Formal Ferret Games

Gil Hova designs, publishes, and plays board games

No, The Networks has not been “discontinued by manufacturer”

According to Amazon, as of today, my game has been “discontinued” by the “manufacturer.” This is quite the surprise, as I am the manufacturer (or more accurately, publisher) of the game.


People familiar with the Wild West that is Amazon FBA know what happened here. Jamey Stegmaier encountered the same thing, and it’s why he’s moved on from Amazon FBA.

The crux of the matter is that any retailer with stock of the game can update its listing n Amazon Seller Central, which is, for lack of a better term, a way to access Amazon’s vast database of products.

But once that change has been made, only that retailer can change it back. So they can change it to “Discontinued by manufacturer,” or they can attribute the game to the wrong publisher, or give it the wrong player count (both of which happened to Jamey), or worse!

There is a way for publishers like me to take control of our listings. It’s called Amazon Brand Registry, and in theory, it should set up the listing so only the publisher could change it.

I’ve tried using the Amazon Brand Registry. I got a vaguely-worded form letter rejecting my application. At the time, I was prepping for Origins, and I didn’t have time to follow up. I may try to give it another shot, but like many other things related to Amazon, it means dealing with a lot of automated, counter-intuitive procedures, and that’s not something I have a lot of time for right now.

After Bad Medicine, I swore to not use Amazon FBA to fulfill any more Kickstarters. I was lucky to discover Funagain just before I fulfilled The Networks, and they helped me keep my promise. At the same time, I figured I would try to use Amazon FBA to at least move some stock of my game.

But I’m likely going cold turkey with Amazon FBA from here on in. It’s just too difficult to deal with, and too much work. I’d rather spend my time building relationships with distributors and publishers than have to do all the screaming into the void that a relationship with Amazon FBA requires.

(I may still use Amazon Launchpad, which is a different model than FBA, as long as they guarantee me control of my metadata. With that system, I actually sell Amazon my product, and they act as retailer. Not everyone can get in it, but so far, it seems to be a decent system that actually lets me talk to a human if I need to.)

So what’s the fate of The Networks? I’m down to fewer than 400 units in my inventory (from a 5,000-unit print run), and I plan to sell out of my remaining stock at Essen and BGG.CON. More copies will arrive in February, and those will (finally) enter wide distribution.

I’ve reached out to retailers who may have made the change to my Amazon FBA listing to ask that they remove the misleading information. Hopefully I’ll hear back soon. In the meantime, please know that Amazon is not a reliable source for breaking game news.



Patchy thoughts about Patchwork


I love game variants. I can’t help it; I can’t switch my developer brain off. When I play a game, I’m always curious how it could be done different or better. What could be added, or more commonly, what could be removed? What audiences could we open up to the game? How much shorter can we make it? How can we make it easier to learn?

So this will be a post about a game that’s not mine. I will not be recommending a variant of the game, nor will I be reviewing it. For this post, I’d like to take you through the mindset of evaluating a point/reward system in a game, looking at how scoring variants could incentivize or deincentivize players, and how that changes the game for better, worse, or the-same-just-different.

I’ve been playing a lot of Uwe Rosenberg’s outstanding 2-player game Patchwork on my iPhone. It’s a fantastic implementation by Digidiced, who are starting to distinguish themselves by making very good digital ports of Lookout’s 2-player line.

A summary of the game

(You can skip this section if you know how to play!)

I’ve enjoyed my plays of Patchwork, and I’m hardly done with it, even after hundreds of games! There are plenty of challenging decisions and fascinating dilemmas the game presents.

If you haven’t played, here’s the general idea. You and the other player pick up pieces of fabric. The pieces are arranged in a circle, and there’s a pawn in the circle. You may buy one of the three patches clockwise in front of the pawn. Every patch costs “buttons” (the most obvious currency of the game), which you must pay. You then try to fit your new patch in a 9×9 grid (your “blanket”), so that you’ll have as few open spaces as possible by the end of the game.


Image credit: Jakub Niedźwiedź (yakos)

Each patch resembles a tetromino (better known as a “Tetris piece”), although they vary in size from 3 to 8 squares. You can rotate or flip a patch any way you’d like when you place it.

