SUMMER 1984 - THE NEW ZORK TIMES - PAGE 3
Copyright (c) 1984 Infocom, Inc.
HOW THE WITNESS CAME TO BE
By Stu Galley for The New Zork Times
I got hooked on interactive fiction in early 1982, when I tested a
preliminary version of Deadline. I had seen Zork and thought it was
interesting, even fun, but the fantasy theme and the arbitrary nature
of the puzzles did not excite me personally. But Deadline was
different: it had a realistic setting, a realistic and coherent puzzle
to solve, and a semblance of plot in its events and movements. So
when, in the summer of 1982, I got the opportunity to work on a
sequel, I took it!
The working title was "Invitation to Murder." Marc Blank had
conceived the plot and made some sketches of the scene of the crime.
The most significant part of the plot was Linder's death scene, which
Marc had placed in a dining room with the detective and the other
characters attending a dinner party, like the final scene in "The Thin
Man." Except for someone on the phone and someone else in the
bathroom, everyone would be a witness to the death. Using the
Deadline package as a model, Marc imagined that you would learn about
the characters from newspaper stories instead of police interviews,
and that the postmortem reports on Linder would be sealed inside an
envelope with these instructions: "Do not open this package until
instructed to do so."
With Dave Lebling's help, Marc had outlined the story in a few
typewritten pages: who the main characters were, what their motives
were, what evidence there would be, what you would see before the
shooting, and so on. So I began my moonlighting work at Infocom by
expanding on that outline: completing the personal histories,
designing a realistic house, and running the story forward and
backward through my head with all the variations I could imagine,
until I was convinced that there were no "holes" in the plot, that it
made sense no matter how you looked at it or made your way through it.
Then the programming began. I made a copy of the Deadline program and
ripped out everything that I didn't need: the house, the characters,
the evidence, and the plot. Then I could build my own story on the
foundation that was left. I decided to begin with the house, so that I
could play the game as soon as possible, even before I put in the
characters. As I had hoped, it was a thrill when the fledgling program
let me walk around this house in my imagination! By the time the
shooting first occurred, I was ready to quit my regular job and work
at Infocom full time, at least.
In late January 1983, the program held together enough for me to
demonstrate it to the folks at our advertising agency, as long as I
didn't stray too far from the main line of the plot. At that demo,
someone suggested that it would be fun to change the setting from
contemporary to the golden age of American mysteries the 1930's.
Since Mike Berlyn had also suggested this, I got a copy of Raymond
Chandler's "The Big Sleep," and within a few pages I was convinced!
Soon my office bookshelf had an old Sears catalog and a pictorial
history of advertising (to help me furnish the house and clothe the
characters), the "Dictionary of American Slang" (to add color to the
text), and a 1937 desk encyclopedia (to weed out anachronisms).
Now, how to choose a particular date for the story, as in Deadline? I
wanted a contrast between our present-day view of the thirties and the
characters' view, so I decided to make the house a "modern" electric
one. The Los Angeles area got cheap electricity from Boulder (now
Hoover) Dam, completed in 1935, so the late thirties seemed like a
good choice. I didn't want the complications of wartime living, and
most people now think of World War II starting in 1939, so that was
too late. And '38 has the same digits as '83, the year of writing, so
I chose it. Next, I wanted a contrast with Deadline, so the season had
to be winter, and I think of February as the epitome of winter, with
no connotations of New Year's Day or the spring to come. The day
should be Friday, so that a police detective could plausibly have time
to check out the case after work, and the moon should be nearly full,
so that darkness would not play a part in the mystery. That settled
it: February 18. (I didn't realize, until the day arrived, that
February 18, 1983, was also a Friday!)
In early February, Marc and I met with the agency's designers at a
restaurant to figure out how to supply the evidence in the package.
The designers argued strongly that everything in the package should be
available to the detective before the story begins, with none of this
sealed envelope business. We already knew that the package should
contain the telegram that signifies your first information about the
case, the newspaper stories that tell you about the main characters,
and an instruction manual. There should also be something tangible
that relates to Linder's fears and his relationship with Stiles: the
suicide note from the police file on Mrs. Linder's death. We all
wanted something even more tangible, something like the pills in
Deadline that no one could forget. But what evidence could you gather
before even entering the property? Finally the idea hit us: something
that a character could have dropped just outside the property,
something intriguing, informative, and true to life. How about a phone
number cryptically scribbled on something? How about a restaurant
matchbook? And so it was.
Soon the agency began seeking sources of authentic-looking props.
Western Union was kind enough to supply the design for a 1937
telegram, and American Optical (another client of the agency) supplied
copies of their ads from the period. Used magazines and pulp novels
from a second-hand store supplied more ads and plenty of ideas for the
package cover and magazine layout. The "Register" newspaper in Santa
Ana was a great find: not only did they give us permission to reprint,
but also they sent enlargements of several possible front and inside
pages from their microfilm archives, so that we could pick the one we
liked best. All the type had to be set again, to match our fictitious
stories, but the photos were usable. Many of the original stories
were funnier than any we had time to invent!
Meanwhile, back at the program, the "alpha" test had begun, when a
company tester played the game over and over, looking for bugs and
inconsistencies. He discovered significant "branches" in the story
that I had overlooked. For example, what if the player sneaks into the
house or doesn't go in at all until too late? The first possibility
raised too many complications, so we decided to lock all the outside
doors. For the second case, I had to invent a new sub-plot that could
involve trying to accost Stiles and get new evidence, or trying to get
past Phong after Stiles had come and gone.
