Posts Tagged writing

Three small definitions.

It’s not entirely surprising that the syntactical quality of writing in videogames is hit-and-miss. After all, not every studio can afford an army of English-grads, and many projects are enormous undertakings where something can easily slip through the cracks (especially when localization is involved).

Writing about games, though, should be different. Videogame journalists are primarily writers that are the sole authors of singular pieces relatively small in scope, and they also have an editorial staff backing them up.

Well, one would hope.

Well, I kind of do.

I kind of do...

I’m not too intrigued by the idea of consumer reviews vs. artistic critiques — I think both are relevant, although it’s very hard combining them  – but neither approach should be exempt from, to put it quite simply, the proper use of words. Matthew has been known to point out an example or two of this, and I’ve decided to do something similar. Below are three definitions of some frequently misused words in the land of videogame writing.

1). Ironically

This is a tricky one, but, as a general rule of thumb, simple coincidences are not necessarily ironic.

Ironically, a.

  1. Poignantly contrary to what was, or might have been, expected or intended.

In short, “ironically” is not a synonym for “incidentally” or “conversely.”

As a side note, before Matthew Sturges did all the funny-book stuff, he taught me a bit about definitions and grammar. He also wrote a somewhat famous article about Alanis Morissette’s song “Ironic.” It’s a good read, although whoever archived it seems to have mangled it up a bit.

2). Irreverent

Irreverent does not mean wacky, original or interesting.

Irreverent, a.

  1. Lacking or exhibiting a lack of reverence; disrespectful.
  2. Critical of what is generally accepted or respected; satirical.

Irreverence is basically an antonym of reverence. This means that the act of being irreverent must fly in the face of something that’s revered. Also, it helps to explicitly state the subject of said irreverence — simply saying that a game is irreverent is an extremely vague description.

3). Comprised (of)

“Comprised of” is an incorrect usage and a misunderstanding of the word. Yes, I know it sounds right, but it isn’t.

Comprise, v.

  1. To consist of; be composed of.
  2. To include; contain.

Comprised (complete with the redundant “of”) is often used to tick off a bullet-point list of a title’s defining qualities. Instead, “consists of” or “is composed of” should be used, i.e., fifty states comprise the United States of America, and the United States of America is composed of fifty states.

It might be a lost battle, though, as “comprised of” is fairly prevalent in all sorts of writing and is well on its way to becoming the next flammable.

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Melodrama.

The term melodrama comes from the world of theatre. More specifically, it stems from plays that used music in unison with the on-stage action, i.e., a series of quick bow slices to the violin would accompany the entrance of the evil, mustache-twirling landlord. Melodramas were widely laughed at by the critics, yet lapped up by the common folk.

melodrama Melodrama.

The quintessential image of a melodrama.

Today, most forms of entertainment media are melodramas, and the “common folk” are the mainstream audience. Even when aiming for the so-called lowest common denominator, though, melodramas don’t have to be bad.

There are a lot of negative connotations that accompany the term: black and white characters, formulaic stories, sensational confrontations, implausible coincidences and a rigid commitment to happy endings. Still, these can easily become positives by embodying: unambiguous characters, clear plotlines, emotional climaxes, exciting twists and satisfying finales.

This is the difference between pathos and bathos.

Pathos, n.

  1. An element in experience or in artistic representation evoking sympathy, pity, compassion or sorrow.


Bathos, n.

  1. An insincere or overdone pathos that fails to evoke sympathy, pity, compassion or sorrow.


Unfortunately, stories in videogames tend to fall into the latter category. It might simply be an after-effect of their heritage — after all, games are still largely perceived as toys, and everyone (including most publishers and developers) seems to have a hard time accepting the fact that the average gamer can legally purchase alcohol. Of course I also understand that it’s safer to accommodate the youth while banking on the loyalty of older, nostalgic fans, but the same writing principles should apply regardless of the target age-group.

ffcap11 Melodrama.

I wouldn't be surprised if this character turns out to be a fun but gruff rebel with a heart of gold. As leader of the resistance, he'll probably be punching out tanks with a bunch of other teenagers as they attempt to save the world.

Final Fantasy is a good (or bad, depending on your outlook) example of this. The 8-bit/16-bit games were great for grade-schoolers, and while the later ones swung their focus to teenagers, they were pretty trite and not nearly as sophisticated as one might think. Someone on Slashdot: Games once responded to a post about Square-Enix’s titles saying (and I’m paraphrasing here): “They’re to deepness what Goths are to people with severe clinical depression: showy, self-infatuated shells that take on the trappings instead of the content.” Regrettably, that’s a very accurate description.

So how do we avoid this? If we have to stick to melodrama, how do we fill it with pathos, not bathos?

It’s quite simple, really: respect the setting, the story and the characters.

That’s it.

You don’t have to be Shakespeare, you just have to examine your own work and ask: “Is this good, or is it…laughable?” Everyone has their own subjective preferences, but this alone would eliminate a plethora of banal storytelling in videogames.

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