Thursday, July 4, 2019

UE4 Live Coding for Unit Testing

TL;DR: Use the new Live Coding feature in UE4.22 as a workaround for the fact that automation unit tests cannot be Hot Reloaded.

My goal for the day was to write a high score system for my summer project, which I am creating in Unreal Engine 4.22. As I started thinking about the requirements, I realized that TDD would be a good approach. Of course, I've spent more hours diving into how to make this work than I would have spent on a brute force approach, but I'm hoping I'll recoup the investment in the future.

The Automation Technical Guide provided enough scaffolding for me to write a single unit test. I took some time then to pull this out into its own module—this seemed like a good idea, although developing with multiple modules is something else I've also never done. Orfeas Eleftheriou's blog post was instrumental in my pulling my unit tests into their own module.

I remembered reading months ago that unit tests in UE4 are not Hot Reloaded, and this is confirmed as expected behavior in UE-25350. The frustrating fallout of this is that the editor has to be reloaded in order to see changes made in the C++ test implementation. This slow and tedious process is anathema to good TDD rhythm. I came across Vhite Rabbit's workaround, but I could not get it to jive with the modular decomposition I gleaned from Eleftheriou.

Then I remembered that 4.22 shipped with an experimental new Live Coding feature, which promises to allow changes from C++ to be brought into a running game session, as long as they are not structural changes. I wondered, if this works for running games, would it work for unit tests?

The happy answer here is Yes. I had to restart the editor because Live Coding cannot be used after any Hot Reloading. The editor opens with a separate window that seems to be managing the Live Coding feature. I went into my unit test and turned its simple "return false" into "return true", hit the magic Ctrl-Alt-F11 combo, waited just a few seconds for the Live Coding system to run, and then re-ran my test. Sure enough, now the test passes.

I have essentially no progress on a high score feature after the morning's work, but hopefully by documenting my findings here, I can help others move forward in their unit testing adventures.

Wednesday, June 26, 2019

Painting The 7th Continent: What Goes Up, Must Come Down

I backed the expansion to The 7th Continent even though we had not gotten the base game back to the table since shortly after I painted up the tiny miniatures. The second curse we played just wasn't very good. It provided no indication of where to go next, so we had no real incentive to go in any particular direction. This killed our motivation, but I still remembered our narrow loss of the first curse as being great fun. I hoped that a little injection from the expansion would give us a little boost.

The What Goes Up, Must Come Down expansion includes three new characters and a goat. Here they are, all painted up. These are tiny miniatures that I just wanted to be a reasonable tabletop quality. They were brush primed in grey, then given base coats, wash, and highlight.

Tall guy in front

Short guy in front
The expansion also came with a barge as well as the hot air balloon evoked by the title. Here's the barge:
Tell them...
Large Barge sent ya
For the hot air balloon, I noticed that there were visible seams in the side, so I filled those with Milliput, primed in grey, and painted it up.

Hot Air Balloon Basket
I picked the color of the diamond shape on the front to go with the cardboard balloon that slots into that X. In fact, I was explaining this to my wife when I pulled out the cardboard balloon piece to illustrate the assembly. In my mind, the balloon pieces simply pushed into the X.
Uh oh.
Turns out, that's not the case. The basket—which arrived assembled—was supposed to be pulled apart and then snapped together again around the cardboard balloon. A thread on Board Game Geek mentions instructions in the rulebook that I don't remember seeing, but I probably just blipped over it.

Well, now I was in a pickle. Two options: (a) try to break apart the painted basket, reassemble it around the cardboard balloon as intended, and then patch the paint job; or (b) cut the balloon, stick the basket on, and glue the balloon back together.

Time for surgery

The ol' razor saw
The Razor saw did the trick

Better dry fit... not like it will make much difference now.
Post-Op
Studio Pic
The white glue seems to be holding fine. One of the advantages of making this a permanent fixture is that I could glue the crossbeams together for extra strength. The seam is clearly visibly if you pick up the piece and tilt it, but on the table, it's completely hidden by the basket. 

I thought it would be fun to tell the story of my error and repair in pictures, and maybe it will be useful should any other zealous painter also neglect to dry fit before painting.

I look forward to getting the game back to the table. I came across the designers' recommendations for quest order, and it's been long enough since our last run—and my wife and I will add a son or two to the team—so I think we'll start back at the beginning. 

Thanks for reading, and happy exploring!

