4 Ways to Start Original Game Music

Do you find the “blank canvas” at the start of composition a daunting task? Or are you working with a composer who can’t quite meet the mood you’re looking for in music? Read on for some useful tips.

The art of game music is the art of finding themes and sounds to match a particular mood. In most games, there are several different moods throughout the experience. The only exceptions are short, one-scenario games or, of course, games without music.

Consider the classic Super Metroid, which begins with ambient music fitting the emptiness of a lonely planet in distant space. Later areas have heavier music as the threat level increases, with most intensity focused on boss battles. The final escape sequence builds perfect tension for a planet ready to explode.

The ebb and flow of a game experience must match the ebb and flow of the music experience. Otherwise, the player will end up confused, overwhelmed, dissatisfied, or in the worst case, bored.

Musical emotion can be difficult. There’s no one-to-one connection, because it’s not an exact science. However, we can build on tradition to ease the process of finding a specific emotion or mood.

Here are four ways to approach a new piece of game music that will help find the desired feel.

1. Use music theory (or a tool) to construct a chord progression

Although it’s possible to write upbeat music in a minor key or a sad tune in a major key, music theory exists for a reason. If you’re willing to work with the theory, it can serve as a strong baseline.

This chord progression tool can generate a progression for specific moods or feelings. There are several other similar tools available online. You can even draw from your own knowledge of music theory to come up with similar chord ideas.

The chords are no guarantee to fit the exact mood, but if you begin with sad chords and focus on a sad mindset, you at least have a direction for the piece.

2. Quote or mutate an existing piece of music (build on tradition)

Many composers (although honestly, more lawyers) get hung up on the idea of originality, but this misses a plethora of opportunities that come from building new work on what has come before. Sad music is sad because it’s similar to sad music that came before. There’s no getting around that.

So, grab a piece of music that fits the mood that you’re aiming to achieve. If you’re worried about the final piece sounding too derivative, grab two or three pieces. Be careful that you don’t take too many, however, as you can end up with a jumbled, confused mess that doesn’t fit the original mission.

There are many ways to alter an existing composition to make it your own:

  • Transpose it to another key or shift from major to minor, being mindful of how this affects the mood.
  • Use different instruments with unusual intonations that make the theme less familiar.
  • Instead of pulling the main theme from a piece, pull supporting elements and make them the theme.
  • Alter a handful of notes or rearrange the order of sections in the theme.
  • Use a bassline or harmony that doesn’t “define” the piece.

If you venture too far from the original work you’re using as a basis, you might end up losing the original mood you were going for, so be cautious about how many of these twists and turns you take.

Test the new composition on friends who know the source but aren’t intimately familiar with it. You’ll be surprised how little you have to change before the tune becomes unrecognizable.

3. Base the work on one of your older compositions

Along the same lines as #2, if you have worked on a similar piece before, you can use that to inform you new piece.

Every composer has a style, and quoting or modifying your own work is a good way to develop it. When you continue to develop pieces in this way, the resulting mutations become your style. This helps to maintain consistency in your wok, which most clients and fans will appreciate.

The same tricks listed in #2 can work to alter your previous work into a brand new, original piece.

4. Come up with words to form a melody line

If you’re a wordsmith, lyricist, or otherwise a connoisseur of language, this might be the best approach for you. This idea comes from a GDC talk by a composer for mobile games, although I’ve unfortunately lost the source. If you’re able to find it, please let me know!

Instead of starting with the music, start with words. Think of them as lyrics if that helps. These words should match the desired mood for the piece.

In the GDC talk, the composer used the example of an ice castle level. He came up with words about exactly that–an ice castle. Something along the lines of, “The grand ice castle is so shiny and bright.”

The lyrics don’t have to be Grammy-worthy, but the more they match the content, the easier it will be to find an ideal melody. The rhythms and sounds of words lend themselves to music.

Get this melody down, then develop the rest of the song around it. Find a chord progression, build supporting parts, and be sure to keep the mood in mind as you go.


These four strategies don’t need to exist in a vacuum. You can start with the chord progression and invent a melody through words to match, or combine your previous work with the work of others. You can use the chord progression from another composer’s piece as the basis for words to flesh out a melody.

In the end, these methods are meant as a way to spark the creative flow of composition, aiming the work toward the desired mood. As a composer, you’re responsible for a good chunk of the atmosphere of the games you work on, so it is important to match moods and create the appropriate player emotion at every step.

Thank you for reading. I hope these tips help you in your compositions or working with composers.

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Game Audio Instrumentation: The Paradox of Choice

Hello, world! This is a retrospective about Shuriken, a Super NES style original soundtrack for a hypothetical action platforming game released on 25 September 2017. Today we’ll talk about choosing instruments for a game soundtrack, and how this affected my experience with Shuriken. These ideas also apply to developing an album regardless of genre.

Note that today, I’m talking about traditional game audio, the kind of music that loops without variation. Modern tools allow for infinite variation in how to handle loops and stems, including adaptive and reactive music. Those are out of the scope of what Shuriken was attempting to accomplish, a classic soundtrack that would have been released alongside a Super NES game in the mid-1990’s.

