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Insurmountable odds are the rofl that flies my copter. Maybe that’s why I’m competing in this contest…maybe that’s why I’m getting a degree in level design. Studying to make games at the SMU Guildhall is great, but will I get a job? Not if I don’t shut my big mouth.

Most of you probably have heard of Levelord: he’s one of the founders of Ritual Entertainment and one of the few people to have registered their nickname with the copyright police. I’m pretty sure even Thresh didn’t bother to do that. Levelord is one of the industry leaders instrumental in creating the Guildhall, and he’s a pretty cool guy to boot. Somehow neither of these things crossed my mind the day I ranted about how naming yourself Levelord is obnoxious at best. I went off on his registered nickname in class in front of two professors and thirty of my peers. Levelord was not present. No big deal, right?

Not if you believe in karma. Which I don’t. But apparently that doesn’t stop karma from affecting me.

The first three-month term at the Guildhall, level designers make a 2D game with the help of another designer and an artist. My designer groupmate and I split ways near the end of the project—we produced two different games using the same art assets. I put about 200 hours into my game and began to have delusions of grandeur, a trait not uncommon in my fanciful youth and still present in my twenties. At the end of the term, the Guildhall hosted a private exhibition to show off student work. They even invited an industry guest of honor…

Levelord himself, in all his trademarked glory. He looked at my game briefly, smiled, nodded, and moved on. He seemed much more interested in my groupmate’s game, which in my mind, was clearly inferior to my brilliant creation. But what does Levelord know, anyway?

The real honor for 2D games was yet to come: the Spring Exhibition, open to the public with spots reserved for only the best student-created games. This is when my asinine, rude, and (dare I say?) poignant comments about Levelord came back to haunt me. I felt like I already dodged the karma bullet when Levelord gave me a friendly nod, not knowing the comments I made about his nickname. So when they announced the games selected for the Spring Exhibition, I felt sure mine deserved the honor. My game was polished, played decent, and received one of the highest grades. Certainly the same professor who gave me the grade would include me in the show. And I’m sure she would have, had not Levelord made a special request that my groupmate’s game make the cut.

Levelord, by some act of a greater power, stole my honor away from me! That spot was mine! Mine! What else could it be but karma? My game couldn’t be bad, could it? I spent so much time on it! What does Levelord know, anyway?

More than me.

My game wasn’t fun, and that’s the most important part (follow the link to see for yourself). The core gameplay failed to offer anything new, and the main double-jumping mechanic was awkward at best. I play tested the game, but never asked anyone if it was fun. As milestones approached, I worried too much about polish, forgetting that a shiny piece of poo still is a piece of poo. Perhaps my core idea wasn’t innovative enough, but I still could have spent more time focusing on gameplay rather than production quality.

External Link: http://students.guildhall.smu.edu/~adobbs/files/So...