Sunday, May 26, 2019

Building an online randomizer app for Thunderstone Quest, and what was learned along the way

I have enjoyed playing Thunderstone Quest and am glad I painted the minis for it. For some time I have had an itch to make a tool to assist in generating random adventures. There is one out there already, but it has some frustrating defects, such as the selection of heroes not always matching the constraint that there's one per class. I talked to the developer about it and tried sorting through the implementation, but neither of us made any headway.

The other day, I received my To the Barricades expansion, which is the final component to my Kickstarter pledge. We've only had it to the table once, and we enjoyed it despite the inevitable rockiness of first plays. This really got my wheels turning about building a new online randomizer—so I did.

Thunderstone Quest Randomizer: https://doctor-g.github.io/tsqr/

Source Code: https://github.com/doctor-g/tsqr

I worked on this from Thursday night through Sunday morning. It's not going to win any graphic design awards, but it has all the functionality that I wanted from it. The rest of this blog post contains a few things I learned while building it. I will focus on two things: jq and lit-element.

A friend mentioned jq to me several weeks ago as a powerful command-line tool for manipulating JSON. The other randomizer already included a transcription of most of the Thunderstone Quest cards, but it was not in a format that I wanted. This is exactly what jq is built for. However, I don't know exactly what I expected, but it wasn't what I found: jq's system of generators and filters was mind-blowing. It took me a while to wrap my head around it, and even after several hours I feel a bit uncertain of my grasp of it. I ended up crafting a filter like this to do the transformation:

 jq '[to_entries[] | .value | to_entries[] | {"Name": .key} + (.value | del(.Cost,.Types,.Keywords,.Races,.Summary,.Alert,.Light,.Battle,.Spoils,.Special,."After Battle",.Reward,.Entry)) | select(.Category)]' cards.json   

The whole command is wrapped in square brackets because I want the result as an array. The next few commands allow me to wade through the deeply-nested structure of the original format. Then, I push object keys as a new "Name" field into the rest of the object, filtering out all the data from the original source that I did not need. Finally, I pulled out the handful of cards from the original source data that had no Category specifier. Writing this command took several hours of pushing and prodding, but I'm glad I got it figured out.

Although I had pulled out much of the bad structure of the original format, I still had a lot of redundancy. I decided to grin and bear it until I reached a point where I wanted to add metadata about quests. In my first pass, quests were only represented as fields in objects: each card had a "Quest" key with a value listing the name of its quest. I wanted to pull that out so that I could describe a Quest more systematically, as having a code (such as "Q2") and as being part of a set (such as the Champion-level Kickstarter pledge). To do so, I needed to pull out each of the types of cards into their own lists and put these under the corresponding Quest. Unfortunately, I could not figure out how to automate this process for an arbitrary number of categories, and so I did some nasty copy-pasting of commands, manually entering what I would rather have parameterized. Get ready to cringe, because here it is:

 jq '[group_by(.Quest) [] | {"Quest": .[0].Quest, "Heroes": [.[] | select(.Category=="Heroes") | del(.Quest,.Category)], "Items": [.[] | select(.Category=="Items") | del(.Quest,.Category)], "Spells": [.[] | select(.Category=="Spells") | del(.Quest,.Category)], "Weapons": [.[] | select(.Category=="Weapons") | del(.Quest,.Category)], "Guardians": [.[] | select(.Category=="Guardians") | del(.Quest,.Category)], "Dungeon Rooms": [.[] | select(.Category=="Dungeon Rooms") | del(.Quest,.Category)], "Monsters": [.[] | select(.Category=="Monsters") | del(.Quest,.Category)]}]' cards.json  

If any readers know jq better than I do and see how to parameterize the management of each of those card categories, I'd love to know. Fortunately, this is a one-time transformation, since after doing this one, I had to manually enter the data for the new Barricades-level quests. There should be no reason for me to ever have to run this particular transformation again.

I have had an itch to learn Flutter, and I was excited to hear that there will be support for compiling Flutter apps for the Web. However, that's still in a technology preview state, so I decided instead to build my randomizer using Polymer. I've been using Polymer for a few years now, and it's a fascinating system, allowing the development of custom components with two-way data binding. At some point in the last year, I came across LitElement and lit-html, which provide very useful and terse expressions for binding values and also for iterating over arrays—syntactically much nicer than Polymer's dom-repeat. I decided I'd spend some more time with lit-element in my Polymer-based solution.