Electronic Music and the Paradox of Choice

A difficulty electronic musicians face is the overwhelming amount of instrumentation available. Nothing can stop an electronic musician from making a song with guitar recordings alongside a breakbeat sample, virtual synth, and sounds from old Nintendo consoles. This can be a double-edged sword. While it’s great to have such flexibility and this combination might result in a cool sound, the number of choices makes it difficult to come to a firm decision on what instruments to use throughout a project in order to remain consistent.

Historically, music has been rigid with instrumentation. There were set kinds of orchestras with a set number of each instrument. These were all common, well-known instruments from the period and location. Mozart wouldn’t throw in a didgeridoo because it was unknown to the western world.

Even with the choices available to an electronic musician, it’s important to have an end goal in mind when choosing instrumentation. If breakbeat electronic guitar chiptune is the target genre for your album, go for it. No one can stop you.

The key here is that it’s a conscious choice. Heading into an album with a plan to make synth-rock then turning around and ending up with breakbeat electronic guitar chiptune can only result in a confused mess. The work might be salvageable, but it would require a lot of reworking, especially for earlier things which were meant to be more traditional synth-rock. At the very least, the work would need a new focus on this new genre, otherwise it will continue to shift forever.

When I started Shuriken, I made the conscious decision to produce a somewhat authentic Super NES sound. That meant focusing n the technical specs of the Super NES’s audio capabilities, using sampled instruments from the console. This limited what I could do, but still left my with a lot of choices for instruments.

Super Audio Cart, the Kontakt-driven sample bank I used for samples from the Super NES, has hundreds of options for base recorded sounds. Beyond that, it offers several options to tweak sounds and create new combinations.

Most modern ROMplers and samplers work this way. Not only do you have loads of possible sounds, you can also change the sounds to your liking, resulting in a near-infinite amount of sounds for you to choose from. So, choosing Super NES wasn’t enough. Choosing Super Audio Cart wasn’t enough. I had to keep working to find a focus.

Games and Genre

A fascinating thing about game music is that it rarely sticks to a known genre, unless it’s (again) a conscious choice like Jet Set Radio or Dance Dance Revolution. Most larger projects require a plethora of emotional experiences brought on by different genres. Final Fantasy IX includes operatic orchestral, organs, rock, a bit of classical guitar, and even some electronic undertones at times.

Because of this, I didn’t want to limit Shuriken by genre. I knew the battle themes needed to be intense rock-inspired pieces, the cutscenes would be more cinematic, and the levels somewhere between, ranging from mellow to intense. Still, I needed limitations. I couldn’t jump into a full game soundtrack with the only idea being to make it sound like a Super NES game.

The best limitation I could come up with was to select a small number of instruments. Granted, I made a huge mistake in not using motif as much as I should have, but the common instrumentation was a good step in the right direction.

I made a spreadsheet to show myself which levels had which instruments. Then, I went to consolidating that list. When there were two similar instruments (such as STRINGS Section 1A and STRINGS Section 1B) I chose one of the available options and converted everything to that choice. It didn’t make sense to have two different string sections, two different clarinets, two different electric basses, and so on. This greatly reduced the number of instruments used through the soundtrack.


The Google spreadsheet I used to track data about Shuriken, including instrumentation


Every time I went through the soundtrack, I had fewer instruments. I’d ask myself if a sound was different enough to merit a unique instrument for that track, and for the most part the answer was no. Sure, Organ B3 had a certain darkness that sounded great for a certain cutscene out of context, but introducing the Drawbar Organ that would be prominent in later tracks made more of an impact.

Seeking Connections

The effect of a game soundtrack happens over a long period of time. The player hears several tracks repeat in a traditional game soundtrack, which breeds familiarity with the sound of that one loop. This makes it even more jarring when music comes along that doesn’t fit the mold they’ve come to expect.

Granted, there are times you want a jarring effect, when you want to say to the player, This is where things change or This is where things get serious. But overall, the best soundtracks are those where you hear a random song and instantly think back to the experience you had. Few people familiar with the games will hear Earthbound or Mega Man X and wonder what game it might be from.

The smallest callbacks can sometimes make the biggest difference. The exact combination and reverb of electric guitars prevalent in Mega Man X or the unique sound effects riddled throughout Earthbound bring them a special character. Mega Man X is especially in strong in its limited palette of instrumentation for each installment, although the soundtracks never get old because of variation in style, rhythm, and arrangement.

Shuriken, on the whole, failed a bit in this regard, as the small connections in instrumentation were the only connection running through the soundtrack. In retrospect, I should have spent more time creating a consistent palette of sound that would run throughout the game, even with extreme variations. As the project went on, the instrumentation got away from me and introduced too many different sounds, creating a disconnect throughout the overall soundtrack.

Thank you for taking the time to read this blog post. I hope you found the information useful. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to leave them below.

For more from me, please follow me on Twitter.

Happy composing!

Pathfinder Wargame Experiment

Last night, I broke out the rulebooks for Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) Miniatures and Pathfinder, and tried to mash the two together into some sort of wargame. It didn’t go so well. Today, I’ll be looking at why, and if it’s even possible to get this sort of thing to work.

Wait – What’s Pathfinder?

