Games and CSI: Miami, or particularly clueless television.

I don’t exactly watch television so much as keep it on for company. After all, I live alone except for a dog, a mutable number of cats, and part-time children, and I enjoy the sound of human voices. I do enjoy the occasional crime program, not for the crime but for the mystery element, a favorite guilty-pleasure for me in almost any medium. Of course, there are schools of lit-crit that argue all forms of literature are a subset of the mystery, since the author knows something the reader (or viewer) must figure out; I nearly pursued a Ph.D. in the deconstruction of the narrative form. But I digress.

After an intense GDC, 48 hours with my family, a red-eye flight home, and much e-mail and other work, I was ready for some downtime in the form of passive entertainment, that CSI: Miami (my least favorite in the franchise) featured an episode called “Urban Hellraisers,” about gamers, was a bonus. Or not.

It’s always easier to blame crime, suicide, and attacks of crazed stoats on a new, external influence rather than any personal pathology or individual responsibility, and in this episode, the crime in Miami is the fault of gamers. Here’s the set-up: Masked college kids, “addicted” to a GTA-type game, take to the streets for “points” in the game and social status. They rob banks, shoot and rape people, and are generally rotten. Taking place in the CSI multiverse, of course an evil game developer tycoon is behind it all, handing out automatic weapons to players in the hope that the ensuing crime spree will bump sales.

Sure. When I was a teenager, D&D was evil, and at various times, it’s been rock and roll, violent television, jazz, and the latest dance craze. My teenager, on the bleeding edge of such things, tells me that German rock is now thought to cause the above-mentioned stoat problem.

There are all kinds of crazies on the world, including those without a conscience, and those who can’t distinguish reality from fantasy. As far as I can tell, people who play, design, develop and/or market games are not more likely to have such problems than the general public. “But,” you say, ”In a game you enact the violence, which is different from merely seeing it.”

Have you ever watched a Shakespearean play?” Night after night, actors pretend to put people’s eyes out, drown themselves, and stab their rivals, and yet, I do not believe that Shakespearean actors are more likely to murder their wives in a jealous rage than anybody else.

Let’s look at the offending episode.

We’re shown the game packaging, which looks as much like Grand Theft Auto as possible without the risk of a lawsuit, and we’re shown the game play. I guess they don’t sell console systems in Miami because this game is being played on computers.

The evil developer, when asked what happens on the next level, won’t say because it’s proprietary information. Aside from the silliness factor, I can only assume that walk-throughs are illegal in Miami.

Next we have the “games master,” who is the only person to know the identity of all the masked, rampaging kids. Assuming you can get past the nebulous function of this individual, he’s dead of a heart attack. It seems he played for 70 continuous hours while consuming nothing but Jolt (maybe it was Red Bull; product placement was involved) and peeing into empty bottles of Poland Spring water. To be fair, there was a case of an Asian player who died under similar circumstances, but it made international news because it was so weird.

But my favorite part was the gamer ringleader. It turns out that he was really a girl-person, and the reason she shot lots of people was because if she had a higher score, boys would like her more, because it’s so hard to noticed by gaming boys if you’re a girl.

I lost beverage though my nose. I mean, see previous rants. Look, if you’re a teenage girl and you are willing to talk to stinky gamer boys who pee into bottles, you already have attention, possibly even flowers, corn dogs, and sexual favors. Does this show not employ researchers?

I don’t mind having my field demonized; it will pass and something else will be the source of all the world’s ills. However, I don’t like being ridiculed. God or the devil, whichever you prefer, is in the details. You might as well get the major brush strokes right.

Games are no more evil than any other form of entertainment. Really. Even the most violent of games serves a function, which is the subject for another post. If you’re going to portray games in the media and you don’t like them, that’s fine; it’s a free country and you get to express your own opinion. But if you don’t make it real enough to be credible, you convey neither the threat nor the allure. My problem with “Hell Raisers” was not so much one of personal offense as it is withmy problem with Quidditch, which is a system designed by someone who does not understand what is fun about watching or playing sports and can therefore use the invented game only as a deus ex machina.

Games are fun. If you're going to use them at least get that much right.

