Making video games is my hobby. If the games I released were paid, most of them would not sell any copies. If someone else made the games I made, I probably would not play them.

I am fiercely proud of the games I make.

It can feel like it isn’t worth doing something if you aren’t good at it. If you hang out in a creative space for a hobby that you’re passionate about, you’ll be barraged with people who are more talented, more prolific, and just flat-out better at it than you are. Sometimes it’s because it’s their full time job; sometimes it’s because they’re just really good at it.

Making video games is my hobby. I make video games for the purpose of having a game at the end, yes, but also because I enjoy the process. I make imperfect games, and I release them. I make imperfect games, and I’m proud of myself for doing so.

E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial

The following is fictional.¹

In 1982, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial released. The film was wildly successful and very well-received.

In 1982, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial released. The game was widely panned and was accused of killing an industry.

One of these has been influential for me. It’s not the well-regarded film. It’s the game that everyone hated.² Now, I’m not going to get into why the game is hated more than it should be.

Why? Because it doesn’t matter.

I’m also not going to go into how E.T. was ahead of its time, or how it was unfairly blamed for systemic issues in the industry.

Why? Because it doesn’t matter.

Then what does matter? What Howard Scott Warshaw, the creator, thinks about it.

Warshaw is proud of his work on the game. He’s proud of finishing it despite only having five weeks. He’s proud of coming up with a pitch for a game less than thirty-six hours after it was requested. He’s proud of the ending cutscene. He’s proud of the title screen.

Why shouldn’t he be?

E.T. could be a better game. If he ignored the deadlines, Warshaw could have worked a few extra weeks. Atari could have playtested the games and seen the areas that gave people trouble. The rough edges could have been smoothed out, and the game could have been better received.³

Does that mean that Warshaw shouldn’t be proud of the game? No.

Everything you make can be better. You can always spend more time on a project before releasing it. There may be a point at which working more on a game will make it worse, but you will never know where that point is. That’s true whether it’s your hobby or your job.⁴

E.T. influenced me because it is a game that everyone hates, but its creator loves.⁵ And isn’t that all that matters?⁶

My own work

I’m not a professional writer. I’m don’t know if I’m even a good writer.⁷ Honestly, I often have a hard time determining “bad writing”. The infamously bad writer Dan Brown? I never got hung up on his writing.⁸

In my games, I like to think I have a certain amount of taste. When I do something in an amateur way, I’m aware of it, and I’ve accepted it. I know my sprite for Cyclus is cheesy, but I’m fine with it. I don’t like to release games with flaws that I am unaware of.

So when I wrote Side Stories for NaNoWriMo, a piece of twine interactive fiction, I had no idea if it was actually good. I didn’t know if it had any glaring flaws.⁹ I didn’t know what was wrong or gauche. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know it isn’t Shakespeare, but I don’t know if it’s palatable.

I was anxious about that. I very well could have not published the game. Every day that it’s up, someone could leave a comment saying “this game sucks and the writing is bad.”

I don’t know if the game is good, but I’m proud of it. I read through it while writing my 2020 retrospective, and I liked it. I accomplished something. I gave myself a month, and I didn’t just write over fifty thousand words; I wrote over sixty thousand words. You don’t like it? That’s great. I don’t care.¹⁰

I wrote and it flew out of my fingers like I was possessed and I accomplished what I set out to do and that’s worth being proud of. It’s something worth celebrating!

It’s easy to look at what others have done and find yourself wanting. That’s fundamentally a fruitless way of going about something you should enjoy. Don’t compare yourself to others. Compare yourself to the version of you who hadn’t created. Compare yourself to the version of you who did some mindless activity instead.

After all, I compare myself against the more perfect version of me all the time. Why shouldn’t I get to do so against a less perfect one too?

I can look at every single thing that I’ve created, and I can see something worth of praise in each one.¹¹

After all, have you ever created something that made you feel like you were worse off for having made it? I certainly haven’t. Sure, the art you drew when you were a teenager may feel embarrassing now, but it was a stepping stone to where you are now, and that, I think, is something worth appreciating.

Create for Yourself

Creation, in and of itself, is something to cherish. You chose, with all the options available to you, to make. It doesn’t need to be good. It’s your passion. It should be satisfying. If you enjoyed making it, or even if you enjoy having made it, it is worthwhile.

On the other hand, are you creating something that’s draining you throughout every step of the process? Consider whether you actually want to do it.

Perfection is a pipe dream. Create for yourself.

Make bad things and be proud of them.