1 Endurance by William Maxfield A project submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of MASTER OF ARTS IN ENGLISH WEBER STATE UNIVERSITY Ogden, Utah Month Day, Year Approved ______ Name of Committee Chair* ____ _____ _________ Name of Committee Member* ______________________________ Name of Committee Member* 2 Introduction Endurance is the result of obsession. It is a choice-driven narrative, which means that the reader impacts the outcomes of the story itself, changing the course of the narrative. I created Endurance as a hypertext in the program Twine. According to their own website, “Twine is an open-source tool for telling interactive, nonlinear stories” (“Twine”). In short, I was able to create passages that use hyperlinks to chain into a narrative. Although writing a choice-driven narrative has proven difficult because it is experimental, the idea itself is not a new one. Many, if not most, people living in the U.S. will know about the Choose Your Own Adventure (CYOA) book series. The premise is that, despite wildly different settings, the reader gets to make choices that influence the narrative itself. These choices are made by turning to the appropriate page. Sections of text end asking the reader what they want to do next. Each possible choice lists the page number where that choice drives everything forward. My project itself is text-based, much like the CYOA series. Rather than flipping between page numbers, the user of the program will click links that move to the next section of the story. While the CYOA books are a good model for comparison, the main impetus for this project comes from video games as their own medium of storytelling. I have noticed in my past research on the topic of video games as a writing medium that games have often been associated with adolescence and stigma. I have noticed a general resentment for video games where they are often derided as a waste of time. The gamers who play regularly are often stereotyped as lazy, childish, and socially lacking. Worse, video games are often cited for an increase of violence among youth. However, I do not need to jump to the defense of games. This overall perception seems to be changing, and there are many writers and scholars out there making a defense for games as an art form. For example, psychology professor 3 Patrick Markey has written multiple papers, including “Violent Video Games and Real-World Violence: Rhetoric Versus Data,” to showcase how games work as an artform, and that they are not statistically linked in any meaningful way to real-world violence in the people who play them. Much of my research early on in this project has been focused on what separates video game writing from other forms of writing, so it was important to look into the validity of video games as an art form. To do this, I believe it is relevant to show the shifting public perception with video games. Games journalist Ryan Parreno broke down reports from the Federal Trade Commission (FTC), and found that games “have outgrossed movies for a significant period of time now. Around 2012 to 2013, the amount of revenue made by the industry in total started outpacing that of Hollywood” (Parreno). By 2022, games have passed the milestone of making approximately five times that of “global box office revenues” (Parreno). This surprises a lot of people because of how influential Hollywood has been in our modern culture. Even more surprising is that there are so many regular video game players. A breakdown by Josh Howarth states that “Globally, there are approximately 3.09 billion active video game players… That figure has risen by over 1 billion in just seven years” (Howarth). This statistic is an estimate based around the number of people reported to play video games frequently. While the exact number is unknown, this estimate would mean that approximately forty percent of the world’s total population play video games regularly. The Question These statistics and estimates reflect an increasing popularity. With that popularity, games are slowly losing their association with adolescence. As Jacob Swanson points out in his article, “The stigma around video games,” the negative associations seem to be decreasing as more and 4 more people experience games. Swanson also makes the point that games have been noted to be a more prosocial activity than watching television. But this project is not about what makes a game; it is a project about what makes a story. The true reason for my obsession with this topic is the intersection between games and stories. I realized early on that my favorite stories, or at least the ones that stuck with me the most, were the ones that I had participated in. The question I began to ask myself was why I felt this way. What made some video games feel more emotionally impactful than a lot of movies or books? Were games really doing something special, and if so, what? I quickly realized I was not alone in asking these questions. In 2021 I was working as a writing tutor, talking to the student about his literary analysis. The story in question was Naughty Dog’s The Last of Us. As I was asking him some questions about his analysis, he told me why this particular topic was so important to him. He told me that, within the first hour or so of starting the game, he felt strong enough emotions to cry. He explained that this was important because it was the first time in months, if not years, that he had that kind of emotional reaction to anything. He told me he wanted his paper to explore the significance of this particular story. At the