The Intergalactic Holocom Transmitter II is a state of the art virtual reality simulation and communication unit specifically designed for deep space conditions. No matter how large or small the polypurpose deck of your orbital station, the IHTII can be configured to fit any situation (cylindrical, cubical, hexagonal and even spherical and torus-shaped configurations are possible). Despite of its convenient size and ease-of-use, the IHTII is equipped with the most powerful realtime holocom processor and virtual translocator of its generation. The psycho-realism of its rendering engine will astound you and the proprietary built-in symbol/meaning mapping algorithms will leave you breathless.

S. Thala LLC has dedicated all its resources to your comfort and delight. For a limited time the IHTII will be shipped with an exclusive version of the T. Beach* projector, inspired by the legendary work of 20th century Earth novelist Marguerite Duras, including the critically acclaimed U. Bridge* French café simulation that enables cross-galactic communication with other IHT units of any generation.

T. Beach* is a monument of physio-amorous reflection. A trailblazer in its own time, it continues to top intergalactic holoperience charts to this day. Coupled with the U. Bridge* multi-user grid, it provides for one of the most profound muse-inducing experiences on all platforms.

Life on an orbital station does not need to be lonely or boring anymore. And our research has shown that exposure to psycho-motoric induction has a beneficial effect on the vitality and longevity of most organs of its user. S. Thala LLC provides considerable discounts for bulk purchases by registered employers.

In the unlikely case that your station is so remote that even the hugely powerful C-Beam transmitters of the IHTII cannot reach, the U. Bridge* program will generate a virtual antagonist that will make you wonder why you ever bothered playing with other astronauts in the first place.

Smoke, drink, play music, play Chess™, speak French (to others!), walk along an Earth sea shore and discover its strangely absurd and picturesque secrets! All from the comfort of your orbital station’s polypurpose deck.

* T. Beach and U. Bridge are heterosexual programs. Users stationed in the Desbaresdes belt and current or former citizens of the Chauvin system are advised to use with caution. Furthermore, the U. Bridge grid is limited to a maximum of two simultaneous users. Users with Stretter condition are recommended to consult their physicians before engaging. S. Thala LLC rejects all responsibility for inappropriate use.

One way of making interfaces unobtrusive is to present them as completely uninteresting actions. True immersion doesn’t really exist. We are always somewhat aware of the system that we are running the program on. Holding a controller, seeing a screen, the light in the room, the position of the speakers, the seat of the chair we’re sitting in. The reason why these elements hardly disturb our enjoyment, is that we’re not interested in them.

So perhaps this is an inspiration for interfaces. Just make them dull and simple, so we can all but ignore them. Showing a picture of the button we’re supposed to press to do something in a given context works really well for me. As long as this doesn’t come with extra demands, like pressing the button repeatedly, or doing it within a short amount of time. Then my attention shifts to the system too much and away from the fiction.

Showing an icon for the button to press is sometimes even better than hoping that the player remembers. Because when he doesn’t, he is sent straight back into the system level, out of the fiction (since it is the player who doesn’t remember, not the character). This feels somewhat counter-intuitive since clearing the screen of all clutter seems like the best choice for immersion.

Of course dry interfaces only work with simple mechanics. But I believe simple mechanics are a first requirement anyway to pull players into the fiction. Carefully chosen and designed mechanics can help the immersion. But it’s very tricky, may not work for all players, needs to suit the fictional context very well, and requires instructions that may break the spell. I think it’s often a smarter choice to let the computer do the work: simple player interface for complex character action.

I don’t believe in emotions triggered by mechanics much. These emotions too happen on the system level and even if they are similar to those the character might be experiencing in the fiction, they are certainly not on par. When you feel victory over winning a fight, the character might feel relief about barely escaping death instead. Dry interfaces will bring you much closer to the character’s emotions.

There’s a man on a beach. The beach is empty. Empty as his heart. A heart alone, abandoned love. Love was left. Left in the warmth. The warmth of her digital breath. Her breath as neon glow. Glow as the sun. The sun sleeping in pillows. The pillows of clouds. The clouds form a bed. A bed for my soul. A soul that is restless. Restless like the gulls. The gulls on the beach. The beach in my heart. My heart pushes waves. Waves of blood through my veins. Veins pulled by the moon. The moon, cold heart of the galaxy. The galaxy at the end of the boardwalk. The boardwalk she used to walk on. Walking slowly, an old woman. A woman, alone, a woman studying love as a scientist. A scientist experimenting. Experimenting in the laboratory of her heart. Her heart, an ocean, waves of life. Life is cherished in the harshness of space. Space embraces us, crushes us with its hollow breath. Breath of a lover. A lover at the table. The table with the chess board. A board receives your move. Move me with your moves. Move me with your moves. Move away. Then move away. Away from the warmth, the silence inside. Inside disappears when we are on the beach. The beach caressed by the waves. Waves as fingers of the moon. The moon, heart of emptiness. Empty full empty full empty full heart. Heart to conquer, heart to move. The move again the move. To move the piece with words. Words from the writer. The writer, the woman. There’s a woman on the beach. The beach is empty. Empty as her heart. A heart alone, abandoned love. Love was left. Left in the warmth. The warmth of his digital breath. His breath as neon glow. Glow as the sun. The sun sleeping in pillows. The pillows of clouds. The clouds form a bed. A bed for my soul. A soul that is restless. Restless like the gulls. The gulls of the sea. The sea gulls of the moon. The moon of the sand. The sand of the moon. The moon of the water. The water of the waves. The waves of the veins. The veins in the body. The body that you touch.