The revolutionary party

I’ve always loved throwing parties. Well, parties, dinners, salons, gatherings and events. I’m a classic extrovert. In case you’re not clear on the concept, that’s a person who is recharged by interaction with other people, rather than someone who simply likes to go to parties. I’ve given scads of parties in my adult life; between professional and private affairs, they would have to number in the hundreds, and nothing phases me. Space theme? I can get freeze-dried ice cream. Small dinner for a dozen, including couples who swapped 40 years ago and haven’t spoken since? I’m nothing if not creative at seating assignments. City I’ve never been to? Well, someone lives there and would be happy to give advice. Unrealistic budget? My mother used to say that you get more flies with honey than with vinegar, and it’s amazing how far a smile can get you. But still, I was very nervous about throwing the launch party for Manifesto Games, especially since it was to be held at a bar that a friend of a friend recommended; I didn’t even have the benefit of a direct conversation with someone who had been there.

Oddly, for an extrovert, I hate, loathe and despise all manner of conferences and conventions, an artifact of my first WorldCon. I’d been in the (science fiction) field for a minute and a half, knew no one, and had a handful or so of colleagues who promised to look after me and make the correct introductions. When I got to the host city, my belligerent and unpleasant first husband (the very minor Dutch rock star) in tow, my colleagues were nowhere to be seen and I was on my own. I managed, but it was scary, and I’ve never quite gotten over my aversion of such events. GDC was no exception, never mind that I have mumblety-mumble years of professional experience, and more experience in games than I did in science fiction during my formative experience.

I need not have worried. My colleagues were fabulous and included me in everything. The members of the game community were gracious, and if I floundered in an embarrassing fashion, they never let on. And the show floor itself was a thing of beauty and a joy to behold. At ABA (which used to be called the American Book Association and is now Book Expo) it’s all blaring music and smoke machines. Really. I’m telling you the truth. It’s loud and crowded and grabby and did I mention that it’s loud? San Diego ComicCon is a week long extravaganza that makes the ABA/Book Expo seem sedate; I am exaggerating just a little when I tell you that DC Comics has an amusement park ride for a booth. By comparison, the GDC show floor was quiet and sedate, even the Dolby booth, which is all about sound, and the Nokia booth was so serene that I wanted to slip off my shoes and maybe do some yoga.

I’m telling you that GDC was a pleasure, from start to finish. I don’t know if it would have been quite as enjoyable if it hadn’t been such a success for Manifesto Games, but I don’t have to know that; it was great for us.

We signed contracts. Here, you can see for yourself: This is our fearless CEO signing a contract, which is really very swell because we will indeed have 100 games (or nearly that many) when we launch in May. We met developers and other people, and as a special extra bonus feature, I got to spend time with one of my oldest and best friends, Shelly. This is the two of us together, 15 years after we first became friends, and I can’t pretend that this picture was actually taken at GDC, but rather at the

http://www.egyptianmuseum.org/

Rosicrusian Egyptian Museum in San Jose which contains a real-deal ancient Egyptian planetarium, or something like that; if there isn’t a game about this bit of California weirdness, as odd and complex as the best conspiracy theory, there should be.

But best of all, I had a party. Did I mention that I love throwing parties? Look, see for yourself: All those red blurs are really people, lots of people, who came to talk about games and toast the revolution. Some people, like game designer Bob Bates toasted the revolution a lot. Many of the developers we are working with came to the party: Steve Cornett, who has a great online collectible card game, is on the left, and Manifesto Games own Biz Dev guru, Bill Folsom, is on the right. I also got to see old friends/ colleagues Damon Osgood, Len Quam, and Eric Goldberg, which was enough to give me warm fuzzies and a really good night.

Overall, it was a great party. People came. They had fun. They talked aobut games. They talked about us. And they toasted to revolution.

I told you that I love throwing parties but did I mention that I love my job? It totally rocks, and I might be the luckiest woman alive, or at least the luckiest one I know.