There’s also a time track. Each patch costs time. When you buy a patch, you advance on the time track by that patch’s time value. If you’re not in front of the other player in time after you advance, you get another turn, and so on until you advance your time marker in front of your opponent’s. They then get their turn.

Some patches have buttons printed on them. At certain points on the time track, you’ll get an income of buttons based on how many buttons you have printed on the patches in your blanket. These patches tend to cost more time, though.

If you can’t afford any patches, or you don’t like any of the available 3 patches, you may pass. You move your time track to the space ahead of your opponent, and you get one button for every space you moved on the time track.

The game ends when both players hit the end of the time track. You get 7 bonus points if you’re the first to completely fill in a 7×7 square in your 9×9 board, and you get 1 point per button you still have at the end of the game. You also lose 2 points for every open spot in your blanket. The player with the most points wins, with any ties going to the first player who ran out of time.

So there are three currencies in the game: buttons, space, and time. The key is to juggle them in a way that gets you the most points. Focusing on one and ignoring the other two will likely lose you the game.

But what if…?

Of course, as I played, I couldn’t turn my developer brain off. I noticed outcomes like this:



In this game, I had 6 fewer empty spaces than my opponent, but my opponent had collected almost double the number of buttons than I did. They won by 12 points.

Or this game:



Here, I trounced my opponent, despite having 11 open spaces to their 6. I did get the 7×7 bonus, but I won by 13 points.

But this is the one that sticks in my craw the most.

img_3351I did something in this game that rarely happens: I completely filled my blanket. And I lost! My opponent (in this case, the hard AI) won on sheer button collection by a convincing 14 points.

Scoring and incentives

At first blush, this is a cool scoring system. It allows winning or losing across several different axes, and promotes two different extremes of strategy: trying to fill up your board quickly and efficiently, or spending time to get patches that will give you a large early button-income advantage. Of course, there’s plenty of room in between.

When I started playing, I tended to focus on filling up my board. I got a lot of satisfaction out of it. However, that satisfaction would get dashed against the rocks when the final score appeared, with me losing by double digits.

As a novice player, I found the core activity of the game – making my pieces fit into my blanket in the most efficient way possible – interesting and fun. But opponents were beating me by focusing on things like the time track and button income. Was this right? Was this fair?

Of course it was! I figured out some better heuristics after a few more plays. I learned to keep an eye on what my opponent’s choices would be if I bought a certain button. I learned to figure out how many buttons a particular purchase would leave me, and if that left me in a vulnerable positions. I learned about the pieces that are perhaps a little underpriced in the game (I call them The Plus, The Cross, and The Blimp), and learned that passing isn’t always a bad thing if it means I have a shot at picking one of them up. And I learned how to better manage the time track, sneaking in one or two extra turns through shrewd purchases and button management.

That’s all possible because Patchwork is a marvelously-designed game, with a surprising amount of depth beneath its twee surface. But what if it hadn’t been?

Let’s say there was a strategy to win by buying a lot of patches with high button income early in the game, placing them willy-nilly, and then just hanging on until the game ended. It’s not a hypothetical; this is how the computer AI plays, and it gets surprisingly effective results against novice players. Expert players, of course, will know the computer’s strategy, and try to force it into buying low-return buttons early, letting its poor placement hurt it.

But let’s say a human tries this strategy, and let’s say that it’s effective. Not broken, you can’t win with it all the time. But maybe it’s good enough that you can compete consistently with another strong player who’s generalizing or optimizing.

And let’s also say this strategy is, hypothetically, boring. Forget about the details of the strategy for a moment; let’s say the decisions in the first half of the game are obvious enough to be trivial, and the second half becomes dull.

If this were the case (and this is a good opportunity to remind you that it isn’t; Patchwork is an interesting and well-designed game, regardless of the strategy you employ; we’re talking hypotheticals here), then the scoring system would need to change. Any scoring system that allows players to do something boring and compete with players who are doing something interesting has issues.

A hypothetical variant

Again, I’m not seriously proposing a variant. But while I was trying to work out how to play the game, I couldn’t help but think of a variant that would reward my play style.