I feel protagonists in videogames are very different from protagonists in other media. And as a result, the kind of fictions that fit well are different too.

In a film, a novel, or a comic, protagonists are other people. You can empathize with them and enjoy observing the fiction they live in. But you never imagine being in their shoes, not really. A videogame very often puts you firmly in the shoes of the protagonist. You control where they go, you control what they do.

As a result, to be enjoyable (for me, at least) the fiction of the videogame needs to be one that you can imagine being in yourself. Not one that you simply enjoy looking at. There’s many situations that are amusing in movies or books, that I wouldn’t want to find myself in. As such these situations are plain intolerable for me in games. For example, the moments where the fiction makes the protagonist responsible for something grave (the death of a friend, killing innocents, self-mutilation, etc). In a film, you sympathize with the protagonist, and given their context, their life, their story, you understand their choice, or it cements your disgust with the character. In a videogame this doesn’t work. There’s a conflict between the fictional reality and the reality of the player in such moments. The game is making the player responsible for something bad that happens in the story. This shatters the fourth wall and breaks the fiction and the believability of the protagonist.

For the same reason, books and film can get away with clichés much more easily. There is a certain distance that allows us to accept yet another zombie apocalypse in a film. But in a videogame that puts us in the middle of such a situation, we cannot take it seriously.

I think to the player, the fiction of the videogame is more real than the fiction of a film is to the viewer. Because you have power in the game world. You can change things in it. You affect things. And because it feels more real, it is much harder for people to accept certain fictions. The amount of stories you want to be a part of is always smaller than the amount of stories you can tolerate reading or watching.

The only reason why videogames have been getting away with so many trite and cliché stories is the prominence of gameplay. If the attention of the player is sufficiently moved to the mechanical level of the game, they will just accept the characters and world as backdrops, as mood. But as videogame stories are becoming more prominent, it becomes painfully clear that what works in movies and books, does not work when players have control.

The mechanics in a game are like the interfaces in software. They allow you do to things. The aim of good interface design is oblivion. A good interface is one that you are hardly aware of. One that just lets you do what you want to do without having to figure out how. One that feels natural.

I believe the same applies to videogames. Mechanics should be transparent. They should offer you access to the fiction of the game without demanding any attention for themselves. They should feel natural to do, logical, spontaneous. It should feel like they don’t exist.

There is, of course, another school of thought. There are people who love interfaces. They love sliding things around on their iPhone screen, pressing buttons and flipping levers. They are not particularly interested in what they can get done with the software. They just like to play with the interface.

A similar thing happens in many videogames. In fact, it happens in most. And often even to their detriment. There is a group of games that is almost nothing but mechanics. All games that are derived of traditional games fall in this category. Others are more focused on the emotional experience of the player, on narrative, characters, moods, places. They are the games that have made a medium out of videogames.

Many of those “media-videogames”, however, are still partly stuck in the mindset that considers mechanics design equal to game design. So instead of making transparent interfaces that allow the player to enjoy the fiction, they are often still riddled with obtrusive designs that pull you away into the abstract interface level. Shooting an unlikely amount of enemies while picking up ammunition that happens to be spread around all over, pulling a lever in one room that makes some gears turn in another which opens a valve that makes a heater go one in the basement that leads to the release of a key from a metal clamp on the roof, jumping on conveniently placed platforms, picking up gold coins spraying from fallen enemies, and so on and so forth. Fiddling with buttons and sliders instead of actually doing something.

A videogame should take its fictional universe seriously. And the experience of the player should take place entirely in that universe. The interface to that universe should aim to be as invisible or seemingly non-existent as in the real world. Any interactions that do not pass the transparency test should be removed.

(unless of you course you cheat like I do in Bientôt l’été and make the interface part of the fiction)

Designing interactions in a game is fun until you realize that your players don’t find them or can’t figure out how to do them. Despite of the instructions. This can seriously handicap the experience. And even if it doesn’t, they’re missing something that you worked hard to implement.