end of that year, I used this question to fuel one of my first essays into this particular field of study. While I narrowed the focus to specify choice and player agency, I opened the door to the concept of interaction with stories. My hypothesis was that games can capture emotions easily because they ask the player to put themselves in a literal situation outside of their own. Rather than purely empathizing with characters, players can also be those characters. I explored my hypothesis with empirical evidence; primarily that I noticed how games tended to operate with interaction. I pulled from a few studies that supported the hypothesis, but I 5 did not put too much thought into the psychology or even the design philosophy of games. This first paper was mainly my way of identifying how games could even drive emotions. Ultimately, I concluded that “games teach us a few different lessons: [they are] a good medium to challenge traditional structures; this form of writing has yet to be fully explored; and finally this type of writing can pave the way for future formats and other tools to create an immersive and engaging story” (“Trailblazing” 14). I compared it to other progressions in media format. Oral storytelling would move into theater, novels, and even radio dramas and television. Just as understanding visual composition is vitally important in television, I maintain that understanding interaction is the most important distinction with games. Video games need visual composition in the same way that movies need effective dialogue; the distinction is that interaction is the specific element that video games are most tailored to use. The Research My goal here is to outline the way in which I structured a base for future projects. I felt I had established one of the primary modes in which games operated as a newer form of storytelling media, and I wanted to continue on that path. I made a statement at the end of that first paper that ultimately became this project: “Because video games rely on a graphical interface, it would be worth presenting the same story through a text-only medium and a video game format to find the practicality of a hypertext story” (“Trailblazing” 15). I do not classify my project as a game, but I used game design philosophy in its construction. My most recent academic research set the scene for this project in many ways. At the time of writing it, I knew I wanted to try making a choice-driven narrative of my own. Because of that, I wanted to understand the rhetoric of the medium in a very detailed way. In my paper, “Fused Identity and the Persuasive Rhetoric of Game Design,” much of my research was based 6 on game designer Brian Upton’s book, The Aesthetic of Play, and Dr. Ian Bogost’s book, The Ecology of Games. I came to both books with my hypothesis that interaction was the key to how games could tell a compelling story. The problem I was faced with was that of definition: what exactly was interaction? Upton defines interaction as “by definition, active. It’s the give-and-take between player and rule system” (23). As I point out in “Fused Identity,” Upton elaborates by saying that interaction “doesn’t require a physical interface, such as a controller, to occur; rather ‘interface’ itself is a result of the player engaging with the rules of the game” (5). For example, games can be played without an interface. Board games from checkers to Monopoly operate with the understanding that we, the players, impose the rules on ourselves. We agree via social contract what the rules are and how we engage with them. But video games use this idea in a unique way: the rules are pre-determined. “Learning how to play a game is often a matter of internalizing a set of external constraints. With chess, this process is explicit—we read the rules and memorize them. But with a videogame, we learn the rules mostly by experimentation” (Upton 29). Players do not have the opportunity to decide what Mario can do, or how many enemies they will face in The Last of Us. What they can do is change their approach to the situation, and adjust their actions based on what they learn through trial and error. Dr. Bogost says something similar: “When video games represent things—anything from space demons to long-term debt—they do so through procedurality, by constructing rule-based models of their chosen topics” (123). This idea is very important with how games can use the act of interaction itself to tell a story. Other mediums of storytelling are typically constrained in how they can reveal information to the audience. Books must use language itself to dictate what the reader knows. Movies focus on visuals to relay similar information, but the story itself is constrained to what the camera 7 shows. The viewer cannot change the angle of the camera. In a video game, this constraint is optional. Many video games use exploration as a key component for storytelling. For example, Red Dead Redemption 2 is primarily a model to interact with. There are non-player characters (NPCs), shops, and explorable locations with treasures, notes, and other elements that tell small stories through the game’s environment. When I play the game, I am not constrained by the order I can explore these environments with. I may not see all the small stories told through the environment, but the stories I do uncover this way can feel more akin to real life. It can feel less fictional at times because I can easily miss small details and moments. Each detail I do pick up on seems more meaningful because I discovered it by acting within the model. The