What I've learned in eight years of freelance writing about games

Writers Hate Him! Destroy your work-life balance with ONE WEIRD TRICK!

As of April this year, it will have been EIGHT years since I sent my first freelance pitch. It was really shit. Here, actually, read it for yourself. You may as well — you can’t read the article anymore; Playboy’s gaming section is long gone. Good to start with a dark portent.

the extra spaces between words… the woeful comedic flailing… here i am in whatever the opposite of someone’s prime is

Awful, right? Pitiable, you might say. But it got commissioned. And I was sent a physical cheque as payment, complete with a Playboy letterhead (now framed) and had to do some explaining to my rightly-confused parents. Imagine trying to explain to your working-class family in the North East of England that you aren’t thinking about picking up a trade, but you just got paid to write about a short-lived Nintendo social network for the gaming section of Playboy.

I was 20 years old and impossibly naive at the time. I had zero industry connections and zero experience in writing or journalism. But I have subsisted (albeit meagrely) through hell and high water, off the back of freelance writing ever since. As Tim Rogers likes to say, “I was born stupid, but I will not die hungry”.

Self-employment is my career now, though my day-to-day is broadly unrecognisable compared to when I started, a blur of consulting, scriptwriting, editing and more. And there have been offers, but across the past two thirds of a decade, I have resisted the temptation to dip my toe into the chum-filled waters of a staff writing position.

Call me a fool (I almost certainly am), but I’ve come to value my freedom as a permalancer, despite the security that this position robs me of. Not to say that I wouldn’t consider it if somebody was willing to pay me a fair salary, but as you can probably tell, that has not happened yet. For the WoW players among us, this means it’s been a bit like playing Solo Self Found on a Hardcore realm. A terrible struggle, but a meaningful one. Anyway. What have I learned?

Editors care about the strength of your idea, not your bylines

This is the initial piece of advice I give anyone interested in freelance writing (after the customary “run away and never look back”). In my field, I figured I would have to start at the bottom and work my way up to earn the right to write for somewhere like IGN or Polygon. I revered the industry intellegentsia, and saw the games media landscape like a Mortal Kombat ladder. Surely, I had to get my necklace of ears before the big boy publications would consider me. But as you can see from my first successful pitch, that’s not strictly true. You can just pitch the editors of The New York Times, right now, if you want. Even if you’ve never been paid for your writing before. A shocking concept, to be sure, but the worst thing they can do is say no. They’ll probably ignore your email. But maybe not, right? Leapfrog away!

Of course, you will be expected to have a certain command over your chosen language, and editors like to see a few clips (examples of your writing) to get a sense of your style. How do you get those clips? Make a free Wordpress blog, Medium page, or a Substack. Write several stories, publish them, and then link the relevant ones in your pitch. Try to cover all the different styles of writing in the process — news, features, guides, op-eds etc. Organise an interview and write that up. It doesn’t have to be War and Peace, just some stuff you’re interested in. Then make a little Carrd Portfolio with the results.

We’ll get into this properly later, but it’s hard to quantify just how rare and valuable original reporting is these days. It’s just so hard to do once you’re on the inside and your plate is full of writerly morsels. So please don’t ever underestimate your individual taste or perspective. Pitch a chat with someone who’s cool and on the come-up, or conjure an overview of a trend that has caught your attention. Tons of people might already be into a certain underground musician or indie game, but a small percent are actually bothering to transmog that interest into an article, or a video, or suchlike. Hence, the slime-gurgling necrophage that is SEO. Oops, another dark portent!

Ultimately, everyone has to start somewhere, and i’ve found that if you have an interesting idea and good intentions, it doesn’t really matter if you don’t have a journalism degree, or any bylines at prominent publications. I didn’t have either, but still sold a bunch of pitches when I was starting out. And let’s be honest, nobody is putting their degree in a pitch unless its uniquely relevant to the potential story. And therein lies my point. Pitches are all ahout servicing the idea, and unique ones are a scarce thing that you must believe in, and hold onto for dear life.¹

Don’t write for peanuts or exposure

I remember attending a talk for aspiring journalists during university (I studied Archaeology). I had started writing a few bits about games for my student newspaper, and wanted to assess my prospects. The resounding tale from the success story speakers was that I’d have to move down to London (with a loan from my non-existent Bank of Mum and Dad) and make coffees for the newsroom nobility to earn my place. And for all that, I wouldn’t end up with any control over what I was writing about.