Pathfinder is, more or less, the third version of 3rd Edition Dungeons & Dragons (D&D 3e). Some people call it D&D 3.75 because the second version was called 3.5. The whole version numbering thing strikes me as silly, though, because they should have had 3.5 as 3.1, knowing it would require additional revision.

Why? D&D 3e was rushed out the door because Wizards of the Coast (WotC, who had purchased D&D to make 3e) wanted to stamp their name on the D&D product. They wanted people to forget about TSR and welcome the new age of D&D overlords. No, that wasn’t a good idea, but it’s okay. Everything worked out in the end.

As a longtime player of D&D 3e and 3.5e, Pathfinder was a bit of a challenge to get into. The rules changes are many and subtle, but also important. Small things have made huge differences. Paizo had a long history of experience in D&D with the Dragon and Dungeon magazines, and their clever tweaks really show it. Not to mention, they had extensive public playtesting, which is always critical to a solid game framework.

The Basic Idea

The D&D Miniatures game was part of WotC’s campaign to sell… well, miniatures. People often buy miniatures to represent their characters on a battle grid to make battling more like a board game experience, and to make it easier to track what’s happening while the play role-playing games. These new ones from WotC were cheap plastic, but they can pre-painted which was a huge bonus for people who didn’t want to take the time to paint their minis.

The starter pack of D&D minis came with a rulebook for a simplified wargame version of D&D 3e (or possibly 3.5e), along with cards which had stats for each mini. The stats on one side were the full D&D stats, while on the other side the cards had simplified stats for the wargame variant called Skirmish.

Skirmish is an interesting full circle for D&D. The first edition of D&D pulled rules from a wargame called Chainmail, which pitted warbands against each other in a fight to the death. Skirmish has a similar setup. Each player controls a set number of creatures and they fight each other on a battlefield until one side is wiped out.

The idea I had was to take this Skirmish idea but run with it as a full Pathfinder battle. I took two ideas from the Skirmish game: the idea of a commander, and the idea of activating two monsters per turn. For the warbands, I set myself an experience price just like designing an encounter in Pathfinder. With two warbands suitable for a level 10 party to take on, we set to battle. Here’s the first part of that experience.

Why would we do such a thing? Well, for one I wanted to get some Pathfinder in my life. For another, I wanted Katie to learn the rules. I’ll talk about why in a future post.

Did it work? Not at all.

Why It Failed

Pathfinder is a massively complicated game. There’s a reason the rulebook is 600 pages, and “filler” isn’t the answer at all. The system is designed to handle every imaginable situation and to provide players the opportunity to do anything possible with their characters, even going beyond the realm of reality with flight, magic, and extraordinary skills.

This doesn’t work in a one on one wargame. Combat is extremely tedious because monsters are very complicated, especially when they are more powerful. I wanted to experience the breadth of the Pathfinder system, so I went with higher-level creatures. This was partially due to my motivation of reminding myself of the rules, but also to see if the system could handle higher-level monsters in a skirmish experience. Short answer: Nope.

My rustiness with the rules along with Katie hardly knowing them at all when we started led to a lot of looking things up. At a D&D session, this is often a collaborative effort, with one person at the table looking something up while other things can happen. In a one on one situation, everything stops to look up rules.

Even after covering all the rules, the system just wasn’t built for balance. Here’s the second half of the night.

How It Might Work

Although this experiment was a failure, there are a few considerations that–with a lot of time, care, and testing–could result in an interesting, balanced experience.

On the point of balance, Pathfinder creatures vary wildly in power from one level to the next. The game would need to be balanced not only between the two warbands, but also within each warband, in order to keep imbalanced encounters from happening. A creature at level 1 is basically ineffective against one at 5 or greater. So, one fix would be to keep all of the creatures on both sides within 1 – 2 levels of each other.

Level 1 monsters have fewer special abilities, or often none at all. Although lower level monsters would result in less interesting play, the game might work better with them. This, combined with keeping the levels in a reasonable range, means the ideal situation would be creatures in the level range of 1 – 3.

On the other hand, very experienced players or players interested in being a Game Master might have a better chance at using higher-level monsters. They will still want to keep the range small in order to maintain balance.

Traditionally, Pathfinder and other tabletop roleplaying games have a Game Master (GM) who’s responsible for the state of the world. This person tracks things in the environment. That sort of complexity must necessarily be lost in a one on one situation, because it’s too easy and too tempting to fudge things in your favor. This makes me think that even in a skirmish situation, the game would need a GM.

Even with these considerations, I’m not sure this system would work without a major refactoring of the rules. There are far too many variables at play, and the lack of a GM is a serious problem. If you want to play a wargame, I suggest picking up an actual wargame and not trying to modify a tabletop roleplaying game to fit that description.

Still, I’m happy that I ran with the experiment. My goal was to refresh my understanding of the rules, and to help Katie get to grips with them. I think both of these things happened, and I learned a bit about the disparity between tabletop roleplaying and wargaming along the way.

Ludum Dare 39 Postmortem: Audio Hook

My previous participation in Ludum Dare involved music for seven game projects, and sound effects for one. That went super well, because I needed that many projects to occupy me for the entire weekend. I even had a painful amount of downtime and wrote a couple bonus songs.