I ran into a problem in writing an element to filter quests, so that users could choose to get cards only from the sets they own. Making the element show all the quests with checkboxes was fine, and I could track the states of them from within the element, but the values were not reflecting back to the main app that held the filter element. This puzzled me for some time, until I ended up just moving that logic from a nested element into the top-level app: that's not a particularly good design decision, but it is a pragmatic one. At some point later, I was looking for help on the lit-element when I came across this excellent post by James Garbutt on the relationship between Polymer 3 and lit-element. This particular portion blindsided me:
Bindings are one-way in Lit, seeing as they are simply passed down in JavaScript expressions. There is no concept of two-way binding or pushing new values upwards in the tree.
I had been conceiving lit-element as just a way to use some cool lit-html features within a conventional Polymer ecosystem. Garbutt goes on to helpfully add, "Instead of two-way bindings, you can now make use of events or a state store." Events are familiar, of course, but a real part of Polymer's appeal to me was that I could get elegant two-way binding instead of tedious event plumbing.

Now, though, I have to show some of my ignorance, because I had to ask, "What is a state store?" With this term in hand, I discovered the work-in-progress PWA Starter Kit, which combines lit-element with Redux. "Redux" has the shape of a buzzword I would have overheard somewhere on the Internet, but I couldn't have told you what it is. I downloaded the PWA Starter Kit and started fiddling around with it, keeping the docs open beside it. This looked really interesting and exciting as a way to start building off of what I've learned using Polymer... but at this point I was hip deep in a project that I wanted to get done before the weekend was over. I put Redux and the PWA Starter Kit out of my mind, armed myself with the knowledge that lit-element is not what I thought it was, and I went back to the randomizer. I did end up keeping the card filter logic in the top-level application element, where it clutters things up but still works.

I jumped into this project with a relatively unstructured goal. I had an intuition of what I wanted, but I didn't do any sketches or write any specifications. I had a few regression defects along the way that made me wonder if I should have used TDD, but I think the whole project was really in the "experimental programming" mode. Making it free and online means that other people can gain some benefit from my work, but if I were to rebuild it from scratch, I would certainly be more careful about it. Indeed, it's tempting to rebuild it using Redux for state management, but this was already a four-day distraction from my main summer side project.

Incidentally, the randomizer itself is a progressive web app published on GitHub Pages. I was able to repurpose the approach I took for Elixer, my scoring application for Call to Adventure, which I don't think I ever wrote about here. That one is also an open source project hosted on GitHub. It took me a lot more time to make that a full-fledged PWA, but the second time around with the Thunderstone Quest randomizer was much faster.

Thursday, May 23, 2019

Importing Blender animations into UE4

Last Fall, I worked out how to create simple animations in Blender and import them into UE4, using separate files for the mesh and the animations. I intended to make a tutorial video about it, in part so that I would remember the steps. Alas, I postponed that video for long enough that I forgot all the tricks, and so this morning, I had to sort it all out again. I'm going to jot my notes here on the blog in case I forget again between now and creating the video.

The steps assume you already have a properly rigged mesh with an animation action created and selected in the dope sheet. Make sure you rename the armature from "Armature" to something else, otherwise the scale of the animations will be wonky, as described in TooManyDemons' answer here.

To export the mesh, from the FBX exporter, choose to export the Armature and the Mesh, but in the Animation tab, make sure nothing is selected. Export that to a file named something like model.fbx.

To export the animation is a bit trickier. I found good advice here. Make sure the desired animation is the only action shown in the NLA Editor, and push it down onto the stack. From the FBX exporter, select only Armature, and in the animation tab, select everything except All Actions. Deselect all the options under Amature as well. Export this to something like model_boogie.fbx.

This allows you to import the model and its animations independently within UE4, although they can still be in the same .blend file.

Other notes that I will likely forget:

  • When adding new actions in Blender, tap the 'F' button to save the animation even if it has no users.
  • To delete an action, hold Shift while tapping the 'X'. This marks it with a zero in the popup but doesn't actually remove it unless the file is reopened.
Now I just have to remember next Fall that I wrote this note on my blog...

Saturday, May 4, 2019

Reflecting on the Spring 2019 CS445 Human-Computer Interaction Class

Regular readers may recall that I was given the Spring 2019 HCI course to teach on rather short notice, so I only made a few structural changes between it and the Fall 2018 section. The most relevant to this post are the increased attention to software architecture and the switch to specifications grading. I also gave the teams nominally more time for their final project, but not enough that it was noticeable from my point of view. We retained our collaboration with the David Owsley Museum of Art (DOMA) and the overall theme that student teams would identify and address real problems they face.. Yesterday, I shared my sending-forth message to the students, and today, I would like to share my reflection on the semester's experience. Feel free to reference the course page, which provides the policies, procedures, assignments, and assessments for the semester.