Oh, and before that point, I’d also need to go into more life-ruining debt to complete an NCTJ degree (which involves learning shorthand among other painful trials) or I would be at the very bottom of the pile. It all sounded very dated and ritualistic, and that’s because it is. That lifestyle is for Club Pret subscribers, not people like me. I really didn’t want to add to the vocational epigenetic trauma that my family has been accruing for generations.

But of course, I did do that. At least, in the way it is possible to do in the games media. I stayed put in Newcastle, but scoured for listings on Video Game Journalism Jobs (where there are three job posts as of writing, our third dark portent). I wrote hundreds of articles for free, about games I wasn’t really interested in, for sites that didn’t care about me or my writing, and in some cases gave me a quota. I wrote under a pay-per-view model on a few occasions, where I’d get a measly pittance depending on how well an article performed on the algo. You can still read a couple of them, as some of the outlets haven’t been unceremoniously wiped off the face of the internet… god damn it, I’m Dark Portent-ing again, aren’t I!

Of course, sometimes you don’t have a choice in this matter, due to reasonably-paying opportunities being so scarce. But just keep in mind that there are websites with freelance budgets that pay flat rates per article, who tend to dodge the weird ponzi scheme rubbish. They’re scarier to pitch, don’t get me wrong, and there’s greater competition, but they should still be your first port of call. And if there isn’t enough of them in games, then look to adjacent culture or technology industries and bother editors there to earn your keep.

The only benefit of my poorly paid flailing is that I made some friends in the games industry during this charade, and I think we could all agree that we’ve moved on to bigger and better things. I regret the time spent wasting away in the content mines, unaware of my true worth. Actually, it annoys the shit out of me knowing that I could have spent all that time researching, refining my pitches, and hammering the inbox of paying publications until I got something accepted. “If you’re good at something, never do it for free.” And you are good. Believe in yourself! Not to suddenly wear the skin of every white guy you’ve met post-2008, but The Joker was kind of real for that one.

Keep abreast of the pigeonholes

Unless they have already built some sort of online personality cult, nobody is making a good living solely writing enthusiastic articles about how much they love certain video games. That ship has sailed, my friends, and long before I placed my bets on this cursed roulette table. Growing up playing video games and being into certain franchises does not constitute novel life experience anymore. That’s just normal, I think.

Honestly, if you want to be a full time enthusiast, you’d be better off making investigative retrospectives on YouTube, or just streaming. Or, go buy a blue check and start scheduling bokeh’d pictures of your controller on social with captions like ‘Nothing better than digging into a big open-world game over a bank holiday weekend 👍’. You’d certainly farm more engagement and make more money doing that than you would farting out accolade trailer-friendly puff pieces. Curiosity is fundamental to journalism, and unless you’re producing meaningful enthusiastic work by researching and illuminating a specific niche (all my examples are video essayists, unfortunately), your prospects are going to be limited as a freelance writer.

There was a kernel of truth in that demoralising talk I mentioned earlier — if I boil it down and choose to engage with its message charitably. If you want to tread water in any competitive writing field, you’re going to have to do some stuff that you don’t want to do. Nothing will red pill you on this front like getting paid quadruple your typical interview feature rate for reviewing a pair of Touchscreen Gloves. True story.

Man, I once collected every Smiley Flower in Yoshi’s Wooly World. Other people might associate that game’s wistful soundtrack with Nintendo’s knack for tactile whimsy — but needle drop a track in my vicinity and I’m gonna start staring into the middle distance like that PTSD Cupcake Dog.

Seriously, though. Guides. Lots and lots of guides to supplement your commitment to features, and ‘Everything We Know about Upcoming X’ articles. Evergreen work that you’ll forget you wrote until you google ‘Death Stranding Ending Explained’ and are confronted by your own copy. Spend a day figuring out Google Trends, and resist entering a fugue state about the digital wants and needs of humanity.