act of exploration can be a way to tell a story, but not every model is inherently a story. For Bogost, the model only requires a player to participate in the model. The player follows constraints while in pursuit of a goal… [t]hus, the ‘procedure’ of accomplishing this goal is where games divert from other formats. The player must drive the action forward, and the journey is more important than the end-state of the game. (“Fused Identity” 6) This is where I start to separate from Bogost. Bogost focuses purely on game design here, while I want to tell the best possible story. So, while Bogost looks at the pursuit of the goal as being the driving force for the game, I see the pursuit of the goal as a way to raise the stakes in a story. Imagine being tasked with sneaking past a couple of guards. It can be tense, sure, but we don’t know why it matters. If I told you that you have to sneak past the guards quickly in order for the character to save their daughter being held at gunpoint in the next room, 8 suddenly we have a timer and a reason to not fail. Cutscenes can establish these kinds of conditions… the potential to fail is a key motivation to participate! (“Fused Identity” 7) This failure condition is utilized differently in games than it is in traditional media forms. While movies or books can also use the condition of failure to raise tension, the outcome is predetermined. Regardless of what a reader or viewer does, the characters will either be successful or not. When failure is an optional outcome, and the player must restart or try again, it can create just as much tension, if not more. In order to avoid failure, active participation is required in a game. The idea of motivation itself is one that I see as the primary reason games have another dimension to offer when it comes to the experience of a story. The tenets of game design support this idea. The psychology behind game design itself is very involved with finding ways to make a player care about completing the objective. When we look at choice-driven narrative games, this is even more so the case. [I]n interactive narratives, readers choose the character’s actions; thus, readers are likely to feel a sense of responsibility for the consequences and outcomes in the story due to the enhanced user control. Indeed, studies in our laboratory reliably show stronger feelings of responsibility for a character’s actions in interactive narratives compared with traditional narratives. (Green and Jenkins 488) Through research like this, I believe it is clear that story-centered games can make the objectives themselves a storytelling device. Influential Games I took the opportunity to replay Telltale Games’ The Walking Dead before starting the creative portion of the project itself. The game itself is often considered mostly cutscene. There is little gameplay beyond making decisions that will affect the course of the story. Some sections 9 require the player to complete quick time events (QTEs) in order to succeed. In a QTE, players are prompted to press the correct buttons in the correct order. These buttons are linked with character actions on screen, and missing the buttons will often result in a “game over” screen and a prompt to try again. These QTEs do not change the narrative of the game at all. They only serve to act as a motivator for participation and interaction. They are a storytelling device, but they do not impact the direction of the story. I am interested in the game itself because it is not considered a skill-based game. The QTEs can be completed through memorization and brute force, and through decisions the game will reach an end with almost no motor skill challenges. Thus, the game itself cannot be based purely on overcoming the traditional challenges based on Bogost’s model. Instead, the challenges are more emotional and morality based. Players are presented with plenty of “no-win” situations in which they must make an “impossible” choice. In the first episode, the player must choose between two characters. Each character needs help in order to survive, but the player cannot help both. Either way, the player is helpless as they watch the other character die to the zombies. The challenge itself is not in completing the decision, but in the exploration of an impossible decision. This is the distinction between games as a form of entertainment and games as an artform. Books can be entertaining, but they can also explore philosophical ideals of the same nature. Video games have the advantage of changing outcomes. When outcomes of a story can change, players can more readily see the lack of a winning scenario. The story The Walking Dead tells is relatively straightforward. The player plays as convicted felon, Lee Everett, at the start of the zombie apocalypse. While on his way to prison, Lee is in a car crash that leads him to find Clementine, an eight-year-old girl orphaned and alone. Lee promises to take care of Clementine, and that becomes the game’s challenge to the player. 