(As an aside, this might be why a lot of game designers don’t get very good at other people’s games: when we struggle, we look at ways to change the game to fit the way we play, rather than changing the way we play to fit the game!)

What if, instead of getting 1 point per button at the end of the game, only your first 20 buttons got you points, and you got nothing for buttons after 20 points? Let’s see how it would have changed those three games I posted about.


Here, my opponent would have scored 24 fewer points. The final score would have been 12-0 in my favor. It would definitely have let me win.

But of course, I didn’t lose because the game was unfair. I lost because I was focusing too much on my blanket, and not enough on my buttons. My time management was okay, but I needed to have deprived my opponent of high-value patches.


In this game, if we’d used my scoring variant, I would have lost, 8-5. My opponent’s better blanket would have won, although my 7×7 bonus would have made things close.

Again, this incentivizes good blanket-building too much. Button-hoarding is still an interesting strategy, especially when facing a skilled opponent who can recognize and stifle my opportunities.

Finally, we return to the scene of the crime:


This is the most fascinating outcome. With my variant, I would have won, 24-18.

In truth, my opponent (the AI) didn’t build a bad blanket; it had 5 holes at the end, which is respectable. And 48 buttons is a lot.

But should 48 buttons be a lot? Shouldn’t the game incentivize completely filling one’s blanket? If I have 0 holes in my blanket and the 7×7 bonus, shouldn’t the number of buttons determine my margin of victory?

This is the most interesting case here. I can see a few interesting arguments.

First, I’ll remind anyone that I don’t think the game is broken in any way, and the scoring system is fine. This result is a bit of an aberration, but it’s an edge case, and a memorable one at that. I don’t think I value the game any less, even if a player who fills their blanket can lose.

That said, I think the “minus 20” variant, while effective here, incentivizes blanket-building too much. It’s more interesting as a player when I’m trying to juggle buttons, space, and time, instead of focusing soley on my blanket.

Bump up the value of the 7×7 bonus? This isn’t necessarily a terrible idea. I realized after several plays that the 7×7 bonus is not a guarantee of winning. In fact, I got the 7×7 bonus in most of my games and still lost. Should it be more valuable, like 10, 14, or even 21 points?

This is a tricker question to answer. While the scoring system is fine the way it is, it’s a little misleading. A novice player (like I was) could overvalue the 7×7 bonus. But an advanced player knows that it’s okay to let the 7×7 bonus go if they’re doing well on time and buttons and have the opportunity to make a better play. This really does make the game more interesting, although it’s a little shocking to a new player that the bonus isn’t as valuable as it first appears.

Finally: what about an insta-win for a player who completely fills their blanket? I think of all the variants I mentioned, this is the most interesting. It’s unusual, it incentivizes a “shoot the moon” strategy, and on the rare cases it happens, it’s memorable.

But I prefer the game without it. My guess is during playtesting, the player who filled the blanket always won. My case is extreme, and would be tough to duplicate for any player. It’s such an edge case, why have a rule for it?

Richard Garfield talks about having a “complexity budget” for his games. Each game can take only so much complexity, so a lighter game needs fewer rules. Patchwork isn’t a featherweight game, but I’m not so sure a rule that only exists to address a once-in-a-blue-moon edge case is necessary. Filling the board is its own reward, and if you lose,  it’ll be so memorable that it’ll spawn reaction, conversation, discussion, and if you’re really lucky, maybe even a longwinded blog post from another designer.

How this applies

I think there are a few lessons here from game designers. Of course, “learn a game before you make variants” is one. But I think the considerations here are very similar to the considerations I make when evaluating how well a scoring system is working for a prototype.

As I’ve said before, game design is all about incentivizing interesting behavior. And for a board game that’s a contest, your scoring system is your incentive.

So does your board game incentivize interesting behavior? Do your players advance towards victory when they behave the way you want them to? Are the fun and meaningful actions of your game rewarded? Conversely, if there’s potential for uninteresting action in your game, are your players properly disincentivized? Do they know that the game won’t reward them for doing something boring?