A Clean Well-Lighted Place for Games: Marketing to Women

“Wow. Breasts. We don’t see many of those around here.” Honestly, nobody ever said that to me directly, but they might as well have. I’ve spent most of my adult life in male-dominated fields, not because I enjoy the feeling of being the only girl at a frat party, but because I’ve been lucky enough to get paid to indulge in other people’s guilty pleasures. I’ve learned something about how to grow the audience of people with my anatomy, and part of what I’ve learned is that if you want to sell games (or comics or space opera) to women, don’t stare at their tits.

Maybe you think that’s an absurd oversimplification. Maybe you think it’s not so simple to market games to women after all; doubtless, very big companies employ very high-paid people to address this very problem. Maybe, like my partners, you think that I’m somewhere between misguided and delusional to think that games can be effectively and easily marketed to women. Maybe I am, but the recent history of popular culture says I’m not.

I spent a good portion of yesterday afternoon in a retail game outlet. I could have made my purchase and left in five minutes or less, but that’s not how I learned what I know about books and comics, and even if Manifesto Games is an e-commerce venture, there is still something to be learned by watching how people buy. While I was there, only one other woman came into the store, and she was a very unhappy-looking wife or girlfriend. Merchandise was arranged poorly. The store had a level of fluorescent lighting that made the Department of Motor Vehicles seem like a nice and cheery place to spend the day. I had a difficult time getting sales help from the clerks, who were talking to each other about a something they’d recently played, and when I did get help, the clerk failed to recommend other similar merchandise I might like and he did not make eye contact when I handed him my credit card. Mostly, that’s all just bad retail practices but there are a few easy ways the store could probably attract more women.

In the early 1990s, when I first worked in comics, DC Comics conducted a survey that indicated an inconsequential (under 5%, if memory serves) number of their readers were women. Now, some comics have a readership that nears 50% women, and some of those titles are even published by DC. At that time, retail outlets were nasty places, with lighting that would have made the DMV seem inviting, racks and bins designed to snag clothes, a level of dust and dirt that would have made Oscar Madison cringe, and merchandise arranged in a haphazard way that required a secret decoder ring. It would be overly simplistic, even for me, to say that the massive difference in readership is because stores got cleaner; that’s what got women into the stores, not into the books.

So, how can we increase the audience of women who play (non-casual) games in three easy steps?

Retail: Dust every now and then, and vacuum; a person’s shoes shouldn’t look dirty after walking to the register. And yes, women are more sensitive to grime than at least some men. Assume that a woman in your store is there because she is motivated to buy and make eye contact, even smile; don't stare or ignore her. And for fuck’s sake, shed some light on the subject, even florescent, which now comes in a variety of colors and intensities.

Packaging: Look, I like chicks with big guns, primarily because I like chicks and I like big guns. That’s fine. Women do not require pink packaging, fluffy animals, or fashion. But well-designed packaging with good art that reflects content is a big bonus. A rule of thumb is that if it’s not super-violent or pornographic, the packing shouldn’t need to be hidden from my children. Well, your children; mine have grown up with games, comics and science fiction. But seriously, have a look at the science fiction section of your local bookstore. Even the hardest and most military space opera has sleeker, better designed covers.

Content: This is when you say something like ”I knew it was coming! Games about pink fluffy bunnies!” No. Look, I don’t like Heinlein because I don’t like his women and can’t see myself as his default man, but lots of people do. Hell, lots of women do, and that’s fine. That’s what makes horse racing. But if you have some content that is, at the least, gender neutral, or even not gender excluding, you increase a base audience. That’s why indie comics tend to sell to more to women than much of the mainstream, and is a reason to think that indie games can do the same.

So to get women into games, we need a more user-friendly retail experience, packaging that doesn’t need to be hidden from one’s friends and family, and at least some content that doesn’t exclude or demean women. In an online environment without shelf space restrictions and with long-tail distribution, it shouldn’t be too hard. I hope.

The place where art and commerce meet and have cocktails

I’ll tell you something, in the spirit of eventually sharing all of my pet peeves. I’ve got a problem with people who call any successful artist or enterprise a “sell-out,” and who seem to think that poverty, squalor, and/or obscurity are badges of honor and artistic merit. I’m not saying that some people don’t put the acquisition of material possessions or gobs of money over a job well done or a particular vision, but for the most part, people who put their energy into a novel, a song, a game, or a company, want their endeavor to do well. They want their work to be as good as possible. They want to be noticed, and they want to reach as many people as possible; hell, I want this blog to reach as many people as possible. And just like anyone else, people who do those things want to be rewarded, in terms of both recognition and the ability to pay rent.

