The way we interact with stories in video games is a lot more intense than with literature.
We have to solve puzzles, or work out strategies, or hone reaction times. We have to figure out how to min-max our stats, get the most benefit from investing in skills, weigh the penalties and benefits of different sorts of equipment.
There are leagues. People train for this stuff.
In narrative-driven games (The Witcher, Cyberpunk 2077) the story itself becomes another game mechanic.
We play through multiple times, because it’s fun. And we plan: when I get to the point where Geralt has to decide who to fall in love with, I’ll go for the red-head this time. Or we play through the conclusion of a game, then re-load a save from just before the end, so we can postpone it and finish off a dozen side-quests. Or we go berserk and murder a bunch of innocents in a bloody rampage, just to see how it feels, confident we can turn back time with a quick re-load.
Look at these idiot NPCs, completely oblivious to the fact that I just slaughtered them and then turned back time.
Somehow we keep the stories straight in our heads, the semi-overlapping parallel versions of our simulated realities. If we play through enough times we build up this weird mosaic of the game in space and time, all the branching choices and possible outcomes.
In a game as big as Skyrim, the possible narrative space is endless. No wonder people are still playing this game well over a decade from release. People who already know every possible outcome of the story find new ways to slog through it. They’ll impose self-limits.
“I’ll only make evil decisions this time.”
“I’ll be a magic user who’s forbidden from holding weapons.”
“No fast travel on this play-through. I’ll walk or ride a horse everywhere.”
“Let’s install a mod that penalizes me for hunger and cold weather.”
All to see, I suppose, how this effects their affect. What is it like to go through this fictional life in this new way?
How refreshing to have that option. Even if it’s just on a screen. (Or, for a few early adopters who don’t suffer from motion sickness, in VR.) How different would life feel if you knew you could log a save before every major decision and do it again if things didn’t work out?
Or if you could lower the difficulty slider when things got really tough.
I haven’t had a lot of time for video games over the past several months.
We’re talking maybe 20 minutes a week, here and there.
I suppose I could stay up late, cut into my sleeping time. But as it is I’m already blacking out twice a day on the train and for a few minutes during lunch. I was low-energy long before life got challenging.
It should be a bit of a fun escape. But when I do sit down in front of a computer, I’m too mentally fried for strategizing, never mind holding the multiplicity of possible outcomes in my head of a story I last visited several months before.
I click “continue” and then wonder: What was I doing on the side of this mountain? What button do I press to cast a spell? Where is Lydia?
Going into Minecraft for a few minutes of mindless branch mining has been more my speed. Or making a quick delivery in Euro Truck Simulator.
Although even this low-impact stalwart has betrayed me. I know I was in the middle of a big delivery, but the loading screen hits me with “Content change detected. Your delivery was canceled and you have been moved to a safe garage…” Meanwhile Microsoft Flight Simulator completely re-worked the control scheme, from how you pan the view to which button on the controller lowers the flaps.
I start to wonder, if you can’t play every day, is it worth playing at all? In that way, gaming starts to feel a little bit more like real life than what I’m looking for.
Maybe I should dedicate those 20 minutes to reading, instead. Where there’s just one narrative to keep track of, and all I’ve got to do is stay awake.
Or maybe I should mow the lawn. It’s an absolute disaster.
When life gets challenging and there's little time for pleasant distractions, how do YOU unwind?
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