These are all big questions designers ask themselves when making games. Be sure to apply them to yours!

A defense of low-interaction games, and why I hate the term “multi-player solitaire”

multiplayer solitaire

“Tabletop Players” icon by Delapouite (modified), CC BY 3.0

My least-favorite term in board gaming is “multi-player solitaire” (MPS). Gamers will usually sneer this when they come across a game that has low player interaction. Each player plays their own game with little interference from others. The challenge is to optimize your performance versus everyone else.

So-called MPS games usually have some interaction. It’s subtle, and sometimes it only emerges once players have experience with the game. But to exaggerate and call them “solitaire” is inaccurate enough that it makes me question credibility.

Look, hyperbole has its place. It gets attention. It’s fun. But it has a way of obscuring meaning. There are only so many times you can cry wolf before the villagers begin to ignore you.

Also, there are many kinds of interaction in gaming. High interaction, where one player can attack and take things from another player, is a perfectly valid approach. Low interaction, where players are restrained from directly influencing another player, is also valid. Each will result in a distinctive game experience. But calling a game MPS when it has low interaction displays a certain amount of ignorance and closed-mindedness.

Now, there’s nothing wrong with having a preference for high-interaction games and eschewing low-interaction games. That’s totally understandable! But I’ve seen gamers (and sometimes reviewers) who feel that low-interaction games are objectively lacking, and aren’t really games unless attacking is allowed.

Of course, these folks tend to prefer high-interaction games. And again, there’s nothing wrong with that. But it’s the extra step, the claim that games they don’t prefer are invalid, that pushes my buttons.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with low-interaction games. Games don’t need high interaction in order to be proper games. It’s okay to play a game where you can’t directly attack someone. It may not be to your taste, but those games still have a place in our hobby, even if you don’t like them.

And of course, I have a horse in this race. I personally prefer low-interaction games, and my most recent game The Networks is a low-interaction game. It is to my benefit to try to make it clear that low-interaction games belong in the gaming landscape, even if they don’t necessarily belong in your collection, depending on your taste.

With all that said, let’s go through some games that people claim are multi-player solitaire, but are really not.


Race for the GalaxyFirst one I can think of. And when you first learn the game, it truly is MPS, because you’re so focused on learning the system, you can’t really pay attention to what other players are doing.

This is a great example of a game where the better you know it, the more interaction there is. Once you get a sense of the different rhythms of the game, you can start anticipating other players’ actions and leech off of what they’re trying to do.

This is a tremendous source of fun in the game. It’s always an awesome moment in the first few turns when no one picks Explore because they thought someone else would.

Is the extremely low interaction for new players a fault of the game? I’d say it’s a minor one. Race for the Galaxy has a difficult heuristic tree to climb (similar to a palm tree in my Board Game Design 101 seminar). It gets away with this because once you get to the first few branches, you find a lot more to climb.

pic860217_md7 WondersHere’s another game that gets dinged for not having direct interaction. And yes, it’s true, there’s no way you can directly influence a player who is not your immediate neighbors (I’m talking about the base game here, not the expansions that let you withdraw from military evaluation).

But this drawback ties into the game’s greatest strength: it is a game that plays 7 players, takes about 45 minutes to play, and has some strategic depth. This is a niche that no game outside the polarizing genre of social deduction had claimed (and social deduction was just starting to become a phenomenon when this game first came out).

If the base game had allowed players to directly influence players who were not their neighbors, it would lose its incredible ability to scale to high player counts and still deliver a consistent experience in a proper amount of time. From this perspective, the low player interaction is most definitely a feature, not a bug.

Also, like above, 7 Wonders does reveal the need for increased interaction as you get better in the game. If you notice a player two seats to your left is collecting Science and you have Science in your hand, you may want to consider using that card to build a Wonder, depriving them of the card permanently.

Are there things it could have done differently regarding player interaction? Tough to say, because the game’s perceived flaws are so tightly coupled to its award-winning strengths. But I think one thing that messes with new players is the idea that the game has a “military” element which doesn’t really attack players. Moreover, the game adopts the trappings of a Civ-style game, but that Civ-style direct interaction is missing. So new players must adjust to what the game delivers against what it promises. Happily, most players seem to enjoy the game.

pic199316_mdNotre DameThis is an older Stefan Feld game, but I chose it because it’s probably the one that has the lowest amount of interaction, and is therefore most likely to be considered MPS.

