The Dam

“Oh, Tom can make us a quiz. He’s good at quizzes!” my Greek ex proposes in front of her family.

“Ahhh… excuse me?” I laugh.

“Oh could you Tom? That would be lovely!” her mother says.

“Of course he can! He knows lots of things and he does lots of quizzes!”

I laugh more and say to my ex, “What are you getting me into?”

“Oh darling, please?” she says with her perfect British accent. Born in Greece yes, but raised by a British mother. That was her.

And so, I accept the challenge. Why not?

What is a quiz – if not a game to be designed.

And so, I retreat upstairs to our bedroom in that house in the British countryside. Her aunt and uncle’s house with all her cousins, her brother and family altogether. A lovely Christmas that deserved a lovely quiz.

I head upstairs and I begin.

Creation?

Everyone thinks it’s a well or a fountain. Something one must approach, work the ropes and pull water from.

They imagine that in the bedroom I am brainstorming. That I am generating the questions. But that’s not what happens.

I open my mind to the ideas and let the creativity in. The questions pour into my mind…

James Bond? Stylistic. Watches. Lots of films. Which brand of watch was most popular? Done.

Picasso? Finish a quote. “Good artists borrow…” Great artists steal. Yeah. That’s good. Quotes are good. Done.

Beatles? I watched the documentary last week about them. Ah yes, what was John Lennon’s first band? Done.

Let’s go techy. PDF. What does it actually stand for? When that which surrounds us is invisible. That’s a good surprise. Done.

In less than thirty minutes I have thirty questions. I imagine myself playing the quiz, I gauge the difficulty. I trim the fat – the less interesting questions, the too hard and the too obvious. Done.

That night I become a quiz master for the first time. It’s not just the creation and the curation that is important but also the execution – the performance.

Every question is a story to be told.

The family loves it. They mention repeatedly “These are great questions. Where did you find them Tom?”

“I… just wrote them. Today.”

They’re impressed and we continue.

The Greek girl’s brother leans over to me during the quiz.

“Dude. This is a good quiz. How’d you come up with this so easily?”

I laugh and strike a little pose with a shrug.

“Well, don’t you remember? I’m a game designer.”

He laughs and smiles. “Shit.” he says as he understands.

The quiz ends and they even ask for a second one the next night. The house hums with joy over that Christmas.

Six months later that gorgeous Greek girl and I will have separated. But she’ll have given me a gift – seeds that will flower into a new skill.

I will grab a beer at my local pub and talk to the owners. I’m a regular. Winning friends and influencing them, subtly.

I ask out of curiosity, “So who’s hosting the quiz next week?”

“Ahh mate. All the quiz masters are out of town. We might have to cancel.”

“Oh… Well, I actually hosted a quiz over Christmas by the way.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Maybe I could try?” I propose lightly.

Try? I know I can. But let’s play the humble card.

“Well mate. The quiz, it’s difficult y’know. Making a good quiz… gotta have some good questions… can’t be too hard, or too easy…”

In my mind I think, yes of course. It requires good curation.

“Well, I have some of my questions from Christmas on my phone. Lemme run a few by you.”

“Sure.”

I scroll through the thirty questions. I look at the bartender and I adjust and optimise them for his palette.

Know your audience.

Making a good quiz is indeed a subtle art. A puzzle to be woven.

It can be difficult to balance it right.

But not for a game designer.

You need the skills of creation, curation and execution.

He calls the other owner of the bar over. I continue the questions. They see I can do it. We discuss the format.

That night, I go home and I let the creativity flow into me. I create the quiz and the next week, it’s a hit.

I become a quiz master. A gift from my Greek ex.

Creativity?

Everyone thinks it’s a well or a fountain. Something one must approach, work the ropes and pull water from.

But it’s never been a well to me.

For me, it’s a river.

The chaos of the creativity is always at the edge of my mind. It doesn’t take effort to pull the water.

It takes effort, everyday – to hold it back.

It’s a river. And I’m the dam.