Listen up, because this is important: profitability is the condition of continued existence. It is not, in any of the above examples, the reason for that existence to begin with. Someone for whom money is the primary motivation manages hedge funds. They do not publish science fiction, promote comic books, or work for an alternative record label. They certainly do not work in indy games or take a position with a start-up. Look, if you make a dollar less than your expenses, regardless of whether you’re a CEO, an installation artist working with light bulbs and kitty litter, or a waiter, you have a problem. If you’re a writer and your advances don’t cover the mortgage, you have a problem. And if at the end of a fiscal year, Manifesto Games (for instance) takes in a dollar less than we’ve spent, we have a big problem; there will be no more games, no more site, no more Manifesto the next year. If we make gobs and gobs of money, we can build a better site, offer more games, and develop our own. That’s capitalism, and it’s all good. Really.

This isn’t an abstract concept, or about museum art, or poetry, but about the lively arts. I’m talking about the economies of popular culture, and in case your etymology is rusty, that means the socially transmitted arts, beliefs, and institutions of lots of people, not opinions and arts for just a few. From a creator’s point of view, making money on a project means that they get to do another. From the point of view of a publisher, making money means you can publish lots more cool stuff. That doesn’t mean that every book or game is a bestseller; it means that if you have enough profitable projects, you get to take chances on other things, and at least in theory, the greater the profitability, the better the chance for diversity.

When I worked in fantasy and science fiction publishing, I attended numerous conventions and conferences, at which I was both prominent and accessible. People would talk to me, usually about my program. Sometimes they would tell me that I was a sell-out. They were at these conventions for love, and I was just in it “for the money and the power.” To this day, I’m not sure how to respond to something so risible without losing beverage through my nose; it’s like someone in the SCA telling a medieval studies Ph.D. candidate that they aren’t interested in their subject, are just looking for a cushy, glamorous life.

The problem with the “big boys” isn’t greed, per se. After all, while I don’t want a red Ferrari, I do want a red Voodoo laptop; it’s just a matter of scale. The 1000-pound gorillas of games need to eat more than the smaller animals, and they have a vision to maintain, and an economy of scale, as do we. And that's a ogod thing. At the risk of repeating myself, I’ll repeat myself: the more successful things you publish, the more you can publish, and the more chances you can take. Success can breed diversity.

I am unapologetic about being on the “business” side of things; in fact, I love it. The essence of what I do is to figure out how to communicate, well and memorably, the very cool thing I’m involved with to as many targeted individuals as possible. If I do it well, I get to keep my very cool job. The company makes money. The game designers and developers have a place to distribute their games. The gamers have interesting things to play. And I get to take in more money than my expenses and pay my rent. Sound good?

Profitability is the condition of continued existence, and good business and marketing is a crucial part of that.

Things that are not free

There’s no such thing as a free lunch, free gift, or free publicity. Ideas and speech are subject to another definition, and therefore belong in another post. Merriam-Webster lists over a dozen entries for the word “free,” of which one is “not costing or charging anything,” and is the only one relevant to today’s discussion.

Free Gift is just silly. Merriam-Webster also tells us that a gift is “Something voluntarily transferred by one person to another without compensation, ” and free means “without cost.” Technically, it’s not wrong, but it’s a bit like saying “street road;” or even “puppy puppy;” totally redundant.

We’ve all had lunches we haven’t paid for, and honestly, I’m not sure if it’s true, but the popular wisdom is that when someone takes you out to lunch, they want something in return, whether it’s information, advice, sexual favors, or something else.

That brings us to publicity. Publicity is never free. Ever. Publicity is always earned.

Simply from the point of view of a semantic Nazi, you can’t get something for free that isn’t charged for. Let’s say you own a magazine and let’s say that I call you up and tell you I want to buy ad space. You quote me a number, maybe $5000, and I tell you I can’t do it, that we’re a fledgling company, and while we need the exposure, we don’t have the cash right now, won’t for a few months, at least. You ask me about the company, and I tell you about the glory that is Manifesto Games. You think it’s the best idea since sliced bread and you want to help me, so you say, “I’ll let you have that ad for free.”