There are only a few ways to interact with players: through the draft, through the Carriage tiles, and in Notre Dame. Otherwise, players are following their own scripts, with very little interaction from other players.

Is this a bad thing? If one player has shot out to a big lead, perhaps. The game wisely obscures points by recording them on chips instead of a central track, which mitigates this feeling somewhat. But if one player is doing well, it’s tough to slow them down.

I know a few people get frustrated when playing games like this. Some feel that a direct way to attack a leader is the best way to to mitigate a runaway leader. This approach leads to metagaming and table talk (“Don’t attack me, attack her, she’s in the lead!”), which some people feel is the center of any good game, but others (myself included) feel distracts from the game. High interaction can be just as polarizing as low interaction!

pic345747_mdTake It EasyThis is an important one to put in the list. The other three games are not MPS, despite what their detractors say. They have player-to-player interaction, just not a whole lot of it.

Take It Easy (and similar games in its family, like Cities and Karuba) is genuinely and honestly an MPS game. There is literally no player interaction. Nothing you do ever affects another player in the game. The only thing you’re doing that binds you to the other players is the fact that you’re all working on the same puzzle.

And here’s the thing: it’s an excellent game. While some gamers hurl MPS as an epithet, it turns out that multi-player solitaire can be extremely fun. Take It Easy doesn’t require player interaction; all it needs is the players to be working on the same set of tiles.

This lack of player interaction opens doors. I’ve heard of conventions that ask attendees to bring as many copies of Take It Easy as they can, and then they hold 100-person games. There aren’t many other games that allow that sort of experience. And it’s something MPS can do that no other style can.

It also makes the game approachable. Take It Easy can be taught in a few seconds, and new players seem to really enjoy it. It’s a great little filler game.

Are there drawbacks to true MPS? Sure. Many people will want to interact with the game leader to make sure they don’t get too far ahead, of course. And interacting with the game state is fun for a while, but MPS games seem to be best when they’re brief. Take It Easy is only about 20 minutes long. I don’t know how well a 2-hour MPS game would be, but it would have to provide an extremely immersive experience to be engaging.

Let’s explore one more little nook here: cooperative games. How much interaction can they be said have? It really depends on your group. I’ve written about competitive imbalance here before, and I still believe that a co-op needs a well-balanced group to be enjoyable. Everyone should be playing at the same level of competitiveness, be it highly competitive or not at all competitive. If there’s a mix, you get the commonly-derided “alpha player” issue, and the less-commonly-derided-but-still-problematic “beta player” issue.

And I still believe: for most co-ops, this is a problem with the game group and not a fundamental problem with the game’s design or its genre. So if you feel that co-ops are broken because one player tends to take over, I would suggest you look at the composition of your game group, and see if there are more optimal arrangements of players. The magic circle can be a delicate thing, and for a co-op, players should all be on the same page about how much they’re expected to contribute and listen to other players’ contributions.

But I hope this little diatribe has shed some light on low-interaction games. I’d love to hear your thoughts on this, and whether you agree or disagree. But these kinds of games are very close to my heart. So if you ever see me twitch when someone dismisses a low-interaction game as “multi-player solitaire,” you now know why!

The saga of the Jersey City Monopoly board

I live in Jersey City, NJ. It’s a unique environment, because it combines its own energy with that of New York City, which is right across the Hudson River.

It’s not often that I get to talk about a subject that crosses board games with where I live, but last month, Jersey City commissioned an artist to draw a giant Monopoly board in the middle of a busy pedestrian plaza, about seven blocks from my house.

We first heard about it from a tweet from Steven Fulop, Jersey City’s mayor.

Fulop Monopoly Board

Let’s take a moment to set aside how we feel about how good or bad Monopoly is as a game. Many fans of board games, myself included, have very strong feelings about Monopoly, and how it affects the perception of modern board games. But this post will focus on Monopoly’s cultural effect on people at large, and its unique position to influence our culture as the world’s most famous board game.