The "beta" test began in mid-March, when we sent copies of the program
and the prototype package to some friends and volunteers outside the
company. Based on their reports, and on continuing testing at
Infocom, we decided to add some features to round out the story:
giving the characters responses to questions about yourself, letting
you handcuff the corpse, putting the L.A. "Times" (found in the
Harvard library) in Linder's office, using its radio schedule to make
the radio programs authentic, and so on.
In late April, we sent out copies for final testing, which we call the
"gamma" test. During this time, I got the feeling (which was typical,
I was assured) that there was no end to the little bugs that kept
appearing, and that maybe I should throw away the program and start
over. But finally the bug reports trailed off as the deadline for
production neared. In late May, I declared the program finished,
prepared master disks for all the different computer versions that
Infocom sold at the time, and sent them out for duplication. It
wasn't until July that The Witness appeared in stores, and it was
several months later that the first magazine review appeared.
What was the biggest thrill in the whole process? I don't know,
because there are many thrills:
~ designing the story, when the opportunities seem so rich;
~ playing the game myself for the first time;
~ watching someone else play it for the first time;
~ making a complex feature of the story work, after many trials;
~ seeing a package design that I feel good about;
~ seeing a complete package, "hot off the press";
~ seeing my creation on the shelf (or in the window!) of a store;
~ reading a favorable review of the story; or
~ getting a special piece of fan mail from someone who got hooked on
interactive fiction because of me! [Z]
MAIL BAG
The "Call the Exterminators" article in the Winter issue of The New
Zork Times generated more mail than any other article we have run
(excluding the puzzles). We'd like to thank those of you who wrote to
us. We are unable to print all of the letters received due to space
considerations.
Dear Mr. Vezza and Staff of NZT:
Thank you very much for The New Zork Times. I am a real Infocom
groupie. I love all of your games because they are challenging and
they respect my intelligence rather than insulting it.
As a result of this addiction, I really appreciate getting firsthand
beef on what's new and forthcoming from the Infolabs. I thought that
you should be commended for your informative and humorous publication.
I am sure that I speak for thousands of others. The puzzles are also
challenging, and a lot of fun, too! Another great idea.
I have questions for your summer edition: How do you determine the
point value for the solving of any particular puzzle or treasure?
What happens after Zork VI? Are you going to carry the Zork series
further, to 7, 8, and 9? Again, congrats. Thanks for reading my
letter.
P.S. -- Crush Spinnaker and Lotus !
Editor's response: The point values for treasures or problems are
related to the difficulty of attaining or solving them (with some
exceptions, such as the 2 point treasure in Zork I). Different
problems are more or less difficult for different people, but on
average large numbers of points are associated with difficult
problems. As for Zork VII etc., that would be telling.
Gentlemen:
I am only 13 years old, but a true adventurer. The article "Call
the Exterminator" reminded me of a mirror that fights back in Zork I.
The player types HIT MIRROR WITH SWORD and Zork replies any one of
the combat replies like "Clash! Clang! The mirror parries!" or
something else like "The mirror dies in a cloud of sinister black
fog."
I am glad I shared this news with you.
Peter Schweda
Chicago Illinois
To the Editor:
I loved your newest issue, and especially liked the part about the
bugs in the games, but I was surprised to find that you missed the bug
that is the most fun to play with. On the TRS-80 Model I version, if
you type:
> GIVE AXE TO TROLL
it responds with something like:
The troll accepts your gift, and not having the most discriminating
tastes, eats it.
The troll, disarmed, is cowering and begging for forgiveness in the
gutteral tongue of the trolls.
If you give the troll to the troll, he similarly eats himself, and
disappears; however, he still bars you from leaving the room.
Another fun bug (if you can get it to happen) is if you give the
troll to the thief. The thief takes the troll and puts him in his
bag. When you kill the thief, the troll pops up and blocks off all
the exits from the room. If you give the thief to the troll, he will
just reappear later in the game.
Adam Cliff Honig
Huntington, NY
Dear Enchanter programmer:
I regret to inform you that you have not allowed for the capture and
sacrifice of any creature besides the humble novice enchanter such as
myself who inadvertently strays into the Temple during a ceremony.
Having instructed the turtle to enter the temple, I was dismayed to
discover that upon completion of the turtle's three to four move term
in the Cell, it was I who was released from the cell (which I had
never entered) only to be offered up as a sacrifice to some
bloodthirsty god in a rather gruesome ritual.
Similarly, when the loyal turtle or the shifty adventurer encounters
the hideous shapes which seem to plague areas such as the Banquet Hall
and the Library, it is once again the goodhearted enchanter who
receives notice of their fate as if it were his own, although he
thankfully is not obliged to share that fate.
Christopher P. Thorman (MIT '88)
Great Falls, VA
To Whoever (preferably the writer of "Call the Exterminator" for the
Volume #3, Issue #1 of The New Zork Times):
Talk about bugs. Poor Michael has one in Suspended. What happened
was: I had Waldo get the four-inch cable which ended up in a
"Sizzle...." Big Deal! I had Poet drag Waldo to Alpha Repair and
pull him up on the glider so he could get fixed. After he got fixed,
I had them go back to the Primary Channel where Waldo got zapped. But
I noticed something when I asked Poet to look. He replied, " . . . in
the room with me is a non-functional Waldo. " I immediately had Waldo
look to make sure that he was working. Waldo was working and replied,
" . . . in the room with me is non-functional Poet"!