10 The game asks players to make survival decisions where it is not easy to know what the better option is. At the end of the second episode in the game, Lee and Clementine are in a group where everyone is starving. The group happens across a car in the woods. While there is nobody in sight, and it seems abandoned, there is no way to know who owns it or where they are. And the car itself is filled with food and other survival supplies. Clementine tells the group it is wrong to take supplies because it would be stealing, but the group is starving. They will take the supplies regardless of what you do. Do you support the behavior, or refuse to help them take the supplies? The player is in direct conflict because, in order for Clementine to be happy, they have to refuse to help take supplies. She will be happy, but not well-fed. On the other hand, she can be upset with the player because they stole supplies, but ultimately fed and warm. My initial experience with this game over a decade ago was very influential. I remember instantly bonding with the characters, and I remember becoming so invested in their stories that I was moved to tears multiple times. My latest playthrough of the game was intended for me to uncover how the writers created a story that was capable of doing all of this while taking advantage of player interaction. The first aspect I noticed about this game was one I was already somewhat cognizant of: illusory choices. Regardless of what the player chooses with the abandoned car, Clementine will still be fed. The biggest change is cosmetic. If you take the supplies, she will wear a new hoodie. If you do not, she will not have the hoodie. There is no dialogue about her being warm or cold, and neither option affects the ultimate outcome of the game. Most choices are like this in the game. Most choices branch out to different scenes and characters, but they eventually funnel back into the main story. This makes sense for a few reasons. The number one reason is that this allows writers to create a more traditional narrative 11 underneath the choices. With a more traditional plot structure, writers are more able to create meaningful moments that progress with a plot that draws on the themes of the story itself. Another reason is that funneling eases complexity. Each choice could eventually lead to entirely new circumstances if not truncated by events leading to the same choice down the line. This is something that is often criticized with The Walking Dead and other titles by Telltale. Some players find this practice of illusory or funneling choice to be deceptive and manipulative. From their perspective, the game lies. The choices made by the player won’t affect the outcome. My perspective differs from these critiques. I would argue that the connection the player feels with the character is more important than the outcome. Just like Bogost on game design, the interesting part of a choice-driven narrative is in the journey more so than the outcome. I replayed The Walking Dead three times in the past few months. At this point, I know the different branches pretty well. Each choice leads to a different atmosphere, different dialogue, and even different characters entirely. That level of tailoring is meaningful for creating the feeling of consequence. Ultimately, this level of tailoring also helps to build the themes. Each choice of The Walking Dead explores the duality of doing what is right with doing what is necessary, especially in the case of parenthood. Going back to the example of the abandoned car, both choices have interesting implications for the major theme of right and wrong in a survival situation. If the player steals the supplies, the story tailors itself to build on themes of the price of doing what is necessary. If the player refuses to steal the supplies, the story builds on the consequences of trying to do the right thing. My biggest takeaway from replaying the game is that choices must ultimately serve a larger purpose to serve the story itself. The Walking Dead begins every episode with text that 12 reads “This game series adapts to the choices you make. The story is tailored to how you play.” I believe this is where confusion among players lies. This is somewhat ambiguous; do the developers mean that the story outcomes change based on how the player plays the game? Or do they mean the experience will change? In my perspective, the outcomes are not as important as the experience of the story itself. Determinant endings may not always be equal to each other, so one ending may be the only option. In The Walking Dead, the player cannot save Lee Everett from his ultimate fate. Thus, the decisions need to serve the story about Lee’s fate. This is why most decisions are based around the themes of the game: survival versus mercy, helping others or looking out for one’s own. Simple dialogue can be a representation of a character. It can give the reader a chance to project themselves onto a character, or to breathe life into a character by giving them a specific attitude. Major decisions should reflect possibilities and rationales behind decision making. Each outcome should build on the major theme in some way. Most stories build on themes through the decisions the characters make anyway. The difference in a choice-driven narrative is that the player can change how those themes work. The themes themselves might not change, but what is said about those themes might. If I play Lee as a brutal survivor, the outcomes may suggest that Lee’s fate is a result of the consequences of his actions. If I play Lee as a compassionate character, the outcomes may suggest that compassion always comes with a cost. Of course, this will depend on each person’s interpretation. While one person might see consequences catching up with someone, another person will see justification for acting brutally in a brutal world. What I Did My first priority in Endurance was to create a series of situations that warranted quick decision making. From there, I knew I would have to come up with a setting and theme that 13 would draw on those qualities. I could outline the possibilities and explore