One thing about me as a worker in video games is I’ve always cared about being credited. Early on, when I didn’t know what a career was or that I’d ever last this long in one, I felt like all I’d really have in the end is my name in the credits. There was the incontrovertible record that I was there, I existed along with all those other people and we all contributed to that single work. Whether the game was good or weird or boring or whatever, that didn’t change the fact of the record that it happened. My accidental understanding of legacy, I suppose, and perhaps a misplaced fixation. Real people know me, shouldn’t that matter more than some list of names in a video game that strangers will ignore? And yet.
In any case, over time I realized that I was getting my name into at least one new game release a year. I didn’t plan for that, it’s just how it shook out. And naturally, I fixated on that as well. The nice, steady sequence of years, starting in 2004. (My work previous to that was websites or online walkthroughs and credited to one of my many pseudonyms). Most game devs will tell you that it’s not realistic to ship at that pace, but for some workers in the marketing or game test disciplines (and anyone working on mobile or episodic stuff), it’s just reality. Their efforts require them to contribute to many games at a time, particularly working at the publishing level like I have. While some may not concern themselves with what they’ve worked on, I really do care. It’s just important to me to care about what I’m doing on some level. How could I work on these things, sometimes under difficult circumstances, with no sense of attachment or ownership? What’s the point if it’s all just a paycheck? This has to matter, if only to me. There has to be a record that it mattered.
Well, that steady release cadence got bunted when Dead Space 2 didn’t ship in time for the 2010 holiday window. Instead, it was delayed until early 2011, which meant that for the first time, I experienced something closer to a typical developer’s time on a project. I joined that team in November 2009 and ended in February 2011. A big ol’ gap in the shape of 2010 that I’d never forget, again, as meaningless as all of this is.
But the annual cadence resumed and I had a good run from 2011 to 2021. Now, again, I’m looking at a gap in 2022. No new games shipped this year. Just reflecting on what’s come before and what’s ahead. Combined with hitting my twentieth year in video games and my fortieth year of being alive, it just feels like a bit much. I’ve lost the rhythm that comes with perpetually shipping a game. I’ve been using the extra brain bandwidth to study new things, consider how I might spend the next ten or twenty years. The usual considerations of arriving here.
And still, as ever, I check my mobygames profile. I sort the list of games to my name by year. I look it all over, maybe reflect on memories of working on a particular game or two. Then I get back to work.