One way to deal with this is to make all interactions optional and implement so many of them that it doesn’t matter if they miss a few. Then randomly trying all sorts of things can be part of the game. But in a serious and minimal game like Bientôt l’été that isn’t really an option.

I can only see two solutions.

Either the interface needs to be conventional. But that excludes everyone who doesn’t play games. Which I know is not a lot of people. But I still want to be nice to them. Also, I personally dislike many conventional game interfaces as they often don’t express the feeling I’m going for.

Or the interaction is simply removed. Which is probably ideal. Interacting with a virtual world should be fluent. Interruptions, such as instructions, are undesirable because they move the attention of the player from the fiction level to the system level. Especially since such instructions need to be in the player’s face, otherwise it’s too easy to miss them.

This is only logical, really. Some interactions are fun to do. But the joy happens on the mechanical level. Even attempts to map the controls to the fiction (as famously done in Heavy Rain) , often end up drawing more attention to the system layer. Videogames that focus on content are best served by transparent controls. Convention can serve transparency. As can absence.

So far people who have commented on the second alpha version of Bientôt l’été, agree that the game has improved since the first alpha release. So it looks like releasing early was a smart move. Many issues were caught in the first round and addressed in the second, improving the experience for all.

It’s funny how you just don’t know as a designer. You don’t know what things will work and what things won’t. Given this experience, it seems rather absurd that anyone would want to release a game without first showing it to a few friends, peers, fans. Yet this is exactly what we have done several times at Tale of Tales.

One could make a case for the purity of the expression of an artist, who should only follow his own instincts. But game development is so long and intense that even the most talented artist must stop seeing clearly after a while. Also, the decisions remain your own. Some players make suggestions, but most reports are about problems. And you have to come up with solutions. On your own.

Part of the charm of Bientôt l’été is how it evokes memories of the seaside in me. While it is not photographically or audibly realistic, it plays with certain associations in your brain that trigger recollections of experiences.

I deeply enjoy feeling the effect of such a simulation. But the care I have to take to maintain everything within the sphere of the real is getting on my nerves a bit.

While programming, I encounter many interesting effects that are the result of the logic that runs the game: glitches, errors. These effects are not realistic in the sense that they do not match with our expectations and knowledge. But they are real: they are triggered by the real code that runs the simulation. They are only errors in the sense that they are involuntary effects of (bad) programming. But logically speaking, they are perfectly correct.

It’s tiresome to pretend that the character on the beach is a real person. I know he’s not. And it doesn’t diminish my fondness for him. I like him as an artificial creature. So why could he not behave artificially?

I know. Because that’s not what this project is about. But after this, I think I’m done with realism. Synthetic creatures are different. And that should be ok.

The idea of videogames as a medium has certainly not won over all hearts yet. The desire for game-like videogames, and indeed even non-video games, has never been as strong as now. This is fine and understandable in and of itself. But it’s also kind of lazy and, sorry, childish.

But maybe the games industry has ultimately no interest in becoming as broad as to allow one strand of it to be a medium, while many others go off in different game directions. Maybe this medium truly is too new, too disruptive to fit within the old industry and its rigid academic supporters and fun-loving journalistic fans.

This would be a pity. Because I don’t feel the distinction is so great. But maybe there simply is a line that cannot be crossed, no matter how much it can be bent. We would be doing ourselves, and humanity, a disservice not to recognize this if it is the case. There’s no point in stubbornly hoping to be accepted by an industry that has no interest in expanding in our direction. We had better go our own way, then.

When I look outside and get a glimpse of the fuzzy Belgian sun caressing the permanent cloud cover, I know that this is what I want to capture in Bientôt l’été.

It’s not the most glorious thing on the planet, not the most spectacular or surprising. But it is home. It is delicate and subtle.

No, the masses will not devour the game on launch day. Or shower it with paper stars and plus signs. But through the years, the decades, lone wanderers will come back to it. As to a simple source in the middle of a jungle. It’s not the only water in the world. But it is the only water of its kind. There is very little of it. But I have drank some. And so have a few other brave men that I am honored to call my brothers.

When the human spirit has finally collapsed under the pressures of its vanity, Bientôt l’été will still be there, dripping its feeble sunlight for unsuspecting mouths of unlikely survivors living like a hermit on the overgrown ruins of what was once a promising civilization.

It is for them that I want to achieve perfection. Not an awesome game, flavor of the month, indie darling, game of the year blah blah. But a solid, stubborn rock that doesn’t draw attention to itself but that is there for those who know how to find it to lean there weary bodies on for a moment, before they struggle on.

To capture the heart of will-free existence, the joy of everything, happy and sad. The pointless wonder over the absurd. Sharing in-jokes with the cosmos.