This time, for Ludum Dare 39, I created Audio Hook in 48 hours. This showed me how little down time you get if you make a game entirely by yourself. Games are huge, complicated beasts, and 48 hours isn’t a huge amount of time.

Something else totally new: I streamed the entire event live on my Twitch channel. You can watch the full recording on YouTube. But be warned: I overworked myself and might be a little zanier than usual.

My past couple experiences with this – LD 34 and LD 36 – were meant to be Compo entries. However, by the time the 48 hour deadline started rolling around, I decided it would be impossible to have a finished, working game in that time, so I took on the extra 24 and entered the Jam instead.

For LD 39, I used what I’ve learned about time management (at least in the context of game jams) to force myself into the Compo, whatever it took. And I succeeded.

As always, this document is meant primarily to tell my future self what to do and what not to do with the next Ludum Dare I enter. There won’t be a lot of info about the game itself, so you might want to glance at the Audio Hook LD page before reading.

Take my advice with a grain of salt, because it’s specialized to my particular situation. I hope you can get something out of it. Feel free to reach out if you have any questions about my experience, or want to talk about Ludum Dare in general.

What Went Right

Have a solid idea before going to be the first night – and sticking with it.

The first night, I paced back and forth in front of a whiteboard, marker in hand, spewing out whatever came to mind. This eventually paid off in the following design:

The next morning, I had doubts. The idea had holes, didn’t fit the theme perfectly, and might require a ton of music. Also, there would be several graphical assets to produce.

The takeaway here? Stick with it. The 48 hour limit doesn’t give you time to redesign after spending a night sleeping on an idea and dreaming about its possibilities. Maybe you’ll fix the problems, maybe not. But commit to succeeding or failing the whole jam.

Doubts are a good sign. You should be even more suspicious if you think the idea is perfect after reflection. This means you’re blindly loyal to it, and that could cause more problems in the end.

Commit to requirements (in my case, minimal graphics with a focus on audio/gameplay) early.

I’m basically an audio person, with a strong programming background and a bit of dev/design experience. The gaping hole in my skillset is visual art. With enough practice, maybe I could be okay at sprites and models, but since my interests lie elsewhere, it’s difficult to polish up this skill.

With this in mind, I set out trying to create an audio-focused game with minimal graphics. My approach for Ludum Dare 36 was to make a text game, but I don’t think this appealed to much of an audience. Having some kind of graphics and a more traditional video game (with actual visuals) sounded like a better idea.

This one was a double-edged sword, though. I’m not totally satisfied with one or two of the game’s sound effects, and the music could use some extra polish. However, I spent very little time on graphics. At one point, I made the misguided attempt to texture the hookshot line. This turned out okay, but I could have spent the time and energy better elsewhere.

Implement a full play experience before broadening the game.

The advice I hear over and over, and constantly gave myself in previous postmortems, was to start with a tiny, playable experience. Get that working, and the rest is just filling in content. Although I ran into some roadblocks for this (see the bit about the audio system in the next section), I did manage a complete playable experience with a single level before expanding to more.

Cut corners early to start release process with several hours left before the deadline.

The initial plan was to have a full playable on the first day. That didn’t happen. I pushed it back to noon ET on the second day, then 3pm ET on the second day. The deadline was 9pm ET.

Eventually, I started cutting corners when it got to be around 3 – 4pm. With the deadline fast approaching, I knew it usually took more time than estimated to produce the final executable and make sure it works. The build came around 6pm, leaving me three hours until the deadline (with an extra hour of leeway for submission).

This was a fantastic idea, because the built version immediately showed critical problems. The whole time, resolution hadn’t even entered my mind. Unity uses a free-form shape when playing in the editor by default. This doesn’t show you how your interface will look in, for instance, 16:9 or 4:3.

When I played windowed mode at the lowest resolution to test (640×480), a viewer on the stream pointed out that the interface was getting chopped off. Sure enough, he was right. Wish I knew his handle because I’d love to credit him for it. This is one part of:

Stream the event. This forces you to work diligently and gives you pseudo-playtesters in the eyes of the viewers.

Streaming might not be for everyone. Some people don’t have the setup, some people just don’t like it. I thought the experience would be far too distracting because I enjoy interacting with chat.

The result was the opposite. Because I had to come back for streaming, and I knew there were people watching, there was an extra urgency to getting back to work. Most jams, I’d take all sorts of breaks, convincing myself they were needed. For the most part, they’re just a waste of time, and streaming helped me focus on the task at hand.

As previously mentioned, viewers can also be a sort of playtester. They’ll spot things you might miss while you’re focused on something else. This simultaneous feedback is hugely useful because you rarely have time to iterate during a game jam. It just takes too much time to get the game into someone’s hands and take their feedback into consideration.

What Went Wrong

Take more breaks.

Although streaming helped me avoid taking too many breaks, in the end it ended up forcing me not to take enough, either. The streaming+jam mindset had me locked to the computer more than a usual jam, feeling like leaving the house would be problematic.

I took one break on Sunday to get the mail. Other than that, my breaks were just grabbing food or coffee, no more than five minutes. This led to some of the more frustrating moments which could have done with a brisk walk out in the fresh air. Usually I can approach problems from a new angle when I come back from such a break.

