The soliloquy of a solo developer: a letter for my late mother

I want to address this essay to my late mother, who has always been an inspiration to me in all that I do. I would dedicate the game to her, but I know she would never play a soulslike. Don’t get me wrong, she would definitely try it out because she loved me so much, but who knows if she’d even get to the first boss.

My intent for this letter is to say that no game is made in isolation. I’ve had endless support from my friends and loved ones, and I am fortunate to have been inspired by better artists than I who create games, books, movies, shows, paintings, and all other mediums of art.

Mama, I am doing well. I graduated from college like you always wanted me to. I won’t mince words, it was tough after we lost you halfway through the second year. The only reason I bounced back was that I knew how much you wanted me to see it through. I chose creative writing as a course because I thought it would come naturally to me, and I thought it would be easy. I couldn’t have been more wrong. 

Fiction classes kicked my ass, and I didn’t think I had what it took to be an actual “writer,” so it was non-fiction that eventually pulled me in. For better or for worse, the timing worked out because those classes and the work we did helped me process the pain of losing you. Of course, it still hurts. Why wouldn’t it? You filled every room with joy, laughter, and love. When I think of you, I can’t help but be filled with a soup of joy and sadness.

Then, just before graduation, I went through another life-changing experience. I played Dungeons and Dragons with my friends. A friend of mine from high school ran it. You would remember him. I used to sleep over at his house all the time. That very first session was so electric and unforgettable. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it’s all I wanted to do. A role-playing experience that uses rules and mechanics to aid in telling a partially improvised and collaboratively told story? It was exactly what my life needed, and you would absolutely love to play D&D as well. Though admittedly, it got in the way of the final studies, exams, and papers. I did the bare minimum to pass and graduate. You certainly won’t be happy to hear that, but hey, D&D became my next source of education. 

Playing D&D over the years was the first game design course I had unknowingly subscribed to. It involved learning how to prepare for sessions, managing players, writing stories, and running the games. I now like to think of it as a game engine, and I was the designer who adjusted the experience on the fly so my players could have the best experiences that I tailored to what they liked and disliked. If you compared it to the workshops and team-building classes you ran, it’s not too different. It took me far too long to realize I must have inherited the love of making and playing games from you.  

~~~

After college, the prospects for a writer specializing in non-fiction weren’t abundant. My first job was as a call center agent working the night shift. That didn’t last long. Time away from the sun and speaking to unhappy customers for eight hours is not healthy for anyone’s mental and physical well-being. Eventually, there was some stability as a freelance writer. Then the pandemic of 2020 hit.

Stuck at home all day with no contact with the outside world. My initial guess would be that you would hate it, but the more I think about it, I see you enjoying staying in and reading all your books in peace. The quarantine gave me the perspective that being a freelance writer wasn’t sustainable if I wanted to have a life together with my partner. A career shift was necessary to secure a future where we could be together, because being apart from her was agonizing. And I was already familiar with the feeling of absence. Obviously, at the time, I didn’t know game development wasn’t exactly the most stable career environment.

So I did what you taught me to do. I dove headfirst into studying game dev, and I didn’t consider anything else. It was a long two years, and thankfully, working as a freelancer and support from our family were enough to sustain me through the pandemic. 

Undying Lantern, my first game, was an educational experience. But I won’t lie, I did think it would at least make some profit, and hoped it would help jumpstart a game dev career. I was very wrong, disappointed, and dejected, but not defeated. At least then, I knew what it would take to finish a game from start to finish, and the idea was for the first one to be a small project that would guide me to my dream game.

I don’t remember what the catalyst was for me to start working on my 2nd game. What I do recall is that my freelancing gigs started to run dry. It was 2022 at that point, and GenAI (a soulless art-stealing machine) was beginning to thrive. Eventually, the opportunities ran out, and I was once again a fully unemployed freelancer. 

When Memoirium was conceptualized, I knew I wanted it to be a soulslike (a popular new game genre), the kind that I wanted to play. Using some systems and mechanics from my first game as the foundation of this one, I truly dared to dream big for this project, adding both combat and a separate part just for writing. I kept telling myself that if at least one player would write and reflect about their own life, then I would accomplish what I set out to do. But I do want to be completely honest with you. Of course, I want this to be a great success, enough to live off of for a while. Maybe set me up for my inevitable next project.

For 2 years, I worked on Memoirium whenever I had free time. With my brother’s help, I fleshed out the story, and my partner broke the game as often as she could. I also started working as a barista for my brother’s cafe. It was a dream job, and that allowed me to reach a flow state. Bike to work, dial in, make coffee, go home, work on the game, eat, sleep, repeat. This repetition was ended with the closing of the cafe, and the latter half of 2024 was a wild series of events, to say the least.

~~~

After two years of work, I thought PGDX 2024 (Philippine Game Dev Convention) was a good opportunity to have strangers play the game for the first time. With a laptop and a controller hooked up to it, Memoirium was open to play for the first time ever. I felt nervous and vulnerable, which I believe every creator feels when putting their work up to scrutiny. But then, on the very first day, I was welcomed with open arms by the community of friendly and passionate game devs and gamers. On the first day, I already felt at home. To my surprise, people were actually enjoying the game. I wasn’t expecting that. I had hoped for it, and the feedback was not only constructive, but it was also rather flattering.

On the third and final day of PGDX, the potential of Memoirium became fully clear to me because of one experience that will stay with me forever. It was a Sunday, and the floor had fewer people compared to the first two days. The event was coming to its conclusion, and some other devs were already packing up, so I thought I should do the same. But someone came to my booth to play, and I could never turn away a player. So I let him start a new game. It shouldn’t take too long, I thought to myself.