I used a similar approach to specifications grading as I did in the Fall 2018 Game Programming course, in which there were discrete criteria for each level of grade. I added a separate category of criteria for the project reports, which were designed to provide the process documentation that corresponded to the technical artifacts produced. As before, students had to submit a self-assessment along with their source code and report, the self-assessment's consisting of a checklist of criteria that were met. Unlike the game programming class, where there was rarely disagreement between the students and I about whether a criterion was met, there was a lot of friction this semester. This was especially the case on the final project's two iterations. As I wrote to several students in my formal feedback, I have serious doubts that many of the teams honestly conducted a self-evaluation at all. Consider, for example, one of the most missed criteria asked students to explain how their projects manifested particular design principles from Don Norman's The Design of Everyday Things. Teams submitted a list of examples, with no explanations of them. It seems to me that if a team sat together and worked through the checklist, as I expected them to, someone would have said, "Have we explained this?" I don't think they had anything approximating such a discussion: I think they surveyed the checklist, said "Good enough," and marked the box. That is, I think they defaulted to the "hope for points" model rather than the "ensure success through unambiguous choices" model. Of course, the idea of self-assessment is not to save me grading time but to foster reflective practice and remove ambiguity. When students do it honestly, it does save me grading time, and when it is done dishonestly, I suspect that students might learn something about the importance of self-reflection. I need to think about what I might change in future uses of specifications grading to get around this.

An honest student approached me near the end of the semester, in part to share what he claimed was a voice of many students who were frustrated with the specifications grading system. I explained to him that the goal of the system is to remove ambiguity, both for students and for assessors. I honestly never got a good explanation of what precisely he or other students did not like about it, except that there were standards at all. I think the status quo is that students believe they start a project with full credit, and then I take away points for mistakes. One of the things I like about specifications grading is that it follows my contrary philosophy, which is that students start with nothing and must earn their credit. I think it is this idea, not specifications grading in particular, that students are upset about, because it holds the accountable to demonstrating understanding to earn credit. The fact that I get complaints about grading regardless of the scheme I use is probably testament to students' pushing back against having expectations rather than the particulars of the system. However, foreshadowing some of what is to come below, part of why a subset of students complains is likely that I actually draw upon knowledge they should have from prerequisite courses—knowledge that they may not actually have.

In the first half of the semester, I used a running demo project ("archdemo") to demonstrate some ideas of how to separate the layers of a user-facing software system. In the previous semester, I had done something similar, but using a context separate from our class collaboration with DOMA. Many students that semester did badly with the "warm-up" project, and so in order to help with on-boarding and consistency, archdemo showed a sample use of the DOMA data via the ContentDM database. The resulting application was called "Naïve Search," named thus because it didn't really solve any reasonable search problem: it just showed how to separate the layers of a system. While this worked in the short term, I think it also caused problems as students perceived more value in the example than it was meant to have. It was never intended as a template, but only an example of very specific course concepts.

One of the changes I made from Fall 2018 was that I required final project teams to use a subset copy of the ContentDM database in their projects. My intention here was that each team would have to demonstrate that they could separate the layers of a user-facing software system, regardless of what creative direction they wanted to take the project. The result, however, was that nearly every project looked a lot like archdemo with an added bell or whistle. Last semester, we had a broad range of concepts on a plethora of platforms; this semester, it was dullsville, as the teams just added some minor idea to archdemo. One team even consistently referred to their solution as "an improvement over Naïve Search," despite my repeatedly telling them in their formal feedback that this was not even close to our goal. I have no doubt that our partners at DOMA were uninspired by this semester's projects, although we have not had our wrap-up meeting yet. I would be remiss not to mention one exception, which was a clever interactive map that tied into the database in interesting ways despite the tight project timeline; those guys really nailed it, so if you're on that team and reading this, kudos to you.

Throughout the semester, we returned to five principles of design brought up in Don Norman's The Design of Everyday Things: affordances, signifiers, mapping, feedback, and conceptual models. Despite this being a theme of the class, there is scant evidence that students understand or applied these principles. Instead, my professor's eye tells me that they designed whatever they wanted, and then they tried to shoehorn those designs into these principles, or to justify their work after the fact. Although they had several assignments and much formative feedback about these principles, students continued to show misunderstandings through the final exam.

