Once upon a time, when I was making Guitar Hero games, a colleague and I pitched a minigame we called Rock Out. Players used a guitar controller and ball to smash a wall of bricks amidst explosions and fists-in-the-air rock anthems. We were stoked, but the prototype didn't get traction.

Building a base

Time passed. I was crafting a broad skillset in roles at startups and tech giants. Each position was chosen to develop experience in a new design discipline. Eventually, after a stint at Meta, I realized the framework was solid, but I'd lost something critical along the way. The creative spark, the desire to build art that answered to nobody, felt distant as a dimming star.

A breakthrough

I'd put so much thought into narrative and gaming over the years—some big ideas, some not—but all there was to show for it were dozens of documents. Faced with false starts in finding a programming partner, I decided to do without one, and that's where I broke through. Inspired by the Fermi paradox, I remembered Rock Out, formed Fairytale Industries, and dove into studying.

What if Pong and pinball had a baby—and a story? 

Orbitrel was born to cut my new programming teeth on, but also allowed me to express myself. Ultimately, being the sole developer (code, art, UI, gameplay, writing, sound, music, and production), was just what I needed. Despite the sweat, stumbles, and frequent sting of setbacks, I rediscovered the joy of creation.

Next up

I plan on publishing a video or series where I share my long list of repo commits and detail the various struggles I hacked my way through. My goal is to supplement all the abstract "game development is hard" and "do this, then this" tutorials with an inside look at what solo game dev looks like. It may turn some hopefuls away, but inspire others to go for it—with open eyes.