the kinds of themes that could be explored through player choice. I knew that the main character would need some kind of background to be believable, but that they would need to be shapeable to align with the user’s decisions. From my perspective, the main character would need to be “incomplete” without the user. When I created the character of Commander Olivia Clark, I wanted to give her that background that could give the user a starting point while not getting in the way of making decisions. The ultimate way I found to introduce this new character was through exploration of a computer terminal. Rather than dictate the character’s history, I would allow the user to uncover the history as an optional aspect to building who she would become. It was not strictly necessary to understand the story, but it could help give the user some context. Rank: Commander Height: 5' 09" Age: 27 Hair: Black Eyes: Brown Family: Rebecca Clark (sister) Summary: Olivia Clark was born in the United Americas on Earth in 2109. She joined the United American military at age 18 and later earned a Bachelor of Science degree in 2129. In the UA military academy she later earned her Master's degree in astrophysics and exotic propulsion systems. At just age 26, she had already logged over 2 years of 14 spaceflight hours making runs between Kennedy Station, Earth; and Spirit Shipyard, Columbia Hills, Mars. She resigned her commission from the UA Military in 2135 in order to pursue a new life among the stars. I gave physical traits primarily, but the background was ideally left somewhat vague while also giving credentials to her capabilities. Setting her age was designed to show how she was simultaneously young in the field, but also experienced and tenacious. These were character traits that would allow for rebellious activity to challenge authority, but also traits that would allow for a more militaristic authority respecting readthrough. The setting itself comes from my desire to write in the genre of science fiction. I became interested in the duality of independence and trust. The natural space for themes like this to emerge was in a kind of detective story, which drove the plot itself. This provided ample opportunity to give interactive elements while maintaining decision making itself. An act of sabotage allowed the user to make decisions of who they decided to trust. I also knew this act of trust would have to go the other way. I used stored variables to track previous choices, and this freedom allowed me to unlock many capabilities. By storing variables, I was able to create fewer branches that tied together and bottlenecked with greater frequency. Rather than make a new branch for a binary choice, for example, I could record the choice as a variable that would be stored until the choice was relevant again. My favorite example of this is the variable of “trust” with two other characters. Maxwell Sutherford, the elected leader of the colony, and Captain Isaacs, both have “trust variables” that change depending on user input. If the user makes a decision the captain thinks is sensible, the 15 value of trust will increase. The opposite happens with a decision the captain does not like. From there, I am able to write multiple scenarios and lines of dialogue that will only be visible with a specific value. For example, in the scene after the user finds evidence of sabotage, the captain can respond to the user in three different ways. If the captain has a high level of trust, he will greet the user with a friendly tone: “‘Clark! Good to see you.” If he has a low level of trust, he will greet the user coolly: “‘Clark,’ he says slowly.” If he is between the high and low value, he will be relatively neutral: “‘Clark, you're back.” While the variable storage makes this kind of writing straightforward, keeping track of different events becomes increasingly difficult. Even in a short story format, the different choices can spiral out of control. One major change I made near the end of my drafting was to cut an entire choice branch because it was adding too much complexity. While I had planned for many more additional endings, I made the decision to filter down to just four. This allowed me to stay focused on tuning the writing towards the themes and towards the story I wanted to tell. I am interested in the conflict between individuality and unity, especially in a sense where they often seem mutually exclusive. I wanted the story to not be prescriptive. I do not want to preach about what kind of balance to achieve. Instead, I only wanted each outcome to reflect the need for a balance. To avoid biasing my story too much towards either side, I instead created a model like one might find in a video game. I created a scenario, placed characters on either side of the debate, and let the reader explore the scenario. Each choice was tailored to the theme, but not intended to sway the reader. I consider the story an exploration rather than a lesson in any kind of morality. Like any other form of writing, choice-driven narratives need to maintain a careful balance. In particular, the best choice-driven narratives use the choices themselves to drive home character and theme while not revealing the illusions behind the choices. They must feel natural, 16 but they must also serve that greater purpose. This reminds me of the advice for writing dialogue. It should feel natural so the reader does not question it, but it should serve the story ultimately. Even the most natural dialogue without purpose can be considered bad dialogue. My goal was to create a