By Bretton Cadigan
As a kid I’d often head to the mall with my parents, and if I’d saved up enough allowance, I’d head to GameStop and buy a new video game, along with the strategy guide. If you don’t know about strategy guides (maybe you don’t play games, or you play games better than I do), a strategy guide is a beautifully illustrated paperback manual of hints and strategies meant to help uncover and conquer every objective of a video game. In the backseat with my game and guide, I’d get glimpses of the game’s highlights that were completely dissociated from the real-life experience of playing the game. This was a unique, liminal feeling, being able to take in these bits and pieces before any context or experience for what actually playing the game would feel like. It was unique, that is, until I started writing.
When you’re beginning a draft, it’s impossible to know how your story will feel to read—it’s like you’re on that car ride home, reading a strategy guide, your story still sealed in plastic wrap. So as a writer, what do you know?
You know your main character and the abilities they’ll unlock: Writers call this character development. This growth will give them the skills to overcome the challenges on their journey; whether your player unlocks double jump so they can access the lava world, or your protagonist overcomes their childhood trauma so they can finally compete in the town’s annual pie-eating contest. You may not have a perfect sense of how your character behaves or speaks yet, but that list of secret moves sure can give some inspiration.
You know the treasure that is hidden along the way: Writers call this “the good stuff.” These are the set pieces that get readers buzzing: the airport meet cute, the slasher-killer behind-the-door jump scare, the giant, magical talking frog wizard. These are the elements that inspired you to write this story in the first place; cute, creepy, cool, creative pieces that you can’t wait for readers to discover for themselves. In a game, this treasure will be hidden tucked away behind tough enemies, difficult puzzles, or at the end of a long dead-end hallway. You may not know exactly how to fit that scene at the post-apocalyptic space needle into your story just yet, but once you hit every dead-end in the maze, you’ll find that treasure for sure.
You know the final boss at the end of the level: Writers call this the climax. I’ll admit, I’d often skip straight to the back of the strategy guide to check out the final boss right away. Can you blame me? The final boss is the best part! This is the enemy that embodies everything that your main character isn’t: Mario vs. Bowser, Cloud vs. Sephiroth, Link vs. Ganon. The culmination of the narrative arc creates the sort of challenge that can only be defeated if your character can overcome their inner demons and become the hero that your story needs. Writing your climax is tough work because it needs to be just right; a single mistake could spell doom. But that’s all part of the design—if your climax took anything less, it wouldn’t be a good boss fight!
Writing can be a hard and scary process, but sometimes, at its very best, it gives that magical feeling of sitting in the back seat, reading a strategy guide and imagining endless possibilities.
