TL;DR
All I want is money, fame, love, power and immortality. But for all the right reasons.
Inspiration
Last week, I watched a video by Simone Giertz in which she celebrates ten years as a YouTuber by talking to the audience about her decade while making a stained glass mosaic of one of her earliest shitty robots. In the video, she touches on how she has defined success on her own terms and, of course, none of it is about number-go-up metrics. After watching the video, I thought that it might be a good idea for me to try my hand at something similar.
More than once, my spouse—after watching me spin like a top in the throes of an anxiety attack—has asked me why I’m doing any of this. The question is not exasperated or accusatory or demeaning; she’s trying to guide me to a point. My anxiety is borne of the age ol’, “But what if I fail?!” and she’s all like, “Fail… what? Fail… how? What is or is not happening that is preventing success? What are you trying to do, and what part of it is not working?”
I never have an answer for her. Only I can perceive the hazy specter of Failure resting its hand on my shoulder.
I see dead dreams.
— Not Haley Joel Osment from The Sixth Sense
What’s My Why?
When I initially decided that I wanted to design board games, the first thing I did was try to create a brand. It’s always ill-conceived to start a project with a logo, but it’s always the first thing I do. At that point, it seemed impossible that I would ever get a game published. My whole goal was to design a handful of wee games, print them myself and dole them out to friends and family.
The “brand” I cooked up was A Man Possessed. Because that’s how it felt. It wasn’t a passing fancy of half-hearted curiosity. I had to do it. I still have to do it. There’s something deep inside that compels me to design board games. And to study game design. And to create a board game design community. And to pitch my games to publishers. And to self-publish. And to found a board game publishing company. And to publish other people’s games. And to do all this stuff. I don’t know or understand my why. I just do it. Every day, I just do the next thing; the day after that, I do the next next thing. I do not have my eyes on the prize. I have my eyes on the next thing, and then I do it, propelled by some unknowable alien force. I know that sounds dramatic and hyperbolic, but it’s earnest and it’s the best I got.
Luckily, my initial assessment was wrong. To date, I’ve signed four contracts with board game publishers (though, two of them have gone up in smoke). Today, my brand as a game designer is Jason Katzwinkel. That’s me. My brand as a publisher (obviously) is The Hummingbird & The Seahorse. I’ve kept the A Man Possessed handle and avatar on all of my social media platforms, though. It still represents a truth.
The Next Thing
The next thing in this post is to get to the point. Let’s try to define some success, shall we?
• $$$ Money 🤑
I know, I know. I’m not supposed to say that. Not right off the bat, and especially not with a waggling-tongue emoji. I’m supposed to define success in some grounded and spiritual way, otherwise I’ll end up as some bent old Scrooge, wealthy on the books, bankrupt in the soul, forever miserable.
I don’t mean money in terms of “glorious riches” or “filthy lucre” or “retirement on my private island”. I mean money in terms of success, not excess. I mean money in terms of business fuel. I mean money in terms of voting with your wallet.
If my primary goal was to get crazy stupid rich, board games would be one of the worst ways to go about it. It’s not about the money. But, still, I am trying to run a business. I’m not just designing games, I’m not just crafting experiences, I’m generating tangible products. I’m doing a capitalism, here, and that means cash flow.
Money is the vehicle that will allow me to keep doing what I enjoy in the way I enjoy doing it. I’ll be perfectly exhilarated with just enough to do the next thing. And then the next next thing.
Ultimately, though, the acquisition of money in this business only means one thing to me: That I am generating value. People spend money for only three reasons. 1) For necessities, 2) for kindness, or 3) because they believe they are getting more value than they are giving up. When somebody puts their hard-earned dollar bills into my coffer, it’s not a survival instinct and it’s not to do me a favor. It’s only because they believe I’m giving them even more in return. And if that turns out to be true for some people, that’s success.
• External Validation
I know! I’m not supposed to say that, either. I don’t need or crave external validation and I don’t need to make this whole business about me or my ego. In the correct context, though, I think external validation is a valuable success metric for publishing board games.
I’ve already felt the glee of other people experiencing my products. I’ve watched Pyrotechnics click with people in the middle of a game, tickling their brains with delight. I’ve seen people lost in the flow of Rune Rite. I found a copy of The Book of Wandering out in the wild with entries from folks who loved the idea of being connected to unseen others through time and space.
When I get to see or hear about people become briefly happier due to something I deposited into the universe, that’s success.
• Community and Inclusivity
Games are social objects by design, and the more doors we keep open, the more spectacular our tables will be. That comes via practical things: clear rules, readable fonts, thoughtful iconography, affordable price points, and variants that scale to different groups.
It also manifests through intention: creating spaces where diverse players feel invited to partake, contribute and enjoy. Where all players feel comfortable and safe to have fun. That means being humble with cultural touchstones and always checking assumptions. Inclusivity is not a checkbox. Sensitivity is not a Jira task. They are practices, repeated every day in the choices I make about accessibility, respect and the people I incorporate into my communities; those close to me and those in more distant orbits.
I won’t always do the perfectly correct thing. I’m just a human person with a squishy, pink, malnourished brain. But if people of all walks feel inclined to trust that my intentions are pure, that’s success.
• The Act of Creation
This one might actually be about my ego, I’m not sure. I like to craft. I like to make things that are precise and correct. I like to create things that function optimally.
This definitely pairs with the external validation metric, especially when it comes to games. I can make a construct that looks like a game, swims like a game, and quacks like a game, but unless other people play it and feel something in doing so, it’s just graphic design. As a product and as a creation, the whole kit’n’kaboodle has to evoke the intended feelings. Art, packaging, components, communication, gameplay… all of it must be created to serve others in a very specific way. It must be thoughtful and precise. It must be good.
When I publish somebody else’s game, I want the product to arrive in players’ hands with the same care I would give my own work. That means respecting the designer’s intent, shepherding the rulebook to clarity, choosing components that match the experience, and treating production and distribution with the same attention to detail I would give my final creation on this Earth. I want each designer to feel supported, credited, and paid fairly, and I want players to hold a game that feels honest, tuned, and worthy of the time they dedicate to it.
If I can serve as a trustworthy steward of my own and others’ creative labor, that’s success.
• Legacy
Success in any context could—potentially—mean success for others.
I have a little boy, and when I think about publishing board games, I think about him. That kind of thinking could be a lot to put onto his tiny shoulders, but I’ll be cool about it. I’m not trying to build a throne to which I can shackle my little prince. He is his own individual person, and he probably won’t be into the things I’m into. He won’t be as interested in board games as I am. He won’t be as interested in making as I am. He won’t be as interested in small business or entrepreneurship as I am.
Unless he is. Maybe he’ll be more into all that stuff than I am. I don’t know. It’s up to him.
Ultimately, though, everything I do here gives him options. Everything I learn will be transferable. Everything I build could become his. If he wants it.
Giving my son the option to live his very best life on his own terms? That’s success.
(Please be into board games. Please, please, please. No pressure.)