What was missing? I believe a big part of it was that they didn't follow my advice. This is exemplified with one key example: taking notes. The course plan says explicitly that students should always have their notebooks available for taking notes and jotting questions, and furthermore, that they should not have their distraction machines (laptops and phones) in their way during class discussions. Taking a friend's advice, I even made a first-day quiz in which students had to answer questions about this aspect of the class. Yet, very quickly (and for some, instantaneously), their old habits took over, and I would stand in front of class looking at the backs of open laptops rather than faces. Almost no students took any notes on any of our discussions, and is if to drive the nail of the coffin, some of them only got out their pens when I wrote something on the board. Even if they had a glimmer of understanding about affordances and signifiers during class discussion, there is no way that they held on to this fifteen minutes after class unless they actually expended the effort to do so.

I wrote on Facebook the other day about how I was feeling conflicting emotions about this class. On one hand, I am unsympathetic that they did not learn the material because they chose not to follow my advice on how to do so. The advice is not complicated: it primarily involves reading and taking notes. However, at the same time, I pity the students, because I think a large majority of them—if not all of them—know neither how to read for understanding nor how to take notes while reading or discussing. To me it begs the question, "Where does the buck stop?" If I get undergraduates in my upper-division elective Computer Science courses who lack these skills, is it my responsibility to teach them or just to assess what is in the master syllabus?

There is a related puzzle, which was foreshadowed in my sending-forth message to the class. An uncomfortably large proportion of the class showed very little proficiency in fundamental programming skills. When I brought this up in honest, private conversation with trusted undergraduates, they showed no surprise: they said that it was fairly easy, and common, for students to "cheat" on assignments. This manifests in two ways: either copying the work of a peer and submitting it as their own, or stringing together bits and pieces of code found online. Neither approach forces the learner to confront the useful struggles required to build firm understanding. It reminds me of the advice from Make it Stick that I wrote about last December, and that in its absence, students really don't know how or what it means to learn.

Going a little further, I witnessed a curious phenomenon several times during a guest presentation by a CS alumnus and successful professional. The speaker is currently in a position with a lot of creative flexibility, and he has his own team of programmers to implement parts of what he designs. However, many students seemed to misunderstand his story, thinking that this meant one could just "have ideas" and tell others to program them. They missed the part where he worked on rather tedious programming tasks for ten years to prove his capability, vision, and leadership. Instead, they rejoiced, saying things like, "I cannot program, but I want to tell programmers what to do, so now I see that there's a job for me!" This sentiment was shared primarily among CS minors despite their having taken at least three programming courses in the prerequisite chain to this course.

These students don't seem to see a connection between the HCI goals of the class and the fundamental skills of software development. It appeared to me that these students were not being tripped up by the accidental complexity of software development (such as the placement of braces or the quirks of a UI framework) but rather by its essential characteristics, which include precision and sequential reasoning. How I frame HCI as a Computer Scientist is essentially that it is user-centered precision and sequential reasoning. What happened on the students' final project teams seemed to be that those who had programming skill were relegated to doing persistence- and model-layer data manipulation tasks—required tasks for the program to work at all—while those who could not program worked on the UI. The result is that the UIs were badly conceived and executed, because those working on them couldn't conceive of the problem as requiring precision and sequential reasoning. Part of my evidence for this manifestation is the difference between teams' paper prototypes and their final products. Every team decided upon a paper prototype that was developed from a user-centered design process, but practically no team's final product looks at all like their prototype. Instead, their products looked like the archdemo sample, but with a few more widgets added via SceneBuilder. One could say they did what they could rather than what they wanted, or more pointedly, they decided to fail conservatively rather than succeed differently—which was exactly one of the human failure modes we discussed in class.

A student confided in me that, when he signed up for the course, he expected he would learn how to design a good user interface. By this, he meant that there would be some thing I could teach him that would suddenly make him good at it—a silver bullet. He pointed out that some students seemed to think that it was all in the tools: if they learned the tools, they would be able to make good UIs. I am grateful that he took the time to share this with me. I asked him if, after studying this topic for fifteen weeks, he understood why I could not meet his desires, why I could not dump ideas into his head that would suddenly make him good at UI design. He indicated that he did understand it, but he also sounded disappointed.

As I wrote about yesterday, I had forgotten about the emotionally powerful reflection session I had with my students at the end of the Fall 2018 HCI course. I didn't schedule for it this semester, and so it didn't happen. I think it would have helped all the students to frame their difficulties and challenges within their authentic context: yes they struggled, but they did so because what we are doing is legitimately hard.