I’ve also found you can make a decent pittance by getting into games that a lot of people play, but the broader mediasphere doesn’t really care about. This can be a surprisingly rewarding process that will embellish your abilities. Everyone is going to want to review The Witcher 4, but there’s not a lot of competition to tackle (no pun intended) an annual sports series, a pithy 4X game, or the latest entry in an obscure JRPG franchise. So why not get into them? Get rid of the notion that you’re above or below playing certain games, because the writers who aren’t shallow about this sort of thing are predisposed to pick up more commissions.

Broaden your Horizon: Zero Dawns

Similarly, when a game launches on Steam and suddenly explodes, staff writers can sometimes be too pressed to pounce on the trend. Try and get in there ahead of time and make yourself useful. Follow emergent games, involve yourself in communities, and nurture expertise. Leaving your epic gamer comfort zone will provide you with a sophisticated palate and a unique voice, eventually. And once you’ve established yourself as a reliable part of the critical furniture, then an editor may well call upon you to help out when there’s several 70-hour AAA adventures launching in the same month.

But how else do you diversify and stick around? Well, there aren’t many reporters in the games industry, and certainly not enough to cover everything that’s going on and hold the power brokers to account. That’s kind of a goldmine for any aspiring culture writer, to be honest. For a few years, I used to report the daily news for IGN, and while I wouldn’t consider it my main output, I have also produced several freelance reports. They take a ton of work (and leave you feeling exceptionally proud), but it gets a bit legally scary doing that sort of work when you’re a freelancer, and takes a certain amount of grit and determination to, you know, call people on the phone, go after statements, and deal with post-publication reactions on typically-difficult topics. Full-time games industry reporters are some of our strongest soldiers.

I admire everyone who has made this their mission, and wish we had a healthy enough landscape to mentor more folks into that line of work. But the people who should be doing that in the games media are forced into holding onto the last remaining staff positions for dear life, or so pressured by the cetacean stranding-ass climate that they can’t be expected to lift the tide in such conditions. Thankfully, a lot of the people doing this work can still be reached for advice, and I’m sure would be happy to speak to someone who admires their work and wants to emulate their spirit.

Also, don’t be afraid to be proud of your work — the field we’re in is getting smaller by the day, and your contributions aren’t just wallpaper paste for the content monsters to feed on. Good stories live forever!

Criticism is a kindness

First off, go read this amazing piece by Harper Jay, the title of which I am cribbing for this section. Then read this recent interview with Alan Moore about fandom. I think they form a wonderful diptych for anyone who wants to get into this line of work. There’s also this thread from Jacob Geller which I often send to people as it hits the nail on the head. Even back in 2020 when the Kotaku post was published, there was a sense that fandom and PR had won, and the games media was limited in its ability to thoughtfully critique the fruits of the industry’s labour, at least without being typecast by the public (and malevolent YouTubers) as yucking everyone’s yums.

This is a bad thing, but I also understand this trend, because it’s difficult to learn the value of constructive criticism unless you’re in certain positions where that experience is paramount. When I first started writing articles for my student newspaper, there was no back-and-forth editorial process. I would just send the copy to the editors, and it would magically appear in the paper later that week, with any grammar or spelling issues ironed out. But in the real world, writers typically file their copy, then receive a Google Doc covered in suggestions, and thus begins a process of deliberation and compromise with the editor. You’ll discuss certain aspects of your writing with them for the benefit of the piece — some bits may get axed or rewritten. It’s excruciating at first, of course, but you soon understand the value of this ritual. I would be a lousy writer without it.

When I became an editor for that newspaper in my final year of university, I had already experienced the real-world editorial process as a freelance writer, and I wanted to try and fold that in to prepare our writers for a proper commission. I started giving submissions a very light touch, and would leave a few comments and return to sender for a discussion before I would start laying it up. But because there was no precedent for this ritual, the reaction was pure anathema. It was interpreted as me questioning the writer’s ability, or getting in the way of the article.