Great. That’s a free ad. Free. You have offered to let me have a good or service that has a fixed price or value attached, without any cost to myself or my organization.

Editorial space does not have a price attached. That’s the point; if it did, it would be an ad. There isn’t a price, so you can’t give it to me without monetary compensation. It’s earned, a word Merriam-Webster defines as “to receive as return for effort and especially for work done or services rendered.”

Every review, every article, every enthusiastic blog post, and every interview you’ve ever seen or heard is earned. Not free. Earned. Are we clear on that? It means that someone, possibly a someone very like me, writes copy and sends it to people, or calls people, or has a conversation, any of which is followed up, and it probably also means that the someone like me has done a fair amount of work to figure out what the editorial someone might be interested in and how that something might be used. It also means that the someone had something interesting to say. Sometimes publicity is hard earned, an uphill battle all the way, resulting in an insignificant pay-off. At other times it’s like a boulder rolling down a mountain, gaining momentum with every second, but it’s still earned; someone like me gave that boulder a push.

Look, none of this means that I want flowers or applause, or even a red star on my forehead when we get a Business Week article. Those things are nice, but unnecessary. Just be aware that the term “free publicity” is enough to send me into a screaming, Doc Marten throwing rage, OK?

Today’s post has been sponsored by the letters “P” for Publicity, “E,” for both Earned and Eleanor, and “W” for Word of Mouth.

Singing pigs, light bulbs, and other metaphors

“Vicky, honey, I won’t be home for dinner tomorrow night, but I’ll leave money so you can get something to eat.” My 14-year-old thought this was perfectly reasonable; unlike her sister, she doesn’t take it as proof that she’s unloved or being abandoned if I sometimes show signs of having a life. Equally reasonably, she wanted to know where I was going, and I told her: “I have to go to a Venture Capital dance.”

I have raised imaginative children who can conceive of a weird and wonderful universe and take nothing for granted; this is a good thing. Vicky looked thoughtful before she spoke. “Is that like my school dances, where they play CDs and you dance with your friends? Or is it like slow dancing?” Obviously, my terminology required clarification. “No, honey,” I explained. That’s when Greg and Bill and I tap dance and if they like us, Venture Capitalists throw coins at our feet.”

That was too much, even for a slightly gullible 14-year-old, and she told me so, but I told her that sometimes, that’s the way it feels.

Here’s the basic deal: It’s a networking event; possibly with a panel discussion and/or some exhibit space for entrepreneurs. People who want money have the opportunity to talk to people who have money, provided they can be located; unlike (for instance) science fiction conventions, where attendees wear different colored ribbons designating their status and function, the myopic entrepreneur must peer surreptitiously at the name badges of other attendees, hoping to figure out which side of the money chain the other person is on, while not staring or otherwise seeming too bunny-in-a-pot.

This is really more amusing and instructive than you might think. For one thing, other people are engaged in a wide variety of fascinating ventures, and talking to them always restores my faith that humanity is, as a whole, a creative, inventive, and resourceful lot. For another, it can be like reading the slush pile.

If you don’t already know, in publishing, manuscripts that arrive without the benefit of an introduction or agent are referred to as “slush.” Some of it is really quite terrible, and among the more egregious examples I’ve encountered are a manuscript that had the freeform incoherence of someone who has just dropped acid, and it was apparently a long trip, over 400 pages. Another gentleman submitted a manuscript that was “part novel and part self-help book,” and still another writer had something so explosively commercial that he required the publisher to sign a release form before he would submit an outline. Of course, most are not that bad, some are reasonably literate, and occasionally, you’ll find one that’s downright brilliant. Most of it isn’t terrible, just wrong; a mystery novel delivered to a poetry house, or a novel lacking concepts like a beginning, middle and end, or character development. Or even characters.

