You won’t find it in the design docs.
No one says it out loud in meetings.
But behind closed doors, there’s an unspoken understanding among experienced game developers:
Some writers know how to work with the dev team. And some writers just get in the way.
What makes the difference?
It’s not the level of talent.
It’s not the level of effort.
It’s whether they’ve learned to speak the real language of game development.
And most writers don’t even know that language exists—until it’s too late.
There’s a reason the GDC panel “It’s Not in the Writer’s Manual” is packed every year.
Writers want to know: What the hell is going on?
Why do some ideas get traction—and others quietly vanish?
Let's figure this mystery out.
Two writers, two strategies
Meet Sam and Jordan.
They are two narrative designers, working on a new game.
They’re prepping for their first meeting with the design team.
They both care deeply about the story.
They’re both smart, thoughtful, hardworking writers.
But they take very different approaches.
🎯 Sam: The star student
Sam spent the past week crafting a beautiful pitch.
They’ve outlined the full narrative arc, developed character bios, even drafted a sample scene.
Their story is strong. It’s emotionally resonant. It’s well structured and “gamey.”
They’ve thought through any potential plot holes; they’re ready to field any questions about the story. They’ve got a slide deck, for crying out loud.
Sam couldn’t be more prepared if they tried. 😎
💡 Jordan: The Wild Card
Jordan...does not have a slide deck.
Instead, they have a grab bag of high-level story and character concepts, a belly full of coffee, and a long list of questions about the design.
They’ve spent their prep time reading playtest notes and watching footage from the last internal build.
They don’t have a clear idea yet of what the story should be—because they’re still trying to understand the game.
Jordan isn’t totally sure what the design team expects from them; they hope to figure that out during the meeting.
Jordan takes a deep breath and thinks, “Here goes nothing.” 😬
At this point, if you had to guess who was about to impress the team and who was going to blow it—you’d probably bet on Sam.
But here’s how it actually went.
What happens?
Sam steps on a rake...
Sam pitches their story with clarity and conviction. That slide deck looks good.
And then...
Crickets.
Finally, a designer says,
“Interesting, we’re still working out mission flow, so we’ll need to revisit this later.”
A producer mentions level scope, and the conversation veers off into a discussion about AI behaviors in level three.
No one trashes the idea. No one gets upset.
But no one bites, either.
Sam walks out of the room confused.
They thought they’d done everything right.
Maybe it just wasn’t polished enough, they think.
Next time, they’ll try even harder.
(Sam is learning all the wrong lessons here! The story wasn’t the problem. The problem was timing—and approach.)
...and Jordan kills it
Jordan walks in with a notepad, not a pitch deck.
Instead of making a presentation, they start by asking questions:
“How’s the stealth mechanic feeling right now?”
“What’s the biggest challenge in terms of pacing?”
“Where’s the friction between levels?”
And the design team starts talking. A lot.
They’ve been struggling to make the AI antagonist feel emotionally present—but they don’t want to interrupt gameplay with cutscenes or VO-heavy moments.
Jordan starts to understand the design team's dilemma - and starts thinking about how the narrative could resolve some of those problems.
They say:
“OK. What if the AI had two distinct modes—one cold and mechanical, one more emotionally erratic?
Could we shift its tone based on how the player behaves? That way we don’t have to stop the action, but the player still feels something shifting.”
Guess what else shifts? The energy in the room, that's what.
Designers nod. A producer says, “Yeah, we could scope that.”
The audio lead jumps in with ideas for how to prototype it.
Jordan walks out with a direction: build the story around that.
They still don't have a pitch or a slide deck.
But they have buy-in, a clear goal, and trust. And for any game writer or narrative designer, those are table stakes. (Delicious table stakes.)
The real reason your ideas keep getting cut
Most story ideas don’t get cut because they’re bad.
They get cut because they don’t align with what the rest of the team is building.
Let’s see this in action, with an example of a real game concept (that we just made up).
🎮 Echo Protocol
Echo Protocol is a third-person sci-fi stealth game set on a space station controlled by a rogue AI.
Players sneak, hack, and try to stay alive—all the while, working to uncover what went wrong (and how to take control of the AI, before it’s too late).
✍️ Your pitch
Imagine you come to the design meeting with a story concept you’re really excited about.
“What if the protagonist is the AI’s original creator, but she doesn’t know it?
As she explores, she uncovers memory fragments—realizing she built the thing now hunting her.
The game becomes a journey of guilt and reckoning.
Maybe the ending is a choice: erase the AI or merge with it.”
It’s emotional. It’s structured. It’s powerful. Right? Right?
💭 What you hope designers are thinking:
You hope they're getting excited about the story, thinking things like:
“That’s cool. The memory fragments could line up with level progression.
That twist adds depth.
We could even do a voiceover reveal at the midpoint!”
🧠 What your designers are actually thinking:
They are looking at this as a designer, not a writer. So they may be thinking things like:
“Memory fragments? We haven’t scoped a memory system.
Cutscenes? We’re maxed out on animation.
Voiceover during stealth? That doesn’t work with our pacing.
Linear plot? Our levels are modular—players might reach level four before level two.”
See the disconnect?
The designers aren’t judging the story ideas on narrative merit. That’s not their job.
Instead, they’re asking:
Does this work with what we’re building?
And if the answer is “not really,” the idea gets shelved.
That’s what happened to Sam. And it could happen to you, too.
What designers wish writers understood
Designers aren’t trying to kill story.
They’re trying to ship a game.
They think in systems, pacing, and player experience.
They need story ideas that support gameplay—not compete with it.
What they want from writers isn’t polish.
It’s collaboration.
They want to work with writers who:
- Ask smart questions about gameplay
- Adapt ideas to fit evolving systems
- Offer flexible narrative structures that serve the loop
Those writers get brought in early.
They listen, and as a result, they get heard.
They help shape the game—not just decorate it.
Learn the secret language of game designers
If your story ideas keep getting cut—or just quietly ignored—this is probably why.
It’s not that your ideas aren’t good.
It’s that they’re not game-ready.
And it's not your job to make them game-ready! You don’t need to become a designer.
But you do need to understand how they think—and how to work with them.
Want to go deeper?
This post is part of our series on how game writers can collaborate more effectively with designers.
If you want to be the writer your designer can't live without, our course How To Work With Game Designers: A Writer's Guide - taught by designer Will Shen (Fallout, Skyrim) - opens May 19th, 2025.
In this six-week course, you’ll learn:
✅ Design literacy fundamentals
✅ How to pitch ideas designers say yes to
✅ Real-world collaboration strategies from award-winning game designer Will Shen
✅ How to grow your creative influence inside studios or freelance teams
👉 Join the waitlist now and be first to know when doors open.
🎁 Bonus: When you sign up, you'll get a free copy of The Writer-To-Designer Conversation Starter Pack: 10 Questions That Build Trust, Spark Ideas, and Prevent Idea Shutdowns.
Related reading
Susan’s first job as a game writer was for “a slumber party game - for girls!” She’s gone on to work on over 25 projects, including award-winning titles in the BioShock, Far Cry and Tomb Raider franchises. Titles in her portfolio have sold over 30 million copies and generated over $500 million in sales. She founded the Game Narrative Summit at GDC. Now, she partners with studios, publishers, and writers to help teams ship great games with great stories. She is dedicated to supporting creatives in the games industry so that they can do their best work.