John J. Metzger (Pseudonym) - Writer for Hire

#1 So no previous works at all? I dont think this well written post will get you much with out something more solid to back it. Just my opinion.

#2 That, unfortunately, is the problem with first projects. I can't claim I was a member of a project team that made this, that, or the other thing, because as of yet I have not been. This isn't to say I've never written anything before, just nothing solidified or nothing to speak of. Just what exactly should I post, the synopsis for some old half-finished project? A poem?

I guess I could mail you an excerpt from something I've written or whip something up real quick and tidy-like, but the problem lies with accessibility. I'm writing a novel, but I'd rather not speak too much of that, thank you much, and until it's published I can't really run off that.

I could also give my credentials through the education system, but that would be telling... and furthermore, not very impressive. Even if I were to say I'm an English major and have 12 years of experience working in an English-based field -which is an outright fabrication, mind you -it wouldn't really say anything about my ability to write, now would it?

Suggestions, anyone?
In any case, no, I don't really have anything to show for my efforts besides verbosity and a relative mastery of the English language. I don't know what else to tell you, Don. Except maybe, "Thanks for calling it well-written"

#3 Writers can be a dime a dozen in this industry, but it can also be very hard to find a good one. I write for games both indie and commerically (though I only get paid for the commerical games.) One thing I have noticed looking at resumes lately is that people who are overly loquacious tend not to work out well. This is nothing against their writing abilities but that when you are dealing with programmers, artists and other designers they want to be able to get to the meat of the situation in a fast and easy manner.

Also, are you just looking at writing stories or are you also able to do scripts/dialog. If you can do scripts, what program do you use to display them?

When we hire writers, they are normally asked to submit a writing sample of something that they have previously worked on, even if it never was made into a game. This normally means a game design document or a dialog script. If you want to put something together really quick check out Neverwinter Nights' level editor. They have a wonderful script program in there that can help you show off you work with only three hours of work.

If you are seriously interested in becoming a game writer, I suggest you check out IGDA's writers mailing list. I have found that they can be a great wealth of information.

#4 Oy, well then...

Thanks for the advice, guys. I'm going to look into those sources when I have a spare moment and some spare attention. Are there really that many writers these days? I haven't seen many advertising, at least not on this site, so I figured, "Oh well, what the hell," right? I'll cut short my linguistics this time since your "loquacious" kicks the crap out of my "eloquence."

I'm not really sure what you mean by scripts, Anne. If you mean dialogue scripts that an actor would read, then yeah, I guess so... and I'd use Microsoft Word to do it. If you mean programming scripts that make the system do anything, then by all means, no, and with nothing. I'm not a programmer. I tried to be a programmer once, but it didn't work out. I'm really amazed at the sheer endurance programmers must have to go over... so many lines of code.

AS for my lack of background, well... let's just try this: It's the opening bit from my novel that I'm writing (redundant phrasing, but I'm damn-proud of my work so far.)
Let's just see what everybody thinks, and if you like or don't like anything, please feel free to comment or hold your peace as you will, but I could use some feedback and see if there's anything I can do to improve.