Like reading the slush pile, an aspiring CEO with a good and original idea and a professional and well-thought business plan, such as we have at Manifesto Games, can quickly realize just how far ahead one is on the curve, and this week’s Venture Scene was no exception. We knew that we had a good idea, an attainable plan, and realistic goals. We knew we could express our ideas in terms of numbers and saleable concepts. We knew we didn’t suck. Of course, lack of suckitude is no guarantee of success; the odds are no better than a Las Vegas marriage.

There’s a saying, variously attributed that goes: “Never try to teach a pig to sing. It’s a waste of time, and it annoys the pig.” Whoever said it, the advice is good. Don’t send your romance novel to a men’s adventure house and try to convince them that they can get into a great new market. Don’t buy a suit that fits, but for the pants and jacket. Don’t give your Web 2.0 business plan to a potential investor who works mainly in the transportation industry. Don’t insist that your brilliant if scruffy CEO wear a tie.

After talking to other start-ups, all competitors in the funding frenzy, a person might get lucky enough to talk to an actual Venture Capitalist, but a person needs the right one, the mystery house for a mystery novel, the person who is looking for Some Pig.

I could assume that readers of these pages know little about business or finance, and give you a very long and dull explanation of the relationship between the size of a VC’s fund and the amount of money he or she wants to invest, or I can assume you know everything and say nothing. As a compromise, I will simply point out that a VC neither wants to put all of his eggs in one basket, nor spread the money between too many investments, all of which need to be tracked and managed. What this means, is that if what you want is a million dollars, you have to target a VC who plays in that ballpark. Then you have to find a VC, in your ballpark who plays the same game; someone who likes to invest in the sort of thing you have. This requires advance research and a little bit of luck.

So, you’re at the Venture Capital dance, trying not to be a wallflower, and a VC walks into your range of vision. You say hello, and introduce yourself. Then you have 30 seconds to explain why you are the most interesting person in the room, your venture is the best idea since Google, or possibly Mosaic, and how you expect to make money, not just for the company, but for the investor. That’s the Elevator Pitch; you get about as much time as you’d get in an elevator to, say, the 40th floor, which is were we were last night.

There are three basic responses to the Elevator Pitch. The first is a hasty exit, with the explanation that really, they aren’t interested in pre-revenue companies, but if you happen to be profitable, are willing to relocate to rural Vermont, and fire your entire staff, they might think about it; like Hollywood, no one ever actually says “no.” The second response is interest, anywhere from guarded to enthusiastic, followed by an exchange of business cards, a request for more information, and a warm handshake. The third is to question the light bulb.

When I was in publishing, we used to tell department specific light bulb jokes. This was my favorite:

Q: How many art directors does it take to change a light bulb?

A: Does it have to be a light bulb?

Art departments, at least in publishing, are notorious for having their own vision and aesthetics, frequently at odds with the needs of a particular book. Similarly, some investors are very interested in your idea, except does it have to be games? Could you sell to the educational market? Why don’t you want to host poker games? One can’t afford to be ungracious to those with deep pockets and who know others with deep pockets, but in such a situation, this one wishes to just be the pig.

Last night’s dance was great as these things go. While we didn’t walk away with our pockets full of checks, we did get cards, interest, requests for our business plan, and some people who reallyreally liked us, all very promising. Except today, after the dance, my feet hurt. Literally. If the gentlemen reading this think that the Venture Capital Dance sounds tiring, just try it while wearing ladies’ dress shoes and an underwire bras.

Hi, from the chick who does the marketing

Listen, I like high art as much as the next fellow, but I’ve spent more than a decade in science fiction and comics and games. That’s because I like that stuff, lots. I also think it has value. Games are important, but you don’t have to take my word for it; squillons of very smart people have written volumes on the subject, and eventually, I may write about some of those volumes. I might also write about marketing, the intersection of art and commerce, technology, and anything else I think of that seems related, including games.

Look, I like games. I mean, why else would I be doing this? Not for the money or the glory or the security. And well, I like start-ups, and defying all laws of matter, building something out of nothing. I love the heart of what I do; figuring out ways of telling people about incredibly cool and interesting things, and getting paid to do it. A person might have more fun, but not in ways I could talk about in this space, so I’ll tell you about all the fun, all the stress, and all the challenges that are my corner of the Manifesto world.

Next up: The Venture Capital Dance

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