Obviously that’s not what I was trying to do, so I apologised for any hurt feelings, and tried to explain why I thought it was important. But apart from a few open-minded folks who saw the value in it, the concept wasn’t sinking in. To those who rejected my edits, I guess I just looked like an arsehole, lording my experience over them for no clear reason. In a moment of vulnerability, they showed me a drawing to magnetise on the fridge, and I told them it was a piece of shit. In the same vein, fans tend to covet upcoming games as this bracing cultural event that will give them a flashlight in dark times, and here comes Mr Critic to ‘well, actually’ your valid excitement. Writ large, you can see how this mindset affects consumer perception of games criticism. Negative previews or reviews are an easy target if you want to bolster your devotion to something that you haven’t yet experienced.

Writing under the influence

The relative infancy of video games as a medium — and our ability to peek behind the curtain at the real people making them — creates a dynamic where these behemothic products can be seen as wounded little foals, and it’s wrong to be mean about them because they’re just trying their best. Having written about this industry for as long as I have, I know every game that gets out the door is a bit of a miracle, and that developers should always be proud of what they make regardless of its reception. Metacritic-based bonuses don’t make that easy, of course. But the job of a critic is divorced from the feelings of developers.

Our job is to give a game a fair and thorough assessment, not the benefit of the doubt. With criticism, we’ve got to let things suck, and let other things rule. Then let some stuff that sucks also rule. And let some stuff that rules also suck. Culture contain countless multitudes. And regardless of where it lands on an arbitrary scale, the criticism contained within the body of a review is a valuable resource. Try to look past the positive and negative delineations. Critical writing as a form will always generate valuable discussion among developers and peers, and help spotlight your ability and lead to greater opportunities.

The words we write and the numbers we attach matter, and will be folded into pitch decks, consultancy reports and end-of-year presentations, shaping the future tempo of genres and trends. So I’d rather feel a sense of pride and conviction when writing a review, and not live in fear about the reaction to it. But it’s not easy.

Unfortunately, there’s a chilling hostility towards even the most pale critique nowadays, and it stifles expression on a grand scale. We live in an influencer culture where it’s readily accepted that people are paid to be nice about things, or at least present culture to us in a neutral fashion. It’s pretty normal to see a content creator seek out a collaboration with a brand by tagging them into their posts. Influencers and content creators have the capacity to be critical, of course, but exchanges like that don’t play nicely with the fundamentals of criticism or journalism. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun to watch a fan unbox a gift pack relating to an upcoming TV show they’re an expert in. I follow a lot of influencers and enjoy their content. But it’s like this whole field has been accepted by the public as a subsumation of criticism itself, and that’s a problem for freelance writers.

It’s the empowered consumer “I’ll make my own mind up, thanks” thesis as a marketing strategy. And at this point, trust in media institutions is so low that it’ll be hard to convince said people that we should have it any other way.

For businesses, influencers are an easier way to present a product to consumers. Fans don’t get so yucked out by the content, and the viral reach of an affirmative reel is immense compared to a lengthy written preview, which has far more room for opinion-altering demerits. Consequently, embargoes for movie and game reviews edge closer and closer to the launch date, with bums on seats at events and junkets given to influencers and content creators over writers because they can be trusted not to ask the difficult questions. And why should they? It’s not in their job description. It feels like a kindness from the PR side that critics are even there anymore, at this point — an ancient rule upheld out of withering respect. Interview access for writers is far more limited than when I started, and likely the worst it has ever been. Trying to write a good feature or, god forbid, a profile in this sort of climate is fraught with all kinds of new wave difficulties, and everyone interested in joining the fray should at least be made aware of that.

A rising tide lifts all G.O.A.T.s

Got a bit gloomy at the end there. But I don’t want to end on pure citric acid. When I render out my feelings about the space I work in, it’s hard not to impart a sense of crippling despair. But there’s a lot of hope here, too. An unusual amount of lovely people are trying to get by in this biz. Though, we could always use more perspective. And maybe some good-natured venture capitalists, if they exist.

At the very least, I hope I’ve demystified some of the smoke and mirrors, and that you may feel at least a little encouraged to make something good, in whatever field you’re putting finger to keyboard in.

“Sometimes we’re down here, sometimes we’re up here. But as long as you’re going up and down, you’re all good” - Jonatan Leandoer

1. Read ‘Catching the Big Fish’ by David Lynch for more on that front.