The Ventureweaver

It’s been snowing like crazy on my end of the planet, and for the most part, I have survived. The temperature keeps dropping, and the snow continues to fall. As I dreamt about being anywhere in a nicer climate, my thoughts drifted to the different parts of the game I’m creating—the various rooms and the endless possibilities within text adventures. Imagination is the only limit when it comes to mapping out portions of a game, and that’s what makes it so enjoyable and memorable. A good game evokes a true sense of adventure.

We all dream of mystical castles in the sky or futuristic worlds where air is running out, but there’s a special kind of magic in envisioning strange, underground locations. Caves, in particular, captivate me. There’s something wondrous about an underground world filled with mysteries. Who carved such an intricate system of tunnels? What people or creatures might be lurking in the shadows? What treasures could be hidden there from a long-lost civilization? These questions excite my imagination and drive my creative process.

One design element that sparks strong opinions among players is the maze. Many people dislike them, seeing them as a frustrating way to prolong gameplay. But for some reason, I can’t get enough of mazes. Give me a sheet of paper, a pen, and an afternoon, and I’m in heaven on a bored Sunday. Mazes are puzzles for the mind, challenges that reward patience and perseverance. Will I include a maze in my game? Absolutely. It will be simple, though—a love letter of sorts to the hellish landscape of the maze. I’ve never been to a corn maze or a hedge maze, but it’s on my bucket list. I want to experience the sense of dread and disorientation that comes with not knowing where you’re going. In a game, though, a maze needs a purpose. There has to be something important to discover within it—perhaps a treasure or a monster that preys on unsuspecting adventurers. It reminds me of an episode of Batman: The Animated Series where a maze was home to a Minotaur. I love the idea of a strange creature calling a maze its home. Does it have to be a Minotaur? Not necessarily. It can be anything the creator imagines.

Sometimes, when I’m playing a text adventure, I’ll find myself wishing for a giant squid or a ghoul to suddenly emerge and attack. I’ve noticed there aren’t enough giant squids in mazes, and honestly, I think that’s a crime. Whether or not I include a giant squid in my game remains to be seen, but the thought of it excites me. Where would I put it? That’s a question I’ll answer as I continue building my world. So far, I’ve mapped out the first floor of the game, which consists of 385 rooms, each leading players deeper into an unknown world.

Before I wrap up, I want to take a moment to thank you all. It means so much to be able to come here and share my feelings about this game and the games I used to play. This project is a labor of love, and I’m thrilled to bring you along for the ride. That’s why I’m doing this—to make something special, to connect, and to share the joy of creation.

Until next time.