Last week, I wrote about how joining the new game developers union gave me a sense of belonging to the game dev community. That feeling is somewhat new. As an artist, I generally feel like an outsider. A misfit. A rebel, but not a cool way. If I owned a leather jacket, there would be cartoon characters on it. Probably Duckman.
I was the oddball in my high school who knew they wanted to be a professional writer when they grew up. Writer kid is the most insufferable character in any teen movie. Those movies always end like, “And the story of that unforgettable summer became my first novel, which became a hit movie. So, yeah, I guess I did become a writer after all. The greatest writer alive? Well, that’s a story I’m still writing.” Cue the end credits with the song “California” by Phantom Planet. When I toured the screenwriting department of Drexel University – seeing dozens of kids tapping away on laptops and organizing index cards – I told the head professor that I didn’t know groups of writers got together openly like that. He told me, “Yeah, they’re writers. It’s not like they’re gay or something.” I didn’t end up going there!
When I pursued comedy writing in Los Angeles, I felt like I wasn’t a strong enough performer to make it in the scene. When I was a comics writer, the gigs I managed to get were for children’s licensed comics, not the [Insert Name of Animal]-Man comics the industry respected. When I co-founded a publishing house, it was for humor books, the redheaded step-genre of the publishing world. For much of my career, I’ve felt like a “G” shaped peg trying to fit into a “Ghostbusters No” shaped hole. After the publishing house folded, when I pursued game design full-time, things finally started clicking into place.
I’m not 100% sure why games was the right fit for me, but I have a few theories. I resonate with the underdog determination of indie studios. I’ve always thought of myself as an underdog. (Doesn’t everyone, lol? Even the most powerful bullies in the world feel like they’re fighting persecution, which is how we got into all of this! *Gestures Wildly*) I get to collaborate with other oddballs across disciplines. I like the creative challenges of being a writer in an industry where there are no established, hard-and-fast rules around storytelling. There’s no one telling you to save the cat, and I’ve never received the kind of vague, deflating notes I have gotten from Hollywood types.
Ironically, my feeling of belonging increased by a 10x multiplier last winter, when my wife Amanda and I travelled halfway around the world. Last November, we went to Japan, and we took a tour of a once secret game developers bar called 84 Hashi in Tokyo’s Shibuya district. Don’t ask me for 84 Hashi’s actual location. I’ve been sworn to secrecy! In fact, Amanda and I had to rendezvous with one of the bar’s English translators at a public location. From that public location, the translator walked us over to the bar for a tour.
The history of my game dev tribe is hanging on the walls of a small one room bar in Tokyo. After walking up a labyrinthian set of stairs, you open the door and are instantly rewarded with a chime from The Legend of Zelda.
84 Hashi is run by Chokan, a former Nintendo employee who worked at the company starting in 1984. (That’s one of his reasons for the name. Another is after World 8, Level 4 in Super Mario Bros.) His “class” at Nintendo included some of the most famous names in the industry, like Zelda creator Shigeru Miyomoto and Mario composer Koji Kondo. There’s a framed photo of Chokan and Miyomoto on a bookshelf, and a signed Mario drawing by Miyomoto on the wall. One of the most astounding items is the original, handwritten sheet music for the classic Super Mario Bros overworld theme (the one everyone knows) signed by Kondo himself. And it’s not just an unofficial Nintendo museum. There was a Sonic the Hedgehog doll signed by his creators. There was a copy of Undertale signed by Toby Fox. But the item that I geeked out over the most was an autographed drawing of Mega Man by designer Keiji Inafune (although the original Game Boy guts signed by composer Chip Tanaka was also pretty astounding).
To be clear, Chokan is more than a collector. He has all this cool stuff because his bar was a secret developer hangout for decades. Chokan knows all these devs personally. They gave us drinks and snacks, just like they have for hundreds of other devs who’ve walked through his doors. Of course, I wanted to know about what these famous developers were like. I asked Chokan about Miyomoto. He described him as quiet and shy. I asked Chockan about Toby Fox. He described him as quiet and shy. I told him it seemed like there was a pattern with they type of customers he attracts. He laughed and agreed.
We have a lot of venues like this in Los Angeles. If you work in movies, you can dine at Musso & Frank’s, where Charlie Chaplin, Marilyn Monroe, and Equip Story’s own Groucho Marx were all regulars. If you work in television, you can take the Warner Bros Studio Tour and visit the Central Perk set from Friends. Could you BE anymore connected to your industry? If you work in music, you can go to any number of clubs on the Sunset Strip where your favorite rock musicians played and/or died! But as far as I know, there isn’t an equivalent to 84 Hashi in America. A public place that is central to game development history. There is the extraordinary Strong Museum of Play, where I gave a talk last year. They have an amazing collection gaming memorabilia, but it’s not hallowed ground.
84 Hashi is part of the story of game development. If you happen to be in Tokyo and love video games, I can’t recommend it enough. I got to spend two hours talking to Chokan, asking him about the development of Chibi Robo and the Super Famicom accessory the Satellaview. (He was surprised I knew either of those two Nintendo b-sides.) He wanted to know about Clone Drone in the Hyperdome, then added it to his Steam wishlist. Chokan and his staff welcomed us, asked us to sign their guest list, gave us special passports, and called us members. Now, in a small way, I feel like I’m part of 84 Hashi. I feel like I’m part of the story.
🎲 Your Turn: Have you been to any landmark locations in your industry, fandom, or family? Any place that made you feel connected to a wider community? Reply to this email or tell the whole world by hitting the orange button below.
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