During a Game/Mobile Design internship at the American Museum of Natural History (Fall 2014) I worked on a program called “The Neanderthal Next Door,” which was
a 27-session youth program for 21 12th-graders that’s designed to develop and implement a digitally augmented (augmented reality-enhanced) print activity guide that explores the topic of human evolution through the frame of Neanderthals.
The piece of the program I worked on the most was developing a design-thinking approach that would guide the 12th-graders in their work. Given the time we had with the students, I thought an approach that used a selection of Stanford d.school’s Bootcamp Bootleg cards would work best. Below is a post about a few of the sessions that the program’s director, Barry Joseph, asked me to write for his blog, mooshme.org:
Medium-to-long (approx. the last third of the term; first/only group project in the course).
Matt McGowan–game concept, narrative design;
Maria Jose Saint Martin–project management, UI;
Jeremy White–art; and
Allen Yu–lead programming.
Some of the proudest and most educational–and most stressful–experiences I had in pursuit of the DMDL degree came from the NYU Game Center‘s Narrative Game Studio course. As one of only two non-MFAs in a class of nearly 20 students, I often felt like an outsider or interloper, but was beyond psyched and honored that the idea I pitched for the final project was selected (by fellow students) as one of the four to be worked on for the course’s only group assignment. This (in somewhat more polished prose than I ended up speaking) is what I pitched:
In this point-and-click adventure game, the player character (PC) is a painting conservator who has been called in by a somewhat secretive, private foundation to clean a mural recently discovered in a long-unused wing of the foundation’s headquarters (HQ). The request is strange, as this foundation is not known for its art collection, but rather for its involvement in developing tokamak nuclear fusion reactors.
Upon arrival at the headquarters, the PC is introduced to two non-player characters (NPCs): the current foundation president and the caretaker of this part of the HQ (a historical structure that the foundation has owned for over a hundred years, around which is built numerous, state-of-the-art facilities). The PC learns from these two NPCs that the mural was created by the foundation’s former chief scientist, who suffered some kind of mental-emotional breakdown shortly before he died (over twenty years ago). Care for this painting (cleaning the various layers/areas of dirt, mold, etc. which have accumulated on the work) has to be conducted in a very specific way, however—with custom-made solutions designed by the painter himself. The formulae for these solutions must be gleaned from texts found in the chief scientist’s former library/office (in an a room adjacent to the room containing the mural). The mural itself is a utopian cityscape, which shows a future in which the foundation has solved the world’s energy crisis.
The game’s first principle mechanic, then, is deciphering the code for the solutions’ formulae, which must be created with precise measurements and timing (and with certain penalties for mistakes). As the PC cleans the mural, section by section, the top layer of paint is stripped away to reveal another mural underneath the utopian scene—a dystopian view of the same scene, with the foundation at the center of the world’s decline. Clues to the story behind this dystopian vision are contained in the marginalia of the books in the library. These marginalia also reveal that, in the course of his experiments, the scientist experienced a series glimpses into the future. His first vision was of the utopia—which then turned into a dystopia. Despite what he believed was the ultimate truth, however, the scientist painted the former vision over the latter one after he, under scrutiny by the foundation, came to fear for his life.
The second principle mechanic of the game is deciphering the differences between the two murals, i.e. determining the course of events, the narrative, of how this vision of utopia turned into a dystopia. Once the PC has determined all the pieces of this narrative (or as many as they can, if they’ve damaged the mural at all with any erroneously created solutions) they must enter the sequence of events into an old (1980’s-era) computer in the library.
The ending of the game is determined by the PC’s choice of whom they discuss their findings with—the president or the caretaker. An incorrect choice will result in PC death (a shot to the back of the head, represented by a sudden blood splatter on the computer screen once they input the correct narrative), with an epilogue of the murderer (the “bad” NPC) declaring that the truth must be hidden. A correct choice causes the “bad” NPC to flee and the good PC to reveal a hidden room filled with hundreds of paintings of the dystopian vision, which, they state, must be deciphered and revealed to the world.
So, with the advice “Kill your darlings!” firmly planted in the back of my head, perpetual concerns about scale chirping on my shoulder, and determined that every team member felt thoroughly invested in the project (i.e. it was no longer just “my” idea), I gulped down my apprehensions, gratefully accepted my team members’ generous goodwill, and we went for it.
We didn’t end up with everything I first pitched, of course, but we did get a lot of it, relatively speaking. Having one (or 25%) of our team members effectively drop out during the final stage of production (due to unforeseen, unfortunate personal circumstances) was a pretty intense challenge; but, fortunately, adjusting to this became largely a matter of further scaling back cuts we had already made. Did we end up with the game we wanted? Not quite. Did we learn a ton and explore a bunch of new stuff and ideas and have more than a little fun? Absolutely.
In brief, the main/major changes from the original pitch were the following:
in the interest of realism/scale–we cut the (second) mechanic of deciphering and inputting the differences between the two murals, in favor of creating a more complex puzzle around the discovery and creation of the (singular) paint-stripping solution;
in the interest of ease of game play, given our platform (AGS)–we simplified the chemical solution puzzle a bit by removing the timing aspect and reducing the stakes for failure; and
in the interest of a more interesting/compelling/involving story–we changed the protagonist’s gender to female and making her the–long-estranged–niece of the late chief scientist.
And here’s some screenshots of the results:
As far as my writing/narrative design duties went, here are a couple of screens of the–non-linear/branching–dialogue (created in Dialog Designer, which integrates fairly well with AGS):
But here’s an excerpt from the “Summary of Project”:
StoryPix is a platform-agnostic, digital card game designed for middle-school-age children and older. It is an image-based storytelling environment that both visualizes and verbalizes the multitude of ways that people interpret the world. Like other social media platforms, StoryPix users will share images with the intention of telling their “story.” Unlike other social media platforms, StoryPix users will be encouraged to present their images in a more deliberately sequential manner, to present them more like a story, and to create an interpretation of the visual stories of others.
