Eight Takes on Game Writing

Scripto co-founder Rob Dubbin on writing video games and the philosophy of dad jokes

Rob Dubbin created Scripto during his Emmy-winning tenure as a writer/producer for The Colbert Report and The Late Show. Today, Rob’s work spans television, games, puzzles, creative coding, and collaborative tooling -- ideally, several of those at once. Rob now serves as Scripto’s Head of Games, co-hosts the Eggplant game design podcast, and is currently working on TIDE BREAKERS, a six-player city-council simulator.

What qualities make for a great game writer, especially under the pressure of a high-stakes, deadline-driven release? I think a strong game writer knows how to write with economy. In games, there's so much going on that the writing has to support a much bigger experience beyond just text on a screen. Whether it's a line an actor is performing in a booth, a character's dialogue, or even words on a sign in a vast open-world environment—usually, the writing is there to serve a larger purpose. It’s not just about entertaining with words; it’s about supporting the story and building the world. If you can say something in three words instead of ten, that’s usually better. It’s about stripping down to the essentials, always asking, "What's the player experiencing right now?" A great game writer has a clear sense of that, which sets them up for success.
Do most writers come into game writing from other fields, or is it common for them to start with games? People might not realize how much writing goes into games. It’s different, but there are so many similarities to TV and film. People come from all kinds of places. Recently, with the contraction in the TV and film industry—especially after the streaming boom—there are fewer writing jobs in those fields than before. I think that’s made people more curious about video games, which is an industry that’s continued to grow, even though there’s also been a lot of contraction in commercial video game development. The tools to make games are widely available now, and you can create something simple on your own, for free. You don’t need much more than the ability to write, an appreciation for games, and you can create the kind of experience that you enjoy. You could make a game in a weekend, or even a single night, if you wanted to create something minimal. If it’s evocative, if it strikes a chord with people, they’ll want to see more from you. There are so many ways to break into this field.
What are some common misconceptions about writing for video games that you’d like to clear up? I think a big misconception is that writing for games isn’t a “less is more” medium. You learn quickly that, in a game, it’s easy to fall in love with your own prose. But when it translates to the actual game, players tend to appreciate brevity. It’s not a critique of the writing itself—there’s just a limited attention economy. You want to ensure the right amount of that attention is going to the writing, versus everything else happening in the game.
Another misconception is that writing for games is inaccessible. Working on commercial games is definitely competitive, sometimes opaque, and can feel gate-kept. But if you’re willing to treat it seriously, like any hobby, and make a few things on your own or with friends, it’s more accessible than people think. Many see video games as big technical projects with highly compensated programmers. While having some systems-thinking skills is useful, being able to consider the context that your writing is going into is a good trait, it’s not necessary to get started. You can learn a lot by creating games with simple tools like Ink, Twine, or Bitsy. These free tools let you make something that feels like a game, without needing much programming knowledge.
What is the hardest part of your job? One of the toughest aspects is the constant context switching in video game writing. It’s a bit like testing software. Once you've written something, you want to see how it actually looks in the game before moving on. Depending on the tools you’re working with, the speed of iteration—getting what you just wrote into the game—is incredibly valuable. The difference between what you envision and how it actually appears in the game can be surprising. I love that with Scripto, which connects to an API, I can quickly see my work in-game. It lets me make small adjustments, like cutting a word to ensure it fits perfectly on-screen. You often don’t realize these things until you see it rendered in the game engine.
Another unique challenge is that, unlike a movie where every line you write will be seen, in games, entire quest lines or scenes or secrets or bits of content that you love, might never be encountered by most players. You’re writing for multiple paths, creating a “multiverse” of possibilities, even though only a small fraction of players may experience any one path. So, while there’s an economy of writing, as we discussed, there’s also this expansive nature where you’re filling numerous “buckets” with content, to allow for different play, different choices.