As you can tell from the tweet above, the Jersey City Mural Arts Program commissioned artist Gary Wynans, aka Mr. AbILLity, to paint a 33-foot floor mural in the form of a customized Monopoly board. It was to be painted in a busy pedestrian plaza, a block from the heavily-trafficked Grove Street PATH subway stop that links Jersey City to New York City and Newark.

Then things went south.

Cool Statue

Some people took offense to the “Cool Statue” space. This was a reference to the nearby Katyń Memorial, which commemorates the gruesome killing of thousands of Polish war prisoners by Soviet troops under the order of Joseph Stalin in April and May 1940.


Wynans dutifully renamed the space to “Katyń Memorial.” But then public attention focused on the figure painted in the Jail space.


This drew criticism from Pamela Johnson, who runs the Jersey City Anti-Violence Coalition Movement. She objected to the depiction of a minority in prison, on the grounds that it reinforces negative stereotypes.

Wynans defended the space by saying that the image was a self-portrait, acknowledging the time he himself was arrested. The city took matters into its own hands and painted over the self-portrait, turning all but the “safe” area of the Jail space a solid orange square. Wynans quipped afterwards, “I wish they had come to my rescue the time when it actually happened”.


Image credit:

Then the public learned of one more peculiar encounter. It turns out that a representative of a property developer who contributes to the city program had requested that his company be included in the mural. In Wynans’ own words

On almost my final day out there, I ran into a fella named Paul. He asked me if I could put his name on the mural. I jokingly asked his name and said I’d add “Paul Avenue” right away, and just continued to work. He stopped me again and said, “No, I meant my company.” This guy wasn’t joking! I told Paul that all the squares were already taken, and that City Hall had made the decisions quite some time ago. He then got on his phone for about ten minutes. Fifteen minutes later, Brooke called me. “How can we incorporate ‘Charles & Co.’ on the board?” she asked me.

What the hell is “Charles & Co.”?  Well, apparently they’re the company that has been building condos, and they help out the city with funding. Sponsored squares. Wow, is this what its come down to?  I would have calmly explained what a terrible idea that is, but at this point the butting of heads had peaked and no rational discussion could take place. Paul got his square. Take a chance on Charles & Co. Know you know who’s really in charge of your fine city. And my heart broke.

Wynans renamed the “Take a Chance on Love” space to the “Take a Chance on Charles & Co” space. But he drew a crack in the heart to show how he felt about the change.


Image credit:

It seems that the project had generated too much controversy. So on July 25, the city painted over the mural.

Painting over

There’s a lot to unpack here, and the incident has raised discussion about exactly how Jersey City decides on commissions for its mural programs. There also seemed to be a disconnect between the city’s desire for a harmless, family-oriented mural and the artist’s intent to comment on the city’s inexorable gentrification. But what I’m interested here is why this all arose over something from a board game.

Jersey City has many murals gracing the area. What is it about an element from a game that draws this kind of reaction? Why didn’t we get this reaction from other murals, even murals that referenced films or TV shows?

I think there are two reasons behind it. First, games demand interaction. While a mural showing a scene from a movie is content to simply be observed, a game board, especially one drawn on the ground, literally invites people. It wants to be interacted with. There’s something so compelling about a game board, especially one with a form that almost everyone is familiar with, beckoning us into its magic circle.

Second, I think that interaction extends to the design of the board. One element of Monopoly’s success that Parker Brothers and Hasbro has profited from immensely is how adaptable it is to specific locations. You can theme Monopoly from your local city to a massive sci-fi franchise like Star Wars.

This brouhaha wouldn’t have happened if Wynans had simply painted a chessboard on Newark Avenue. A chessboard didn’t have the cultural resonance he was looking for, because it lacked flexibility for him to adapt it to our hometown.

So as the board started to take shape on Newark Avenue, it was inviting everyone to have a say in its formation. And trust me, as a game designer, I can tell you: there are many directions in which you can take a game. A good designer knows when to say “no.”