The learning objective of the game is to encourage players to think about their own and others’ thinking. Players will create a story constructed from a series of “cards” or “frames,” static images being either self-created or found (photos or drawings). These images are then sequenced to tell a story (as do, for example, comic strips and photo essays). Players then add a title (of no more than three words) and a descriptive, narrative text (of no more than 200 characters) to accompany their picture sequence. Once a story is completed, the player “publishes” the story and shares it with another player. The recipient of the story, however, only sees the story’s title (not the original narrative text) and a “stack” of images/cards/frames that have been “shuffled” and placed in a random order. The recipient player must then guess the originating player’s story in the original order of the cards and send their guess back to the originating player, along with their own (under 200-character) narrative text. Recipient players are allowed three tries to “get it right.” Players also have the option of sharing one story with multiple recipients, allowing the creator of the visual story to view the multiple ways in which their story is being interpreted. Finally, the player has the option to publish their story, giving other friends or the community a chance to interpret the story as well.
Anna, a 4th-grader, has decided to create, along with two of her friends, a short–digital–movie about a mouse who learns how to dance by watching the human family whose house he lives in. Anna is responsible both for the film’s set and for the background sound and music to be played during several of the short’s scenes.
Working on the sets first, Anna orients her jumpsuit to “painter mode” and calls up–on the sleeve of her non-dominant arm (in Anna’s case, her right)–the palate of colors that she and her friends agreed upon for the mouse’s hole-in-the-wall home. Anna decides she wants to use her left arm to paint with blue, so she taps that color on her palate and swipes up her arm, watching the color flow up her right arm, across her chest and down her left arm–“filling up” the entire left sleeve of the jumpsuit with that color. For her right arm, Anna needs yellow, so she taps on that color and swipes down, filling up her right sleeve. Done with color selection for the time being, Anna triple-taps the palate to close it. Now she’s ready to paint!
Suddenly remembering one of her art classes from last week, in which she and her classmates learned about Vincent van Gogh’s The Starry Night, Anna decides to go with a “giant swirly” pattern for the mouse’s living room wall. Facing the wallscreen and touching her hands to her shoulders (which signals to the screen that she’s about to paint with her arms), Anna walks from the left of the screen to the right in long, loping strides–swirling, twisting and waving her arms as she does, seeing her multi-colored movements registered on the giant digital canvas in front of her.
Once she reaches the right side of the screen, Anna surveys her work and thinks that the pattern she’s made looks like “some crazy waves.” “So maybe,” she muses, “the house the mouse lives in is by the ocean, and he can hear it from his home in the wall!”
Wanting to play around with the idea before she forgets about it, Anna puts up the hood of her jumpsuit, which is her setting to automatically switch to the suit’s “sound and music” mode. Next she triple-taps her right arm to call up her music and sound effects board to search first for “waves on the beach” and then for “pebbles on the beach”–two of her favorite ocean sounds. Anna then tasks (by selecting and swiping different sound/music icons) “waves on the beach” to both of her arms and “pebbles on the beach” (which she thinks will go well with the star-dots she’s planning on painting in and around the swirly pattern she’s already created) to both of her legs/feet, as she wants to be able to mix the two sounds in real time. She’ll make the wave sounds rise and fall with the movement of her arms and make the pebble sounds by running in place with “quick little baby steps,” listening to the mix through the surround-sound array embedded in her jumpsuit’s hood.
As she’s planning all this out in her head, Anna realizes that she’s probably going to look pretty ridiculous doing it; but she doesn’t really care–that’s why the museum gave each of the students in this program their own “studio.” And, anyway, she knows her friends wouldn’t laugh. Actually, she can’t wait to finish this sound piece (and maybe the star-dots, too) so she can call up a chat window and have her two co-creators come down the hall to see what she’s got so far. Their movie is going to be so awesome–she just knows it!
Digital Media Design for Learning (DMDL) degree; Cognitive Science and Educational Technology I course (Spring 2014).
Medium-long (approx. last quarter of the term, final group project design document).
my principle contributions: “Background,” “Problem Description,” “Delivery Platform” and “Project Narrative.”
As a group, produce a full, thorough design document on a project of mutual interest.
A few years ago, I read Maryanne Wolf’s Proust and the Squid (2007) and was floored to learn (amongst other things) that
[a] prominent  study found that by kindergarten, a gap of 32 million words already separates some children in linguistically impoverished homes from their more stimulated peers. In other words, in some environments the average young middle-class child hears 32 million more spoken words than the young underprivileged child by age five. (p. 20)
In class, I was fortunate to have three other classmates become interested enough in this “word gap” to work on a project together. What we came up with was a mobile application titled “OPEN: the Journal.”
I spent several years working in the not-for-profit world working as a grant writer. This is an excerpt of a larger grant proposal I wrote for the Child Mind Institute’s Biobank:
[C]omprised of data from 10,000 New York City area children and adolescents (ages 5-21)…[t]he Healthy Brain Network Biobank houses data about psychiatric, behavioral, cognitive, and lifestyle (e.g., fitness, diet) phenotypes, as well as multimodal brain imaging, electroencephalography, digital voice and video recordings, genetics, and actigraphy. Beyond accelerating transdiagnostic research, we discuss the potential of the Healthy Brain Network Biobank to advance related areas, such as biophysical modeling, voice and speech analysis, natural viewing fMRI and EEG, and methods optimization.