need major improvement, you shouldn't go adding features this late in the design cycle. Embellishments are improvements on existing elements in the game; these got a few seconds' consideration. Again, the burden of proof falls on the embellishment; if I can't see a compelling reason for adding the embellishment, then I don't want to mess around with it. Corrections fix clumsy aspects of the design; these I relish. My only concern in hearing such suggestions is that they constitute genuine corrections, that they really do fix a problem in the design. If they do, then there's nothing to discuss; it's a go. Lastly, consolidations are ways of bringing two dissonant aspects of the game into harmony; these I also embrace. It's rare that a playtester sees some deeper connection that escaped me, but when they do, I grab the idea and run with it as if it were my own.

Herein lies a small lesson concerning open mindedness and the ownership of ideas. Some people think that open mindedness requires a designer to hear out every idea, to give every suggestion its day in court. This isn't noble; it's stupid. Seriously considering every idea that drifts by isn't a sign of open mindedness; it's an indicator of indecisiveness. A good designer has already thought through all the basics of the design and so should be able to reject a great many ideas without much consideration, knowing that they are incompatible with the heart of the design. To put it another way, you should already have considered most of the ideas that are put to you; if somebody surprises you with an idea you didn't think of, you should consider it a warning sign that you haven't thought through the design carefully enough. If the great majority of ideas that are offered you have already gone through your mill, you should have no problem rejecting them without much consideration. Other people will consider you a narrow-minded prima donna for doing so; let them. Your job is to build a great design, not gratify your co-workers. Be courteous, but concentrate on doing your job.

LESSON 42

Humbly obey the Muse of Design; ignore the Harpy of Politics.