In the third part of the Sebastian plans a playtest series series, I talk about setting up a yardstick to measure success.

So I know the kind of information I’m looking for from the players, and I know the kind of feeling I want afterwards, now to try to engineer a positive result.

No Strategy

Before I figured out there may be a strategy to running a playtest, I would walk into the game unprepared, sometimes confounded by the vulgar disparity between my fantasy playtest experience and the cold reality of a group of strangers in a room.

If I’d known that my feeling of apprehension was normal and healthy, I would have had more fun, and maybe even garnered healthier feedback. The problem was, I didn’t know what to expect, and so I was not able to measure success.

Best-Friend-Quality Yardstick

When I go into a blind playtest, I need to understand what will constitute a success. Is it the quality of the feedback received? The general motivation of the players involved? The infectious enthusiasm? Recruiting new evangelists?

These are the fantasy conditions. In reality, a good playtest is an experience that gives me new impetus to improve the game toward completion. Assuming that every playtest will offer something close to that (once I know the right questions to ask before the playtest begins), then I need to figure out what makes a closing playtest. That is, a playtest that is going to tell me that my game is ready for press.

In Hell for Leather, my closing playtest is far away.  I’ve been comparing all new playtests to something I experienced with a group of my best friends at the beginning of the design process. I’ve been hoping that one of these new playtests (with strangers) will replicate that experience. But in those old playtests, the guys I was playing with trusted me, loved my playing style, respected my ideas, and generally treated me like a mother treats her ugly baby. I could do no wrong. The games were awesome, contagious, and spirited. Good times. But do these games and experiences constitute a fair yardstick for success?

No.

There’s a reason they’re my best friends. I have to assume that I’m never going to have such ideal conditions, such trusting friendships and relationships, at the playtest gaming table. Coupling the anxiety of strangers with my own apprehension, there will rarely be the same kind of creative generosity or liberty. Knowing that I can’t replicate that experience, or shouldn’t expect that kind of experience, I am starting to understand why my closing playtest seems so far away. My expectations are too high.

Fixing Expectations

So if I am not going to look for best-friend-quality gaming, how should I set the bar? That’s the important question. I needed to de-construct my intentions and try to force them into a new strategy.

First of all, I made a list, this time of components that helped me to define a positive gaming experience.

• Feedback
• Laughter
• Attention
• Creativity

Once I broke the experience down like this, I felt that my expectations became more manageable. So, I want laughter. Is that a sensible goal? It has nothing to do with my game, so why is it important? Well, the answer is dull. It is important because it is important to me. In my closing playtest I envision laughter, so now it’s time to figure out how to promote that kind of vibe.

In the next post I’ll talk about what these components mean to me, what sort of environment encourages them, and how I intend to push the playtest toward making them happen.

(Next time…Interpreting the yardstick components)