There's a moment in every pitch meeting where you can feel the room shift - and not in a good way.
You're explaining your story idea, you're passionate about it, you can see exactly how it would work—and then you notice the designer's expression change. Not hostile, just... distant. They're already thinking about how to say no, or how much they'll need to cut, or which meetings they'll have to schedule to "discuss scope."
You've lost them. And you probably lost them in the first 30 seconds.
I used to think the problem was that I wasn't explaining clearly enough. So I'd add more detail, more context, more reasons why this story beat mattered. I’d flail my arms around like Kermit. You could see the flopsweat. Which, of course, made things worse. (Plus it was embarrassing.)
Then I learned something that changed every pitch meeting I've had since.
The Mistake Most Writers Make
As writers, we naturally lead with what we care about most: the story, the character, the emotional journey.
"I want to create a moment where the player sees the consequences of their earlier choice. It's a powerful beat that shows how their actions affected this character's life."
Of course we do! That's what excites us about the idea. That's why we want to write it.
But here's what the designer hears: "I need you to make room in your carefully balanced systems for something I haven't connected to any of your goals or constraints."
They're immediately thinking:
- How much will this cost?
- How long will it take?
- What systems does this touch?
- What else will we have to cut to fit this in?
- Can we even do this with our current tools?
And because you haven't addressed any of that, they're already in "this is going to be a problem" mode.
The Question That Changes Everything
Here's what I learned to do instead:
Before I pitch my idea, I ask a question.
Not just any question—a question that shows I'm thinking about their world, not just mine.
Something like:
"Before I share this idea, I want to make sure I understand where we are with combat pacing. Are we still trying to keep encounters under two minutes?"
Or:
"Before I pitch this—I know we're trying to reduce VO costs. Are we still aiming to cut 20% from the script?"
Or:
"I want to run something by you, but first—what's the current state of our tutorial? Are we still working on reducing time-to-gameplay?"
Why This Works
This one question does three things instantly:
1) It shows you’re a collaborator, not a competitor
You're not coming in hot with diva-like demands. You're checking in. You're showing that you understand they're juggling constraints you don't control.
2) It gives you intelligence (you spy, you)
Their answer tells you exactly what they're worried about right now. Maybe scope isn't actually the issue—maybe they're worried about technical limitations, or playtesting feedback, or a directive from leadership.
Now you can frame your pitch around what's actually on their mind.
3) It changes your positioning in the room
You're no longer "the writer who wants stuff." You're a collaborator who's thinking about the whole picture. And that changes how they listen to everything you say next.
What This Looks Like in Practice
Let me show you the difference.
Version 1 (no question):
"I think we need a scene after the factory level where the player sees the environmental damage they caused. It would be a powerful character moment that connects to the game's themes."
Designer thinks: "Oh great, more scope. How long is this scene? Does this break our pacing? We just cut a bunch of stuff to hit our deadline..."
Version 2 (with the question):
"Before I pitch this—I know we're working hard to keep our levels under 45 minutes. Where are we with the factory level timing?"
Designer: "We're at 52 minutes right now, trying to cut 7."
"Okay, what if I told you there's a way to reinforce the environmental themes and create a natural stopping point that could help with pacing?"
Designer: "Oh. Wait. I'm listening."
See the difference?
Same idea. But in version 2, you've transformed from "person asking for more scope" to "person who might have a solution to my problem."
The Full Framework
This question is just your opening move. Once you have their attention and understand their constraints, you need to know how to actually pitch the idea in a way they can evaluate.
That's where the full framework comes in:
- How to lead with mechanics, not emotions
- How to structure your pitch around player action and system fit
- How to show how your story idea supports their design goals
And that's exactly what I'm teaching tomorrow.
Join Me Tomorrow for the Full System
I'm hosting a free 90-minute workshop on Saturday, January 24th: How to Pitch Story Ideas So Designers Actually Listen.
This is a hands-on workshop. You're going to work with story ideas and design constraints, and you'll walk away with a framework you can use in your next design meeting.
Will Shen (Lead Designer at Unknown Worlds, former Design Director at Bethesda) is sharing a lesson from his Game Design For Writers to share how to talk design to designers - even if you've never designed a game in your life.
This one question we talked about today—asking about their constraints before you pitch—really works. But it's just the opening. Tomorrow, you'll learn the complete structure that gets designers to say yes.
The workshop takes place January 24, 2026 at 2 pm Central. Registration is free, and everyone who attends gets 48-hour early bird access when our Game Design for Writers course cart opens.
If you've been struggling to get your story ideas approved, if you're tired of seeing your best work get cut or ignored, if you want to learn how to speak designer—this workshop will give you tools you can use immediately.
Susan O'Connor is an award-winning game writer with credits on BioShock, Far Cry, and Tomb Raider. Her projects have sold over 30 million copies and generated more than $500 million in sales. She founded The Narrative Department to help writers learn the ins and outs of writing for games - skills that everyone assumes you somehow already know.