So, normally we like to ask about a last-minute change in a script that led to a breakthrough or chaos. And of course, there’s the infamous goat story. Since you were there as a co-founder of Scripto, is there anything more about the goat story that we might not know? The goat story is powerful because it’s both a real event and a metaphor that resonates with anyone who’s worked in entertainment. In a professional creative environment, a line in a script can impact the work of 5 or 10 different people. For example, if I mention something in passing, like a “castle made entirely of silver,” that line can snowball. The game director might think, “A silver castle would be great!” and call the 3D modeler, who then starts working on it. The texture artist joins in, and suddenly, everyone’s prioritizing this idea. Meanwhile, I might decide a brass castle would be cooler and change it in the script. But everyone’s still working on the silver castle because they didn’t see my update.
That’s what the goat story is about—the interconnectedness of a creative workplace and how small script changes can have huge ripple effects. If there aren’t systems in place to catch these changes and communicate them, it can lead to wasted time, effort, and sometimes chaos, like a live goat showing up at your office! The goat story speaks to that universal experience.
You mentioned Scripto. What other tools do you use? I mainly use Python, which is great for working with text. In game design, especially with text-heavy projects, Python lets me add a programmatic layer to manage the content. For example, I’m working on a project with scenarios in Scripto that have specific requirements for when they appear in the game. Using Python, I can analyze my script, create a graph of scenarios, and see how many choices a player needs to make before a particular scenario shows up. I even have a tool I call the “assignment generator,” which finds gaps in the game’s content and creates templates in Scripto for me to fill those gaps.
Scripto is fantastic for organizing data in a modular, accessible way. But then there’s always the question of what to do with that data—whether it’s pulling it straight into the engine or using it to decide on content priorities. For that kind of work, Python is invaluable. Besides that, I love working with engines like Pico-8. Pico-8 is a “fantasy console” with a deliberately retro feel. You’re limited to 16 colors, a 128x128 pixel screen, and a maximum code size. These constraints force you to think small and creatively. Writer’s block can still happen, but having constraints can definitely inspire as much as they limit.
What’s the best part of your job? I love games, so working on them feels like a privilege. One of the best parts is the capacity for games to surprise you, even as their creator. Between randomness, player choices, or unexpected interactions within the system, you get these moments where something unfolds in a way you didn’t anticipate. Those surprises can reveal something new about what you've made, or even lead to accidental quirks that become part of the game’s identity. Sharing that feeling of discovery with players is incredibly rewarding. It’s emergent and surprising and that’s a great feeling to pass on to players as a designer.
What advice would you give to someone trying to break into the game industry as a writer? First, I’d remind them that there’s a difference between the commercial pursuit of game development—working in the industry to make games that sell—and the practice of game design itself, which anyone can start exploring right away. There is a bevy of free, accessible tools available for people to experiment with. One of my favorite game designers is Everest Pipkin. They have an open-source, experimental and tiny tools roundup, which is a list of free, small, experimental tools people can use to get their feet wet and explore what’s possible. My advice is to use these resources to build a portfolio, even if it’s just small projects. Showing your curiosity, creativity, and what you can achieve with basic tools speaks volumes to potential employers about your potential fit and contribution.

We have a tradition here at Scripto with dad jokes, so I want to end the interview by asking you for your favorite dad joke. I’m gonna get philosophical on this. I think there’s real art in a good, stupid joke. To me, calling a joke "stupid" is one of my highest compliments. The dad joke—or just a plain, silly joke—has this power to remind us that life can be low-stakes, that the world doesn’t always have to be serious. It’s about taking a little wordplay, a touch of silliness, and using it to bring some levity and mirth. For me, it’s about saying, “Hey, let’s keep it light.” I’m more of an improv brain. Looking at the moment, seeing where the joke is, finding that fruit on the situational tree. I don’t really have a stockpile of jokes ready to go. It’s more about what emerges in the moment.

Well, we appreciate your philosophical take on it! You mean my “pop” philosophy?

You can catch Rob co-hosting the Eggplant Podcast, and you can read more about the tools he mentioned on GitHub.

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