Have you ever wondered how surprises relate to our emotions beyond physical reactions and the horror genre? Would you like to know how a narrative constructor thinks in the creation of curiosity, surprises and suspense and how the cognitive vehicle of narrative works?
In an interview for a position as a narrative director, I was asked what I would do if there were conflicts in the team about individual preferences. I could tell by their looks that they didn’t believe me when I replied that there are no conflicts where I work. To explain what I meant, I´d like to straighten out the concept of conflicts.
For many years ago, I lived in a rainforest until one day I couldn´t stand not being able to see the horizon and the only thing I was staring at was my skin looking for leeches that appeared from nowhere looking like a stroke of a pen on the skin. If not being attentive to the thin black line and remove it quickly, it wouldn´t take long before you found a lump, big as a plum, attached to the skin that had to be unscrewed. The only thing I felt sorry about by leaving was to miss the yearly event when people from the distant and widely spread cattle stations gathered in the village to find a life companion. It was the biggest event of expectations I had ever experienced until E3 turned up.
In two earlier posts, I told about two ardent film makers, Ed Wood and Georges Méliesè, who both seized accidents when making their films. Both films brought them fame but in two completely different ways: Wood for the worse film ever made and Méliesè for his innovation of visual and special effects.
To end up fighting for children´s rights was an awakening since I had resided as a good dog within the bubble of entertainment believing that a meaningful experience was directed towards something positive and where my wheeling of the narrative vehicle differed from the opposite which could be seen in the absence of a reciprocally shared goal where expectations by a “we”, based on preconceptions, considered to know what was best for others. Continue reading
If anyone remembers the 2D pictures, which were popular in the nineties, that you had to stare at until a 3D image suddenly appeared, that´s how the challenge felt when trying to make people aware about the narrative. You might also recall how frustrating it was to have people standing over you when staring at the 2D image and hear them saying: “can you see it, can you see it?” and if not seeing “can´t you see it, can´t you see it?” or even worse, “I can´t believe you do not see it!” The only thing the 2D images did was to split people into a “we” and “them” and made them, that didn’t see, frustrated. Continue reading
How the game industry understood narrative, wasn’t really a big issue (the problems should be found somewhere else). As I always worked within entertainment, I never thought of a narrative from any other perspective than to deliver a feeling of something worth spending time on and where the goal was to give something people didn’t know they were missing. Continue reading
This is the home of my work and findings as a narrative constructor that I would have liked to find myself in the late nineties when moving my skills as a writer and director within film and television to development of digital and interactive media. At that time there was nothing called narrative design, and when I took my master in computer science, the narrative was recognised as not to be part of game studies and human-computer interaction (HCI). The narrative was like “It-Which-Must-Not-be-Named” until I met a Lyotard-reading captain of a robot football team who Continue reading
I was recently asked if I could show a perfect narrative composition for everyone to see. There aren’t any, I replied, and remembered the puzzled faces when giving lectures in narrative design when I avoided answering which video game I liked; since if I did I was likely to receive concepts that looked the same.