Build the critical system first (in my case, audio layering).

I knew from the first hour that the game would involve layering of audio stems as a core mechanic. With this in mind, it should have been one of the first systems I developed, if not the first. Tacking it on after the code had already become a bit of a convoluted mess led to many problems.

Eventually, I scrapped a lot of the code I’d written to rewrite that particular system. It ended up a bit too coupled by the final product, a mess I could have avoided by taking some breaks (see previous note) and making it before anything else, so the critical bit would be working first.

Design around content taking more time than anything else.

A common piece of advice for game jams, especially short ones like Ludum Dare, is to use procedural generation as much as possible. This allows for a larger game experience in a limited design without the need for loads of content.

My design worked well for procedural generation of levels and graphical content. Not so much for audio. See, each level needed its own unique audio stems to work. Even if I had multiple levels with the same song, I would have to manually split into a different number of audio stems in order to handle a different number of in-game stems.

I’m glad I went forward with it because I like the game’s design, but ultimately this led to having three levels in the Compo version rather than the planned eleven (or the currently planned 16).

Pick a name early on so you can reflect on it.

Right as the clock was ticking down and I was putting finishing touches on the build, I pulled a name out of nowhere: Hook, Beat, an Keeper. I thought it was a clever take on “hook, line, and sinker” and loved that “Keeper” was a reference to football (soccer).

Turns out, people thought the game was about hooker and beer. Names are important, friends.


This Ludum Dare was more successful than any previous LD for me. It’s the first time I’ve streamed the entire event and the first time I submitted to the compo. The votes and feedback are rolling in from all sorts of awesome people, and I’ve even made a few potential friends along the way.

Next Ludum Dare, I’m streaming the whole thing again, whether doing music or a game of my own. However, I’ll take more breaks, make sure the game’s size isn’t limited by the amount of content, and maybe experiment a bit more with graphics.

Thank you for taking the time to read through my reflections. I hope you found something useful, and if you aren’t already interested in Ludum Dare, I encourage you to dive in with the next event. You can learn a lot in a single weekend, especially working with a team for the Jam.

Again, feel free to reach out to me through Twitter, email, or checking out my Twitch stream on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. I’d love to talk about my experience, Ludum Dare, or game development in general.


Avoiding the Unity Freeze

Unity is wonderful, and so is its debugging system. You can print log messages, errors, or warnings, and filter easily. You even get a full stack trace for everything.

Infinite loops, though – they’re a real killer. The problem is that the Windows OS halts interaction on threads stuck in a super long (or infinite) loop. If the thread doesn’t communicate with outside threads, the program’s stuck. Unity freezes up and the only option is to kill it and restart.

I’ve known this for a long time, but I still make this same mistake. Sometimes it’s hard to see how a loop can end up running forever.

The solution is to stop the loop after some set number of cycles, more than the loop should run. This takes some extra code and processing, but it’ll send you straight to the loop which could have frozen Unity.

Say you have a while loop that goes until some condition isDone is met.

while( !isDone ) {
    // do stuff

    // possibly in some other method
    if( someCondition ) {
        isDone = true;

If someCondition is never true, this loop could lock up Unity. The solution is to count the number of loops and not let it get over a set amount.

int loops = 0;
while( !isDone ) {
    // do stuff

    // possibly in some other method
    if( someCondition ) {
        isDone = true;

    // infinite loop prevention bit
    if( loops > 100 ) {
        Debug.LogError( "Infinite loop detected" ); // this will show us a stack trace in Unity
        break; // or return if you want to skip the rest of the method

If you’re doing this a lot, it might help to store a MAX_LOOPS constant in some globally accessible class so you don’t have to stick a magic number in there. I’ve thought about automating this code into a macro, but since it needs the variable outside the loop and it’s so little code, that would probably be more pain than it’s worth.

If you’re worried about performance (which you really shouldn’t be – this is a pretty minor hit), then you can have this code only run if <code>Application.IsEditor()</code> is true, meaning it’s not a stand-alone release. That’s a bit too much extra code for me, though.

So, that’s how I stop myself from getting annoyed when I screw up and lock Unity in an infinite loop. Hope you’ll find that helpful. Now back to Beat Warp with me.

Ludum Dare 37 Postmortem: Orb Protector

Every time I do Ludum Dare, the “competition” which gives developers 48 (or 72) hours to develop a game, I have a totally different experience. When I did the 34th and 36th editions, I decided to go the jam route, even though I was working solo. This gave me that pivotal extra 24 hours. The first time I did a top-down racing game, and the second time I did a pure text game.

For the 37th edition, I was planning long and far ahead to make a retro-styled platformer of some description using Unity, and to enter the compo (48 hours). This doesn’t mean I did much to lead up to it, though. More on that later.

I ended up with an action platformer where you protect orbs from enemies and can shoot them with a crossbow. Technically, I achieved what I set out to create, albeit in a stripped-down fashion.

You can play Orb Protector here or check out the postmortem after the break.


