Writing Stories for Games vs. Writing Stories for English Class

Most of us grow up learning stories in a very specific way. In English class, you read The Great Gatsby or To Kill a Mockingbird, and the plot is a straight line. Chapter one leads to chapter two, the climax happens exactly when the author intends, and the ending is set in stone. You analyze themes, dissect metaphors, and write papers proving you understood what the author meant. But when you pick up a controller to play The Witcher 3 or Baldur’s Gate 3, that linear path explodes into a spiderweb of choices.

The transition from consuming traditional literature to understanding game narrative is jarring. In school, you are taught that the author is god; in games, the player is a co-author. This shift can make academic assignments feel incredibly restrictive. It is no wonder that when faced with another rigid, five-paragraph literary analysis, many students feel the urge to simply ask a professional to write an essay for me just to bypass the strict formatting and get back to a medium where they have actual agency. However, understanding the mechanics of game writing can actually illuminate why an English class requires such different skills.

The Illusion of Control vs. The Director’s Chair

The biggest difference lies in who is driving the car. In an English class, a short story or a novel, the writer has total control. They decide what the protagonist sees, feels, and says. The reader is a passenger. If the author wants the hero to be sad, they are sad. If they want the hero to open a door, the door opens.

In-game writing, the writer is more of a dungeon master than a director. You are creating a space for the story to happen, but you cannot force the player to look at the explosion you spent three weeks animating. They might be looking at a glitchy rock in the corner instead.

• Linear Writing (English Class): Focuses on pacing and specific phrasing. The reader sees every word in order.
• Interactive Writing (Games): Focuses on "barks" (short lines of dialogue) and environmental clues. The player might skip dialogue entirely.

This means game writers have to account for "player agency." They have to write five different reactions to a single event because the player might shoot the villain, seduce the villain, or run away from the villain. In English class, if you wrote an essay where the conclusion changed based on which paragraph the teacher read first, you would fail.

Branching Narratives and the "Tree" Structure

When you outline a paper for your English teacher, you usually follow a "hamburger" or "pyramid" structure. You have a thesis, supporting evidence, and a conclusion. It is efficient, logical, and structurally sound. It is built to prove a point.

Game narratives are built like trees. You have a trunk (the main plot), with countless branches (side quests, dialogue options) that may or may not reconnect to the main trunk. Writing for games involves creating a flowchart of logic variables. You aren't just writing "The hero walks into a bar." You are writing:

1. If the hero has 50 gold, the bartender greets them warmly.
2. If the hero has 0 gold, the bartender ignores them.
3. If the hero killed the bartender's brother in Act 1, the bartender attacks.

This complexity is why narrative design is often considered a technical skill as much as a creative one. You are programming the story, not just telling it.

The Role of External Help and Feedback

In both fields, the drafting process is brutal, but the feedback loops differ. In English class, you submit a draft, get red ink on the margins, and revise. It is a solitary struggle for perfection. In game development, writing is an iterative and collaborative process. A level designer might cut your favorite monologue because the player needs to shoot a zombie during that scene.

Guidance is crucial. Phil Collins, a contributor to the EssayService blog, advises students to master the structural rules before breaking them. Just as game writers rely on playtesters, students often need a second pair of eyes, whether from peers or professionals, to ensure their message isn't lost in the mechanics.

Environmental Storytelling vs. Explicit Description

"Show, don't tell" is the golden rule of creative writing in English class. Instead of saying "he was angry," you describe him clenching his fists. Video games take this to an extreme level called environmental storytelling.

In a game, you often don't have a narrator. Instead, the story is told through the setting. A skeleton in a bathtub holding a toaster tells a tragic story without a single word of text. A messy desk with a half-eaten sandwich and a photo of a dog tells you about the character who lives there.

In an English essay, you have to connect these dots for your reader explicitly. You have to write, "The messy desk symbolizes the protagonist's chaotic mental state." In a game, you simply place the objects and trust the player to be smart enough to figure it out. This reliance on the player’s intelligence is unique to the medium. It turns the audience into detectives rather than just witnesses.

Conclusion

Writing for games and writing for English class share the same DNA, but they are different species. An English class teaches you how to construct a linear argument and appreciate the beauty of a curated experience. Game writing teaches you how to design a system where a story can survive the chaos of human interaction. Mastering one can help you appreciate the other, even if you prefer the controller to the textbook.