Game development fascinates me.
I made my first mod for Warcraft 3 when I was 12. I was a writer on the Sims 4. I’ve done narrative design for lots of small projects since. And now that I’m back in academia, I’m looking to understand how game dev communities discuss/enforce development practices through online interactions.
My case study is the Unity Developer Community (UDC), a chat server run through Discord. The UDC claims it has the “biggest and most friendly community around the Unity game engine,” with six-thousand members and a favorable ranking in search engines. A place for developers of all ages to get feedback on their projects and learn how to use Unity. Perfect for someone like me: a kid with a lot of love for games, but few technical skills.
Before I go any further: I’m shy. Really shy. The idea of actively participating in a massive community of experienced devs terrifies me. Expect some neuroticism. Maybe a few breakdowns. But hey: what’s game dev if not neuroticism and breakdowns?
So I join the community. And within an hour, I already start to notice a pattern.
Interactions like this are commonplace. Not overtly hostile, but laced with a casual meanness. Maybe these are just friends joking, but seeing it as a newcomer makes me nervous. Are these the sorts of comments I’ll get if I ask “dumb” questions?
Another thing I notice right away: judging by the labels, most users specialize in technical fields:
Programmers mostly – though also artists, animators, and audio engineers.
So I wonder: how many writers and designers? At least fifteen, right? People love game stories, and–
The moment I saw these numbers, I realized just how much of a fish out of water I would be. I’d hoped I might find more folks like me – moving from a humanities-focused space into nuts-and-bolts development. But no such luck.
With that in mind, I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and wrote my first post. Something simple – something to get me going.
And within minutes, a response!
Granted, not the most friendly response. But a response nonetheless. Gave me some traction – something to get started on. I was delighted. I decided to thank them.
Although it was deleted before I could take a screenshot, I got a short automated message to the effect of: “Hey! This is your first time thanking someone! Be sure to tag them to give them Karma!”
So it turns out that UDC has an in-built reputation system to encourage people to help one-another. Awesome! Users’ Karma values aren’t public, so I’m not entirely sure how it’s used. (A question I’ll be asking the admins the first chance I get.) But the confirmation message gave me a little boost of happiness.
“They help me, and I help them!” I thought. “I did good!” Suddenly this new community felt a little less scary. Asking a question no longer felt like an imposition, but a mutual exchange of sorts.
So I had a project to start on – a whole tutorial series to follow, and countless questions that would no doubt rise out of it. But while I worked on the tutorial, how else could I engage with the community?
I decided to dip my toe in some of the other server categories. Someone had just posted something in “2D Art,” and no one had given any feedback. “Hey,” I thought, “I know art! I can give feedback!”
My first bit of Karma! It was a passing comment, but I felt a rush. “How else can I help people? What else can I do?”
Unfortunately for me, most of the questions looked like this:
Not my forte.
One conversation caught my eye, however – tucked away in the Game Design channel, left without response.
A dev named James was looking for a writer to get feedback. “Great!” I thought. “This is my chance!”
It took me days to get the courage up to cold-call James, but eventually I sent a message.
Contact! My first real conversation!
I felt safe here, back in the confines of one-on-one interaction. The intimidating size of the UDC collapsed into a more digestible, private form. I wondered how common this was – moving from the open-advice of the Discord into smaller development silos.
James was looking for input, so over the next couple of days, I began asking questions about his project – questions that he didn’t always have the answers for. I quickly realized that James was just getting his start. We were in similar spots, the two of us: learning something new while coming from a place of experience.
And eventually, I realized I misunderstood: James wasn’t looking for an adviser, but a partner.
I felt torn. Did I really want to commit to someone else’s project so soon? Did I have confidence that they would follow through? Working on something like this would be a commitment – commitment that might stifle my efforts to connect with the community at large.
After mulling it over for a day, I finally responded.
James still hasn’t replied.
So what’s next? I’ve got a tutorial to chug through, and lots of questions to ask. But will questions alone build the friendships I need to survive here? Maybe I should delve into the off-topic channels – build rapport with folks. But that may pose problems of its own, as I’ll discuss later.
For now, I’ve vaulted the first barrier. Next up: asking for meaningful feedback. Let’s hope my worries are proven wrong.
Learn(Make(Games)) 