What Went Right

Design First

I started with a plan, and by golly gee I followed it. Living in the EST time zone, the jam started at 9pm, which is an awkward thing because it only gives me a couple hours at most (hey, I’m old, I need to get to bed early) to do anything on the first day (Friday). I wouldn’t let myself go to bed until I had a solid, workable idea.

Right off the bat, the theme triggered four ideas. I eliminated one of them based on scope, and the other three were awful. I racked my brains for another hour until I hit the proverbial light-bulb, whereupon this happened.


This is, more or less, the idea as it was eventually implemented. Forcing myself to do this was a great idea. I even threw together a preliminary asset list based on these thoughts before heading off to bed.

Technical Implementation Second

My proudest moment of the jam was having a functional game with boxes and lines before adding any other assets. It took most of the first day and almost half of the second day (more on that in “What Went Wrong”) but there’s something about seeing the ideas in play that allows you to think more critically about the design elements. Without any distracting graphics, you can see which parts are fun and which parts aren’t.

When the “bullets” hit the wall and didn’t disappear, I was intrigued by the idea of them sticking, so I made a script to stick them to the wall. I think it ended up pretty cool. I got the movement, reloading, shooting, spawning enemies, killing enemies, and so on working, tweaking as I went, conceptualizing what everything would look like when the art came along.

On the same note of the technical implementation, I’m proud that I kept to my reusable, readable code standards in spite of the time pressure up until the very end. There are few hacks, and I added most of them in the last few hours of the jam to fix some weirdness. Most of the code I wrote will be reusable as framework for my next game jam, or any other games.

Amazing Tools and Pre-Jam Experimentation

Unity was great as always. The 2D Platformer Controller by Markus Staib was an absolute godsend of a Unity package. I modified the code a lot, but it gave me a really good basis for excellent maneuverability and player control.

Aseprite has never steered me wrong, even with my lacking pixel slinger skills. Exporting from there to Tiled then into the project with Tiled2Unity is smooth and, although it has some kinks, does a lot of the heavy lifting quickly.

I used all of these tools to make a little thing before the jam started, which helped me rediscover a lot of things. I should have spent more time with this (see bits about animation and audio in Unity below) but I would have been completely lost if I’d jumped into the jam cold.

What Went Wrong

Freaking Out About the Idea

I couldn’t sleep much Friday night because I kept thinking the idea wouldn’t work, that it would have to be tweaked to be top-down or 3D, otherwise the game would never be any fun. I shouldn’t have come to these conclusions so quickly without going forward with the idea. Be confident in your idea. Not your first idea, mind you, but the one that strikes you as “hey, this is the one!”

Changing course should happen early, but know that game jams aren’t meant to create gems every time. It’s a sandbox where failure is not only possible but encouraged. If the game isn’t fun, if it’s completely unsalvageable, well hey – it’s a game. It’s done. Now you can eliminate a possibility that doesn’t work, and learn from why it doesn’t work.

Too Long to Technical Implementation, or No Such Thing as Small Scope

This issue was a combination of two things: having too grand a plan and not having enough of a framework from the start. Next Ludum Dare (assuming I do Unity again), I’ll have a lot more basic framework stuff to work with.

Without assets to implement, I didn’t have any framework for animation or audio, and I wasn’t handling all the mechanics correctly. This was a mistake because I ran into snags with all of these things in the final six hours of the jam. I should have modeled the final requirements (sloped surfaces, ladders) more accurately with boxes and lines before calling the technical development “finished,” and I should have put in temporary bits for audio and animation to make sure those technical areas were covered.

As the jam progressed, I had to drop features. Luckily, I was smart enough to develop the core before anything else, so I didn’t have to remove anything that I’d already implemented, but there were things I would have liked to have that I couldn’t:

  • Ammo limitations and static ammo box for refilling
  • Enemies with actual weapons (the swords are fake *gasp*)
  • Multiple enemy types
  • Melee weapons
  • More ranged weapon types
  • Player health
  • Other droppables by enemies etc.

Of course, that doesn’t mean I can’t add these in a future version. 🙂

On a related note…

Not Enough Time for Assets

I literally threw together the wave complete, game over, reload, and pickup sounds plus the enemy and player death animations in the last hour. There wasn’t any animation at all until three hours before the jam ended. There wasn’t any player/enemy art until six hours before it ended (except the crossbow).

If I’d finished the technical stuff earlier and didn’t have to go back to it in such a large degree, there would have been more time for the assets. But when I started constructing the levels from tiles and experienced issues with slopes and ladders, I had to put the art on hold. And when I needed to implement audio and animation, I had to remember all the quirks of Unity that I’d long forgotten, which I should have experimented with before the jam so I didn’t have to run around in circles during the crammed hours of Ludum Dare.

Also, I made the music early on in one pass per track, and I should have spent more time on those, maybe even chosen NES or Sega Genesis as the basis and had them fit more nicely together.


At the end of it all, I felt like the 48 hours hadn’t happened at all, that I was going to sleep on Friday night and the whole thing had been a vivid hallucination. Since the game exists, I guess that isn’t true.

Now that I know what the 48 hour limit feels like, I can prepare for Ludum Dare 38’s compo. The framework code I’ve put together from this jam should be a huge boost.