I feel the need to say something profound here.
This is because to my knowledge, every great book that has ever been begins with something profound that attracts the reader's attention while providing him with very little information to go with and thus, he reads further. In the nature of imitation I attempt to do the same, but as I can think of very little profound things to write, I can only say that I've really got this book-writing thing down and know quite certainly that I haven't. That being said, I've really got this book-writing thing down, haven't I?
This first bit here is a sequence of events almost unrelated and mostly irrelevant to the events that take place in the pages that follow. I say "almost unrelated" because some of the characters and locations it takes place in will be present further along and I say "mostly irrelevant" because this little tangent guarantees the continuation of the actual story, or at least makes for an excellent segue. So, before I can say anything else, I must say:
Despite his best efforts, Paul Bradley could never truly understand why he felt the way he felt, which most commonly was ever so slightly depressed. It wouldn't have bothered him normally, but as of late he had a lot of time on hands with which he chose to brood. He was certain, by this point, that his given name was Paul Nathaniel Bradley and that he lived in the peaceful little town of Waynesville, Vermont. He was also fairly sure that his health had been slowly declining since his 30th birthday such that, now nearing 41, he was balding, out of shape, and very slightly depressed... but he didn't know why, given reasons notwithstanding. He was the proud part-owner of the Lucky Seven Saloon, the most prestigious if not the only bar in all Waynesville and had co-signed with himself under an assumed name for tax reasons. As such he had many responsibilities which he dutifully neglected, and further, I shall neglect to mention.
On this night like many nights previously, Paul glanced mournfully across the floor from his vantage point behind the bar, and it was quiet. The furniture was in relative disarray, still silently echoing the commotion that had died down hours earlier, for the crowd had gone then and taken with it the remaining scraps of enthusiasm. It was all the same. It had always been the same, and now it was time to lock-up and it was still the same, and tomorrow when it was time to open-up again it would be the same again. Strangely, Paul thought, this solemn consistency wasn't the least bit dissettling. It was comforting to him to know that at least something in his life was predictable, and if he were ever to chance upon this comfort again years down the road it would be more than comforting: it would be nostalgic, and it would be terrifying. The day when he would be forced to face the demons of his past would surely come, but until that day all he could do to reconcile his troubled countenance was maintain this small spot of bliss for himself and maybe extend the same courtesies to some other unfortunate. He could never bring himself 'round to face his tormenter, much as he may have thought he wanted to, because common sense mingled intricately with irrational fear to keep him at ease while the shadows closed around him. He couldn't stand to ponder the reason why, so instead he surveyed the premises once more before he retired.
He decided to start with the floorboards. They were, not entirely unlike the rest of the building, made of wood and warranted very little description beyond that, but as a starting point for describing any building they sufficed. The walls were paneled with a kind of wood that Paul didn't know what and neither do I, but they looked very nice, and were coated with what at first glance appeared to be s pleasant varnish, but on closer inspection could not have been because it had the opposite effect that varnish would as a preservative. He adorned the walls with numerous paintings of sculptures he had received as gifts -God knows he wouldn't have paid for them, which isn't to say they were bad but if you have the real sculpture, it kind of negates the purpose of painting it. The only other thing in the bar that bore vague reminiscence of art hung outside the front door, advertising the structure as the Lucky Seven by means of a flagon of beer and the seven of diamonds crudely painted on a cheap wooden sign. From his current position, Paul was unable to admire it or admonish it for its blatant faults, which was probably a good thing. Across from the bar stood a flight of stairs leading up to the second floor, where Paul and several other people could live in his living quarters and the four rooms that he had intended to rent-out to close friends or passersby, but instead stood nearly vacant because he had few homeless friends and few people ever bothered to pass by. He was grateful that someone had finally moved in to room 2, even though they did so without his consent or knowledge, and chose to exploit his newfound roommate as cheap labor for as long as he could, four months so far. Between the bar and the stairs were arrayed an assortment of tables in a disorderly fashion that implied commotion, but not distress. Seated at one of these tables was a dark figure, reclined, enjoying the shadowed chaos that threatened to envelop them and contemplating the empty glass set before him.
That was him, you know -the occupant of room 2. That was Joel Nolan. If only to contradict Paul Bradley's perspective, he made a point of mention that he wasn't basking in shadowed chaos, just enjoying a moment of quiet. He was a little irritated by Paul's melancholy outlook, but couldn't empathize because his own dreary shadows had been flitted from his eyes years ago. All that remained of those dark times were nightmares half-remembered and moments of peace with which he could reflect. He wanted to say something to Paul to reconcile him, maybe, but could not and chose not to dwell on it. After all, it would be the same tomorrow, so he could pick his words and moments with care.
For Joel's sake and our own, we'll dispense with the moodiness for the time being.




Not bad, eh? I'll write more later.

#5 Yes, there are alot of writers, though I have found that most writers work in tandem with design and alot of the time they are also under the title of designer, since they tend to do both.

As for the scripts, I did mean dialog scripts, sorry for the confusion. I suggest you check out NWN tools and work in Excel for writing dialog, as most people that I know use those as a standard.

As for novel writing, I just want to point out that game writing is completely different. I have a friend who has published 8 novels but admits that he can't write for games to save his life. The issue with game writing that makes it different from novel writing is that you have no control over it. Unless you are doing a completely linear game and force the player to talk to people by cutscenes, your story has to be adjustable. Stories normally have to have multiple branches also so that the player has a choice of what to do in the game but will still get the story elements.

By no means am I saying give up writing novels, I am just trying to point out that novel writing and game writing are two different things.

#6 Maybe the best analog to writing for games are those "choose your own adventure" books. My niece found a set the other day where you hunt dragons, and you basically read these paragraphs that give you choices to make, either leading to success, or getting burned to a crisp by a big lizard with breath problems. Suffice it to say, if you can write stuff like that, you've basically got not-so-linear gameplay story skills down to a science.