Interview with Digimancy Senior Writer Olga Moskvina

1. How did you discover writing as a passion for yourself?

 A passion for reading came first, as it does for most writers. The particular catalyst was classic Russian poetry, which I became acquainted with at the same time I was relearning Russian. Like many Russian children, I memorized passages from Pushkin's fairytales before I could read, but when I moved to the United States at age six, I was so desperate to fit in, I rejected the Russian language completely, refusing to speak it even at home. When I was nine, however, my family briefly returned to Russia and then moved to Odesa, Ukraine. My Russian and literature teacher in Odesa was an energetic, outspoken woman in her 50s who absolutely loved poetry. She talked about poets' lives as though she'd known them personally and then read their poems aloud with genuine feeling. I had to memorize and recite poems too (a standard exercise in itself), and she made me repeat every poem however many times it took to get the emotion across, not just the words.

 So at ten, I started writing poems in Russian. It was a natural response to a gifted teacher's ability to inspire her students with love for her subject, plus the wonder of rediscovering my native language. As I got older, I wrote more and more, in different genres, and increasingly in English after returning to the United States. By the time I finished high school, I knew writing was simply part of who I was, regardless of my future career path.

 2. How / when did you realize you could take that passion and apply it towards a career?

 That depends on what you mean. I've considered a number of writing-heavy careers and even sampled a few. Before working in video games, my plan was to complete a Ph.D. in Slavic languages and literatures. I didn't have any illusions about the academic job market, but after years of teaching undergraduate composition, first as part of my MFA program, then as a full-time lecturer, I wanted to devote myself primarily to studies, come what may. It wouldn't have left much time for creative writing, but I've found academic discourse tremendously generative even when it's infuriating. When I think about it, I still feel a pang of regret about not returning to the Ph.D. program, but that brings me to the more relevant part of the answer.

 I only realized there was a way for me to have a job where I could apply all my writing skills after I started working on Disco Elysium. My initial involvement in that project was a total fluke. I had only learned six months prior that there was such as thing as video games with interesting stories, dialogue, and item descriptions, and it occurred to me that someone must be employed to write them, but I was certain such opportunities were beyond my reach. You know that mindset—if you haven't been doing something since at least college, all bets are off. Then Disco happened, and I learned that I could write dialogue, figure out structures, and hold a lot of game states in my head, while also infusing a little poetry into the more descriptive nodes (my favorite skill to write was Shivers). I suddenly felt at peace. Like, yeah, this is where I belong.

 3.  Could you please share with us what your writing process looks like? And what are some of the things that you do to keep yourself growing and evolving as a writer?

 My writing process really depends on the task and expectations. Something people may not think about when they imagine a day in the life of a video game writer is how much time one spends on documentation, as opposed to dialogue and other in-game text. Creating worldbuilding documents requires a lot of ideation and research, so that's where one starts—and hopefully doesn't get stuck for too long. Writing dialogue is another beast entirely, and there's also variation depending on what the goals are, how much direction one was given, whether it's a location description, object interaction, or conversation with an NPC. For locations, I may start by visualizing the place as the PC would experience it on arrival, really imagining myself there physically—sights, sounds, smells. For NPCs, I have to figure out the voice first, hear it in my head.

These days, I play a lot of narrative-driven games and discuss them with colleagues. Having gotten into games relatively recently, I still have some catching up to do. Before games, I used to read a lot of books, and I still do on occasion. The average writing quality in games is just not very high, but it's easy to lose sight of that and grow complacent when that's one's only point of reference. Then you pick up a good novel and realize—wow, games are really in their infancy in terms of the emotional and social complexities they have been used to communicate. I love looking at art and films with strong cinematography, on their own but also as nourishment for one's visual imagination. None of this is a replacement for lived experience, though, which for some people may be tending their garden, for others—backpacking across continents. Or for human connection, without which one's resources for compassionately portraying human situations are limited.

 4. Do you need to know anything about programming or coding as a game writer? What are some of the skills outside of creative writing that you think could help aspiring game writers succeed in this career field?

You don't need to know how to code, although it may be helpful, especially in a small indie studio where people wear multiple hats. There are plenty of tools that allow one to bypass that need, beyond some very basic scripting, and many studios have in-house dialogue editors. Really, the best thing you can do is pursue a genuine passion outside of games. I've heard from multiple creative leads that they really want to work with people who come from other fields, be it botany or philosophy or engineering because they bring a fresh perspective. And no knowledge is ever superfluous for a writer.

5. What was one of your favorite characters or dialog scenes to write and what was it about this character or dialog that made it so meaningful to you?

 While working on DE, I had the most fun writing Cindy the Skull, but ultimately my favorite dialogue was Ruby, the Instigator. It's a very intense, emotional scene, and it took me a while to find Ruby's voice.

 (Spoilers ahead.)

Ruby needed to sound desperate, but I also wanted to imbue her with dignity that would contrast sharply with the demeanor of everyone who'd betrayed her—and Harry himself. When you, as Harry, present all your painstakingly collected evidence, and Ruby casually shoots it down, she's acting as a foil for a lot of what's wrong with the world. She's compassionate and honest. You don't get a lot of that in Revachol, not because there's anything fundamentally wrong with the people, but because the political and economic circumstances don't predispose anyone to trust and decency.

 (End spoilers.)

Robert Kurvitz, our lead designer, wanted Ruby to sound very American, and that was very helpful direction—most of the characters in DE are off-European. I'm not quite the Ruby kind of American, but I could synthesize the voice from my experience. Still, I wasn't sure I got it right until I heard the VO. When you hear an actor read your lines as you heard them in your head, it's a really good feeling.

 6. We all have goals we are working towards in our respective careers and roles, what is one outstanding goal that you would like to achieve in your career?

I feel like I should say "I want to be a lead on a project that's all my own," but that wouldn't be accurate. What's important is that good art gets made, not that one or another person is at the helm. When I was a teenager, it seemed all-important that my name go down in history, as a bulwark against mortality, but I've lived too much life since. I just want to help make more art, which is perhaps even more ambitious.

There's no question in my mind that Disco Elysium is art—we gave a lot of ourselves to make it so—and players have responded accordingly. People who don't usually play video games have contacted me, wanting to talk about DE as a literary achievement or as something that helped them get through a difficult time. When you hear things like that, you realize that you're not important. Moreover, my personal contributions to DE weren't significant relative to, say, those of one of the engineers currently working at Digimancy. I just love being part of a team that can make something better than I myself could possibly dream up. And really—only the work you do with like-minded people ever means anything, whether it's a business or a family or art. And the fun you have in the doing.

Why else bother?

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