As for any advice for those wishing to enter Ludum Dare:

  1. Finish all technical stuff early: game flow, core mechanics, additional mechanics, and temporary animations, sound effects, and music. Make a complete and playable (maybe even releasable) boxes and lines prototype with zero assets. If you have an audience, release that version to them and get feedback on pure gameplay.
  2. Focus. Do design, code, art, sound, music, animation, or testing, but do not jump back and forth. Set aside multi-hour chunks where you only do one thing. You get 48 (or 72) hours. Allocate them.
  3. Leave at least six hours for polish. This includes technical testing, refining assets, and adjusting game values to ensure maximum balance and fun.
  4. Spend time getting good default controls. Don’t put too much effort into a readme. People won’t read – they’ll download, launch, and play your game. Even though Unity has a nice launcher where they can see and customize the controls, they won’t. (Apologies if this sounds cynical but it’s true. >_>)
  5. Package your game in a zipped folder containing a folder containing all your game stuff. The extra top-level folder makes it easier for people to drop it into a folder where they’ve extracted other stuff. Include a shortcut or link to your Ludum Dare page so they can rate your game even if they closed out of the page, and don’t forget all your social media links!
  6. Do the 72-hour version. The compo is for lunatics. xD

Ludum Dare 36 Postmortem: Conor & Harley

This is the postmortem for my game Connor & Harley made in 72 hours for the Ludum Dare 36 game jam.

Yes, you’re reading that right–there’s no Ludum Dare 35 postmortem. Although I was involved in making music and audio for that particular jam, I felt separate from it, and my work was sporadic rather than constant. For that reason, I never got around to doing a postmortem because it felt wrong doing it for a disjointed event rather than a specific project.

For the 36th edition of Ludum Dare, which was my third and the second one in which I attempted the compo (working alone), I decided to make a text adventure. I know the modern parlance is to call it interactive fiction, and in fact the game did veer in that direction, but I can’t bring myself to call it anything except a text adventure, because to me these games owe their legacy to Crowther’s Adventure and Infocom’s Dungeon (Zork series).

No, I don’t think the thing I cobbled together in 72 hours come anywhere near comparable to these. Actually, I won’t even call it a finished game (story) until I’ve had at least three or four more releases in the distant future. However, these games are a deep part of my childhood, even though they were around for decades before I was born.

I won’t bore you with a historical account of my experience in interactive fiction, except to say that I owe a lot to Campbell Wild’s ADRIFT system. Not only did this system get me making my first games, it also taught me many things about programming, including the revelation of the mysterious things known as “variables.”

And now we move on to the fabled Two Sections of a Game Postmortem.

What Went Right

The decision to switch to the jam (72 hours instead of 48) in the middle of the competition.

I also mentioned this in my Ludum Dare 34 postmortem, and it was exactly the same situation. I figured because I wouldn’t be spending time creating assets, I wouldn’t have this problem again. I was very wrong, for all the reasons outlined in “What Went Wrong,” below.

But it was a good idea. I came to a point in the middle of the second day where I realized my game had potential. This left me with two options: cut corners now to get the game into a finishable state, or continue on to the third day. There weren’t really any cons to adding on the extra day, other than being out of the competition. Since this Ludum Dare doesn’t have rankings it didn’t make a huge difference.

The jam option allows additional benefits, such as working in teams and not sharing your source, but I decided to stick to the compo rules and tack on the extra day as a sort of hybrid challenge to myself. The end result is much better than it would have been otherwise, especially because:

Someone who wasn’t me play-tested the game.

Watching this play-test, taking notes, and seeing the resulting transcript led to a huge number of changes in the last four hours of the jam. These ranged from simple typos like “your hair rubs against your ceiling” to huge, game-breaking situations like the player being able to magically hop into the ending without solving the second-to-last puzzle.

Even though this meant finishing the game before the deadline and taking time out to watch the play-test on-fold, the benefits were huge. I had always heard it’s a good idea to finish at least half a day early for play-testing even in a severely limited event like a game jam, but now I’ve experience it first hand, and I truly believe it. I only wish I had left more time for testing, or had more testers to try the game.

Eating, sleeping, and generally looking out for myself.

This one is a given which I learned was a good idea in my first jam. Although Conquistaquest ended up being rather impressive since I was learning the tech as I went and didn’t have any prior completed-game experience, I basically blew off the last 12 hours in a blind daze and couldn’t solve some of the more killer bugs late in the jam. This led to us dropping a couple features which could have been fun, and which I could have implemented quickly after some proper sleep and nourishment.

Using good tech designed specifically for what I wanted to accomplish.

You’ll see my decision to use Inform 7 as a pro and a con. It’s a pro because the system is hugely intuitive. Inform 7 uses a “natural programming language” which means most of the code reads like a book. Some of it can be a bit weird–which I’ll get into in the “What Went Wrong” section–but generally it’s as smooth as writing a novel.

Here’s an excerpt of actual code from the game which reads like normal English:

The crystals are part of the chandelier. They are scenery. Understand “crystal” and “pearls” and “glass” as the crystals. “Glittery balls of glass held together by nearly invisible string or chains. Some are more globular than others, and a bit cloudy. You wonder if they’re pearls or simply meant to look like them.”