This project suffered from a lack of a unified vision. Perhaps the city should have trusted the artist. Perhaps the artist underestimated the city’s appetite for subversiveness. Either way (or both, if you’d like), I’ve discovered that if you don’t have a single person calling the shots, or a small team running the project that knows how to work together and compromise, the end result suffers. When you create a large-scale, highly-visible art project with a huge dependency on a well-known game and the creative vision behind the work is compromised, the whole thing is going to go pear-shaped.

Games need to be taken seriously, as seriously as film and literature. They are cultural artifacts, providing commentary and resonance. Most of them may not instill the emotions that people feel from other forms of art, but I’m starting to understand that other forms of art are incapable of making people feel the way they do after having played a game. That’s why we play them.

There’s one more angle to this. As Eric Zimmerman (one of my favorite thinkers about aspirational game design) says, “Enshrining something as art is death.”

We should only look forward to games becoming art when we really are sick of them and culture has already moved on. Once games are just another department in the academy, just another section in the newspaper, just another kind of festival or marketplace or catalog then they no longer have the disruptive power that makes them so special.

Art is the name for establishment culture – works that have ceased to challenge and offend.

Rather than trying to figure out how games can become more like art, we should do the opposite. We should be desperately trying to rescue them from becoming art, delaying their installment into the hallowed halls of art.

This whole episode resulted from the vitality of games as a cultural medium. Games are alive, and they reflect us in a way that other forms can’t. Which is not to say that games are “better” than other media. But right now, they have a vibrancy that few other forms have. 

We need to listen to games on a frequency that is unique to them alone. And those of us who are game designers need to keep paying attention. The better we understand how games reflect who we are, the better we can hone our craft to resonate with our players.

In the meantime, Mayor Fulop, if you haven’t lost your appetite for large-scale board game adaptations in the Newark Avenue pedestrian plaza… how about Age of Steam: Jersey City?


Formal Ferret at Gen Con 2016!

Gen Con 2016 is next week! And Formal Ferret will be there, with an exciting and packed schedule.

What games will I have?

I’ll be showing The Networks mainly, along with Bad Medicine and Prolix Redux.

Wait, what about Peak Oil?

I recently announced on Twitter that I’ve handed US co-publishing duties for Peak Oil to the fine folks at Leder Games. It’s simply because I’m so slammed with work ever since The Networks blew up at Origins (and I have no complaints about that!), I won’t be able to put the time into co-publishing the game. Leder Games will treat the game better than I would.

What will I be selling?

You’ll be able to buy The Networks from me for $50. This will also be the first opportunity for people who didn’t back or pre-order the game to buy the mini-expansion On the Air. It consists of new cards with crazy and special powers (unlocked through stretch goals in the Kickstarter campaign), as well as some nice stickers you can put on the turn order and score markers.

On the Air will be available for $12. You can also buy The Networks and On the Air together for $60.

Also: I was very surprised to come across a few copies of Bad Medicine! I will be selling them for $30 each. I don’t expect them to last very long!

Finally, if you’ve always wanted a Formal Ferret t-shirt, now’s your chance! I’ll have most sizes, up to 4XL. They’ll be $10 each.

Where can you find my games?

First, there’s the Formal booth, #3058. It’s going to be in the far corner of the Exhibit Hall. Formal Ferret BoothTrust me, we’ll make it worth the walk!

In the booth, we’ll be running demos of The Networks all convention long. We’ll also demo Bad Medicine until we run out of copies to sell, at which point we’ll switch to demoing Prolix Redux.

Second, we will be running games of The Networks as Gen Con events in the Event Hall. These events sold out a while ago, but if you want to get an idea of how the game plays, come on by!

Third, there will be copies of The Networks in the Gen Con library, as well as the newly-announced BoardGameGeek Hot Games room at the Hyatt, in Cosmopolitan B.

Fourth, I will be running demos of Prolix Redux at the First Exposure Playtest Hall on Thursday and Friday at 2 pm and 4 pm. It’ll be a great time to check out the game!

Finally, I hope you were able to get tickets to my sold-out game design seminar. I will try to film it, so you can all check it out.

I hope I get a chance to see all of you at Gen Con!