The Backstory

I stepped into the role of a Narrative Designer during an era when the title wasn’t really solidified, especially not here in the States. I believe it was through LinkedIn that I first heard the term. It was on this platform that I saw a colleague transition from the title of Mission Designer to Narrative Designer.

However, my first gig in the gaming world was officially as a “Mission Designer”, working on a mobile game named Criminal Case. That title was fitting at the time. Even though I was neck-deep in drafting dialogues, employing narrative twists characteristic of crime stories, and continually aiming for fresh, colorful characters, I wouldn’t say it was pure Narrative Design.

Fast forward a bit, things got real when Gameloft handed me a full-fledged Narrative Designer contract in April 2017. Interestingly, I ended up writing fewer dialogues and, to be honest, produced a ton of PowerPoint documentation.

A Dash of Luck, A Whole Lot of Passion

Rewinding the clock a bit, my gig with Criminal Case felt somewhat serendipitous. It represented a pivot in both my professional journey and life. At that time, I had been gravitating towards a graphic design career after some self-training. Before that, my professional path was dotted with various jobs, ranging from the hospitality industry to call centers, following some indecisive years in college and a stint at an art school which didn’t bear much fruit. (Not that it bothered me too much; those years were some of the happiest times of my life.)

Now, I was pretty darn good with graphic design. My skills were sharp, and I had accumulated a fair amount of experience. All signs pointed towards me becoming a maestro with software like Indesign, waiting for someone to recognize my talent. I just needed that first paid gig to set things in motion. But, it never came, despite a well-curated portfolio and a few industry contacts. Fate had other plans, I guess.

Perhaps the twist was because I always had a flair for writing. I penned down stories in both English and French, dabbled in short films, a smattering of fictions here and there, and even saw a few projects to completion. I taught myself the art of screenplay in a time when accessing a script wasn’t a walk in the park. All of these felt like grown-up endeavors, even if they were an extension of my more chaotic teenage projects. Around this same time, my love for video games and the tales they weave was palpable. Among the myriad of games I explored, there was one – Resident Evil – that evoked in me a profound admiration, fueling both my enthusiasm and my work ethic.

During a period marked by an impressively epic academic failure, I launched a pre-YouTube era Resident Evil fan-film titled Veronica Reborn. Shot within the walls of my high school and an exquisite mansion owned by a then-friend located in the Lyon region, the locations were dreamlike. However, the project? Decidedly amateur. While I might’ve been neglecting my preparatory assignments for the final exams, at the very least I was seeing through to the end the projects I was passionate about. Even if it was essentially a DIY rendition of Resident Evil. A point of pride, I suppose. (In fact, I was so engrossed in this venture that I couldn’t even finish the school year. Priorities, right?)

The years that followed were marked by wandering between various small jobs and a mix of half-hearted projects. A pivotal trip to Toronto, Canada, with a script I intended to pitch for television introduced me to a ruthless industry landscape where nothing happens without the right agent or connections. This head-on collision with the realities of adulthood, crystallized the notion that making a living from writing was either audacious or near-impossible.

To add to the disillusionment, around 2008-2010, I contemplated pivoting to the entertainment and film journalism sector. It may come as a surprise, but I managed to snag interviews and freelance gigs, thanks in part to “Pepper Steak”, my self-published “Pop/Geek” magazine that ran for four solid years. Yet, 2008 is synonymous with the financial crisis. A conversation with the editor-in-chief of a magazine I deeply admired, over coffee at a café on Rue des Petits Carreaux, drove this home: “The ad business is in a crisis, the entire publishing industry feels it. No contracts for now, perhaps some freelance work, we’ll see.” That magazine never saw another issue. And while I did land a few well-paying assignments for GQ, the dream of leaving my gig at McDonald’s to become a pop culture journalist faded rather swiftly. Once more, I took it all in stride.

Yet, a few years down the line, it all came together. One day, I indeed received my inaugural paycheck for the role of Mission Designer, a position I landed based solely on my personal portfolio. Well-formatted English scripts, my self-published pop culture fanzine, and a handful of graphic designs – that’s what made the difference. And in this industry, it’s all about that pivotal “first gig”, which, let’s be honest, is your golden ticket into the inner circle. From there, all that was left was to execute, learn, and ascend.

Defining My Work

Who is the Narrative Designer?

I am not among those who claim that a definition of Narrative Design is impossible or that there are as many definitions as there are positions or projects. Through readings, wading through the documentation available on the subject, conversing with peers, and reflecting upon my own journey, I’ve come to believe that the parameters of the job are sufficiently outlined such that similar skill sets are expected across different roles.

Once, during an interview with a colleague from Ubisoft, he asked how I defined a Narrative Designer. As I relayed the commonly accepted definition – a “champion of storytelling and history combined with a writer” – he rather curtly responded, “For me, it’s primarily a Game Designer. One who foremostly deals with the story.” I resonated with this perspective. Design is at the core of what I do, and in truth, I spend more time producing documents and Excel spreadsheets than I do writing prose or dialogues. I believe this is when one realizes they are a Narrative Designer rather than just a “Game Writer”. It took time for me to come to terms with this role, especially coming from a background of more straightforward, execution-driven jobs in the hospitality and call center sectors.

Responsibilities

Attempting a definition – because evading the topic isn’t my style – I view the Narrative Designer as an architect of the story, weaving gameplay around the principles of dramaturgy and narrative structure. This role also embodies the guardian, and in many ways, an editorial lead. Often, if not always, the onus falls upon the Narrative Designer to speak on behalf of the game under development – in essence, the product. Thus, they also bear responsibility for the product’s integrity, its reception, and how its narrative and messages reflect upon the studio.

In light of this, a Narrative Designer must maintain an acute awareness of global currents, societal concerns, and showcase a critical and curious mindset, perhaps more so than others within a studio.

Also, An Author

Perhaps out of modesty, perhaps ignorance, or even fear, I must admit that my role as a Narrative Designer often overlaps with that of a pure author. This facet seldom surfaces during interviews, which mostly spotlight one’s capabilities. While capabilities are essential, real-life experiences have often placed me at the very origin of creative concepts, influencing both gameplay and editorial aspects. Simplistically, a Narrative Designer is sometimes expected to provide that foundational spark, traditionally the domain of a Game Designer or Creative Director. In practice, I’ve come to recognize that I’m anticipated to offer clear guidance on pure creative facets, beyond the realm of Design.

E for everyone

The saying goes: practice makes perfect. I believe that the projects I’ve tackled have shaped the craftsman I’ve become. Or perhaps nothing is truly coincidental, as the games I’ve had a hand in designing resonate with me. From the very onset of my career, I’ve contributed ideas and content to immensely popular titles. Criminal Case, my first, was an unparalleled global sensation in the then-fresh realm of “casual” games on Facebook and mobile platforms. The Otome games I worked on, despite their niche façade, were intended for a broader audience. Miraculous, for me, epitomized all these experiences, offering a chance to work on a guaranteed hit given its iconic license – a title meant for families, sheer entertainment, espousing positive values I cherish.

To encapsulate my professional essence, I remain a doer, not a theoretician. I’m likely not veering towards an intricate study of narrative systems, nor embarking on the path of narratology.

Wishes and Aspirations

Currently, I’m embedded in an incredible studio, working on a project stylistically distinct from my past endeavors. It’s a venture that presents unparalleled opportunities to delve into cutting-edge tools and novel ways of comprehending narratives within virtual realms. Sounds exciting, right?

And then, there’s this website, of course. The “Lorecraft” project can manifest in numerous ways; it’s up to me to shape its contours.