Although some of it is a bit stilted and technical, you can get a good idea of what’s going on here. You can see more by browsing the game source and learn more about the language on the Inform 7 website.

Going out of my storytelling comfort zone.

I have a long history of jumping on fantastic worlds, magic, the traditional (cliché) medieval setting, and the like. I used a bit of this as a crux in this adventure, but the idea of setting it in a modern, real-world (ish) place would normally terrify me.

The leap out of my comfort zone was intentional: by doing so, I created a brand new universe to explore. Although the game isn’t set in a specific, real place, it involves college students in a renaissance-era palace and I did a significant amount of research in the short 72-hour development period. I think this led to a more believable and interesting experience, but it may have also led to some holes and inconsistencies. We’ll get to that soon.

What Went Wrong

Very minimal outline before starting development, which led to all sorts of problems.

Here’s a shortlist of the problems this cause:

  • I was way too blabbery in the beginning, and as I started to run out of time, the game text grew terser.
  • I didn’t leave any time in the beginning for research because there wasn’t any idea specific enough to research. This was especially a problem in a modern setting.
  • The work went from start to finish. As I suggested to myself in the LD34 postmortem, it’s always best in a tight deadline to get the thing done from start to finish as quickly as possible, then fill in the complexity and details of the middle. Didn’t do that.
  • A lack of focus as to what the game was going to be. I started making an event-based story but had it in my head that I wanted a traditional text adventure, so the game became this weird collection of both and sometimes a hybrid.

Limited prior experience with Inform 7.

Although I worked through the entire tutorial book several years ago, Inform 7 has changed drastically since then. I’ve also only made a single, very small game with the system, so I wasn’t familiar with all that it took to build a larger project from start to finish. Sometimes I tripped on the more obscure pieces of the compiler.

For instance, you can’t use “if, otherwise if, otherwise” unless you’re using the “big if statement” format. This means that the following won’t work.

If the player is tall, say “You hit your head on the ceiling”;

otherwise if the player is short, say “You pass through with ease.”;

otherwise say “You pass through, but your hair brushes the ceiling.”

Instead, you have to phrase it like this.

If the player is tall:

say “You hit your head on the ceiling”;

otherwise if the player is short:

say “You pass through with ease.”;


say “You pass through, but your hair brushes the ceiling.”

Notice the semicolons, colons, and indentation here. Those are all super-finicky, including the periods, so it took a long time to get used to these rules. No matter how natural Inform 7 appears, it’s still a programming language. That means it abides by very strict, very technical rules.

On this same note, finding a specific phrasing of something can be very difficult. The functionality to search through the documentation searches broadly and has no advanced features. So if I’m trying to find what the word “called” does, I get every single instance of the word “called” in the documentation, including the ones in the main text (not in code examples).

These problems largely went away later in the jam as I grew more familiar with the system’s quirks. I also started to find answers more quickly as my vocabulary began to match that which the system expects. It’s kind of ironic how using Inform 7 can be like playing a frustrating text adventure sometimes, where you’re stuck trying to guess the verb, like when the action is “using it with” instead of “using it” or “using with it”.

No codebase to work from.

Related to my lack of experience with Inform 7, I didn’t have any code for it lying around. Before the jam, I pulled together as many extensions as I could so I could make my starting point super-flexible. However, I found that many of these extensions use obscure language just like the core language, so trying to figure out all their technicalities on top of the language itself only made things worse.

Now that I have some more code under my belt, I can start creating my own personal extensions. The next time I write an adventure I’ll have a lot of the technical bits from this specific game already implemented in a way that makes sense to me. That’s a huge boon over starting from scratch.

The adventure blew way out of scope.

This is something I need to continue to work on, and I think it’ll get better as I do more of these jams. You can’t do a lot in 48 hours, or even in 72. There’s no getting around that. So instead of trying to do more, you should find a way to accomplish more in less actual content. Hence the popularity of procedural generation at Ludum Dare.

The scope getting out of hand was largely a product of not having a complete outline. I didn’t know the ending, I didn’t see the bigger picture, and I kept changing course as I went along. I started with large swathes of text, spending the entire first day on what I thought was going to be nothing more than the introduction to the game. Possibly I should have cut my losses at that point and made the introduction the full game. In that case, I might have finished in 48 hours.

In the end, the game has a lot of empty space and things which don’t exist because it was too big for me to handle in this short period of time. Next Ludum Dare I’m going to think so small it hurts, and then build from there. Much easier to do that than to think big and cut down.


My initial thought was to do procedural generation, but when I went down the text route, I had to familiarize myself with the language. Now that I’m more clear on how Inform functions, maybe I could pull off something a little more procedural. The problem with text is that it can’t be abstract enough to really be generated without insanely advanced natural language processing.

Maybe at the next Ludum Dare I’ll do something procedurally generated, more abstract, more programmery. Or maybe I’ll try another crack at a text adventure. My next big project is going to be NaNoWriMo, so it could go either way: I might be burned out from writing my novel, or I might be so into writing that I want to keep going with it.

In any case, I feel like I succeeded again at this Ludum Dare. I made a game that is playable–and winnable–in a period of 72 hours, on my own. Got to give myself credit for that.