functional story in which the choices mattered in the context of theme before they mattered in the context of outcome. For example, the reader learns that Maxwell Sutherford, the elected leader of the colony, is suspected of sabotage. There is some evidence that he may be behind it, but it is not entirely clear. Captain Isaacs asks the reader to arrest Sutherford, and the reader must choose: do they support a flimsy arrest and maintain order and their own freedom, or do they stand up for another person at risk to themselves and the structure of command? The choice will not change the endings themselves; it is entirely unrelated to the decisions that create the endings. What they do is explore that theme of individuality and unity. If the reader supports the arrest, the captain is proud of them while Sutherford accuses them of being authoritarian: "I'm sorry," you say. "No!" Sutherford looks around like a wild animal. "No, I won't go! I did nothing wrong!" He tries to dart for it, but you and Walsh cut him off. He tries to fight you, but you easily subdue him by flipping him on his back. Hardy and Sanford both watch, stunned, as you bring his arms behind his back. "Please!" he yells. Walsh puts cuffs on his wrists. "I got him," she says, lifting him to his feet. "This is fascism!" Sutherford yells. 17 "Let's put him in the probe bay for now," Isaacs says. "Until we know what to do with him." Walsh starts marching him out the door, and Sutherford seems to stop resisting. "You're all making a mistake! I'm being framed!" You watch as he is marched down the corridor. "Good work, Clark," the captain says. The opposite is true on an opposing choice: "I'm sorry, sir," you say, "but I can't do that." Isaacs looks at you. "What?" "We don't have enough evidence sir." "The command codes are enough." "I disagree." Isaacs narrows his eyes. "I'm giving you a direct order," he threatens. "Make the arrest." 18 Sutherford is watching the two of you quietly. His eyes are pleading with you. I created the characters of Sutherford and Captain Isaacs to represent differing opinions about the theme itself. My goal was to create two mentor-like figures that will change their opinions on the reader based on these kinds of decisions. I am proud of what I was able to achieve. I think the choices are interesting, drive the story, and serve the purpose of exploring the themes of independence and freedom, along with ideals of the greater good, justice, and even survival. I do not consider the project fully finished at the moment I write this. My plans for the future are to improve the aspects unrelated to the choices. I know many characters have dialogue that tends to blend together into a monotonous voice, and I know that some characters have unclear or lacking motives. Rewrites polishing these aspects in particular will help to make the elements of choice be more effective at telling the story overall. The medium itself provides a lot of opportunities, but it should not be used as a crutch for storytelling. The other elements must also be strong. As I wrap up this project, I consider this field to be rich in terms of academic and creative pursuits. I believe that there is much more work to be done both in analyzing the existing media out there that uses choice to drive the narrative, and I know that there are many stories to be told in a similar format. While it is a difficult medium to write in, I have found immense satisfaction in finding ways to make decisions fit together in a unified way. The more time I spent writing in the particular format, the more I found a kind of focus where I could keep multiple choices in my head at the same time. I believe that, with practice, this seemingly complicated way to write can become second nature. I say this not to play down its difficulty, but rather to showcase the possibility that can be found with it. 19 Works Cited Bogost, Ian. “The Rhetoric of Video Games” The Ecology of Games: Connecting Youth, Games, and Learning. Edited by Katie Salen. The John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation Series on Digital Media and Learning. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2008. 117–140. doi: 10.1162/dmal.9780262693646.117 Green, Melanie C., and Keenan M. Jenkins. “Interactive Narratives: Processes and Outcomes in User-Directed Stories.” Journal of Communication, vol. 64, no. 3, June 2014, pp. 479–500. EBSCOhost, doi:10.1111/jcom.12093. Accessed 16 April 2023. Howarth, Josh. “How Many Gamers Are There? (New 2023 Statistics).” Exploding Topics, 18 Jan. 2023, https://explodingtopics.com/blog/number-of-gamers. Maxfield, William. “Fused Identity and the Persuasive Rhetoric of Game Design.” 2023. Weber State University, unpublished paper. Maxfield, William. “Trailblazing: Understanding Choice Driven Narratives in Video Games.” 2021. Weber State University, unpublished paper. Parreno, Ryan. “Gaming Is Five Times Bigger Than Movies Now.” Gameranx, 13 Dec. 2022, https://gameranx.com/updates/id/416500/article/gaming-is-five-times-bigger-than-movies -now/. Red Dead Redemption 2. Version 1.0.1436.28 for Windows PC, Rockstar Games Inc., 2021. Upton, Bryan. The Aesthetic of Play. The MIT Press, 2015. EBSCOhost, search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=e025xna&AN=968892&site=ehost-liv e. Swanson, Jacob. “The stigma around video games is changing.” Utah Business, 16 Dec. 2022, https://www.utahbusiness.com/changing-stigma-around-video-games/. 20 The Walking Dead. Version 1.0.0.23 for Windows PC, Telltale Games, 2014. “Twine.” Twinery, 8 July 2023, https://twinery.org/.