Nearly two hours later, PGDX was basically done. The convention hall was closing, and as far as I could tell, mine was the only booth “operating.” The player was locked-in trying to beat the demo’s 2nd and final boss. After many attempts, he was on his final one before I really had to pack up and leave, unless I wanted both of us to be locked inside the convention center. 

His fight with the boss was tense; his friends, me, and a few other devs formed a tiny crowd and were watching intently and silently. He took a hit that nearly killed him, and we all shook with stress as if we had taken the same strike. Then, with one final attack, he defeated the boss, and we exploded with unbridled joy and relief. This player sat in a convention hall for almost two hours trying to beat my game’s demo, when he could have played dozens of other games. This was something I had never imagined would happen, but it was thanks to him that I was certain I was making a game worth playing. Thankfully, one of his friends was able to record footage of the final fight. Whenever I feel doubt or disillusioned, I remember this player, I remember his exhilaration. The pure adrenaline we all shared from his victory. I wanted to finish this game and have him play the entire thing.

PGDX filled me with a newfound confidence. I was fired up and ready to see Memoirium to its conclusion. I started applying for funding and publishing through all channels and avenues I could find. Around the same time, a new fund had announced itself, Outersloth, from the makers of the worldwide phenomenon Among Us. You would have loved this game, it’s werewolf in outerspace and the players are all adorable beans. Naturally, I applied to Outersloth right away. 

A few months later, someone helping out the fund reached out to me and let me know that he COULD NOT run the build that I sent to them. A mini panic attack struck me because I could feel the opportunity slipping away from me. Unfortunately, I could not replicate the issue they were experiencing. I did what any veteran developer would do: I Googled the problem and implemented whatever solution was at the top of the results. After supposedly fixing the game, I sent them a new build to be tested out. Then there was silence. Failure plagued my mind; I had goofed it by giving a build that didn’t run properly.

Surprise, I was wrong. They took their time playing through the ENTIRE game, at least what I had worked on so far. Good things were said, really flattering things, and lots of constructive feedback and advice. Not long after, Outersloth sent an email to set up a call. I did not stay cool or calm throughout any of these moments. I can still feel it now as I recall these events for you. My hands were shaking with anxiety, a heartbeat in my ears, and the inability to remain still.

The day of the call with Outersloth, I got up VERY early and watched the clock sluggishly crawl towards the appointment. When it was finally time to hop onto the meeting, Microsoft Teams decided to crash. Then I truly started to spiral into a tornado of stress. Sweat was dripping from forehead to brow and finally into the eyes. It appeared that I had to reinstall the whole thing. Outersloth sent an email and mentioned they saw me in the meeting, then I disappeared. And they kindly asked if I was having any issues. I WAS having issues. I felt I was once again fumbling the opportunity before me. Thank Zeus that the program finally worked, and I got on the call with them.

They were absolutely lovely people. I talked about the game, mentioned my inspirations, and also talked about you and how you were a major part of Memoirium. I can’t remember how long the call was, but it did go well. The vibes were great, and they said nice things. There were a few things to iron out as we moved forward to the possibility of them signing Memoirium onto their roster of great games.

~~~

November 24, 2024, it’s your 10th death anniversary. We’re at a beach resort in memory of you. Every time I smell the sea, I think of you. It’s the same day at breakfast that I receive the contract from Outersloth. I signed it knowing my life would once again change forever. I wished more than anything I could share the joy with you. The best I could do was carry you with me.

Even before I got the deal, I already had the entire game planned out. All of the levels, all of the lore, all that it is draws from my experiences. You’re in it too. The house we used to live in is a giant dungeon with your bedroom containing the boss of that zone. Don’t worry, you’re not the one the players will be fighting. I didn’t think you would want to be so violent. The bosses are my brother and me. It’s a cold place, this enormous house I built from memory. We left it years ago, but now it will live in the game.

The final two years of working on the game were a dream come true. Thanks to Outersloth, I was given the opportunity to work on it full-time, and I did my best not to waste it. I am going to give spoilers ahead, since even if you were around, there’s no way you’re getting to the end of this brutal game. During the conception of the story, I had an idea of who I wanted the main antagonist to be. Originally, the plan was a dark version of a dreamer whose world was warped by their negative experiences. But then I realized a better metaphorical enemy would be AI (GenAI to be more specific), the machine, and the capitalist systems that we as a society are beholden to. It felt fitting that the big villain of a person trying to express themselves is a machine that wants to take all their hopes and dreams and turn them into capital. Yes, I do see some of the irony in saying that, fully knowing I am about to put my game up for sale. That is the reality we live in, and I have to make a living.

You called me out and scolded me for half-assing anything I worked on, but you also didn’t discourage me when I wanted to quit or give up something I didn’t enjoy. It was you who taught me that if it’s worth doing, then you must put your full ass into it. Art needs to be imperfect, it needs to be personal, it needs to be a journey. I have thoroughly enjoyed the many years it has taken to make this game. A part of me is worried because when the work is all done, then I will truly have to think about what’s next. But I’ll burn that bridge when I get there.

Before I end this letter, I want to reiterate. I have never been alone working on this game. I’ve always had you. I’ve had my partner, my best friend, my brother, my cousins, my family, my friends, Outersloth, and the game dev community. And now the game is almost out, I want to be clear. Though I call myself a solo dev, I didn’t make the music or the cover art. I had help with marketing, a team for QA, and another team for localization. I am truly fortunate to be surrounded by people with hearts full of kindness and love. They have taken a chance on me to make a game that is personal and strange, and I am excited for it to be finally out in the world. 

I love you, mama. Maybe for the next game, I’ll make something that wouldn’t stress you out if you played it.