The puzzles I face in considering how to change the course for Fall 2019 are significant. I expect this week to be able to meet with representatives from DOMA to talk about their take on the experience. Our primary contact is their Director of Education, Tania Said, and she has intimated that she would like to see the class work together to produce something with more staying power rather than a series of prototypes. This makes me a bit nervous, given my previous experiences having entire classes taking on a project, but there may be a possibility to set it up like competing consultancies rather than trying to do a whole-class team. One of the reasons I wrote this up now is that it has helped me serialize and articulate some of my thoughts in preparation for meeting with her. I hope that conversation will help me turn some of these reflections into actionable course plans for Fall. As always, I expect I will be able to share my summer planning activity in a blog post in the coming months. Until then, I think it may be time to spin up my summer project.

Friday, May 3, 2019

Sending forth the Spring 2019 HCI class

I spent the morning computing final grades for my Spring HCI class. Last night, I came across a post I wrote at the end of the Fall 2018 section that I had forgotten about: my post about how powerful our final reflection session was. This, along with other thoughts and desire for closure, inspired me to compose the following final announcement for this semester's class. I have another post I am working on which is a reflection about the semester, but I also wanted to share this as an open letter here. If I didn't, it would be trapped away on Canvas where I wouldn't be able to reference or reflect on it later. What follows is the announcement in its entirety, except for the first paragraph, which simply dealt with the final grading formula and reporting mechanisms.



I regret that we didn't schedule a day for a semester wrap-up discussion. Because of the problems scheduling our final presentations with Tania Said, we went right from working on the final project, to technical presentations, to formal presentations... and now time is up. Even though this is a one-dimensional stream, I would like to share a few of my final observations, in hopes it is inspirational to you as you move forward in your studies and career.

A conversation just fifteen minutes before the final exam made me think of the perfect question for the final exam. Of course, it was too late to make any changes at that point, but I did post it up on Facebook for some of my friends and alumni to comment upon. It looks like this:
Many of you signed up for this course expecting that I could pour some special knowledge into your heads that would make you good at designing user-interfaces. Now that we've studied design methods for 15 weeks, explain why what you wanted is not possible.
The resulting conversation on social media has been interesting. A colleague who also teaches undergraduate HCI mentioned how he regularly gets students in his class who conflate visual design with HCI. A successful alumnus from about five years ago posted, "It's a field without universal truths except for, 'Know thy user, and thy user is not you,'" which I think is a brilliant summation. Another alumnus who does a lot of user-facing development pointed out that there are always accessibility issues in any design, responding to a nested conversation about how accessibility is important but also platform- and application-dependent. A friend who teaches game design in Michigan simply said, "People are broken in interesting ways," which also ties in to many of our discussions of design processes, working in teams, and confronting our human biases.

I share this with you to help you compare what you know now to what you new before the semester started. Undoubtedly, there is something you can do to take the next step of improvement in your HCI skills, and my hope is that this course helped you identify what that is. After all, the goal of a liberal education is not prosaic job training but helping people understand how much there is yet to learn. Successful professionals are those who engage in reflective practice: thinking carefully and critically about their work and continually improving. Keep close to the heart of agile.

It would be irresponsible of me not to share with you an observation I made from working with you on the final projects. For many of you, the thing that is stopping you from creating innovative and useful systems is programming. I was disappointed to see so many in this class struggle with fundamental topics from the prerequisite courses, such as variable scope (CS120), parsing a one-dimensional data structure (CS121), and naming variables and methods appropriately as verbs and nouns (CS222). There are prerequisites because a solid background is required to succeed at the level of discourse appropriate for a 400-level course. How a student may have gotten to this level of the curriculum without such knowledge is a question for their own personal reflection; prudence demands considering what to do next. What ought one do who wishes to improve their software development skills? As I shared with you from Brown et al. Make It Stick, "To achieve excellence in any sphere, you must strive to surpass your current level of ability."

A creative mind may come up with no end of possible hobby projects; for such a person, the problem can be identifying a reasonable scope. You can always look up the kinds of questions that are asked on technical interviews, participate in the mathematical challenges on sites like Project Euler, or join a community of practice around a passion area such as game development or humanitarian open source projects. If you're not sure what else to do, I suggest working through this semester's projects again. The course plan will stay online. You can start again on the short project, but do it from scratch: don't fall into the trap that every team did for the final project and assume that my naive search architectural demo had any implicit value. Build up something for which you understand every part. Hold yourself accountable to best practices, which you can refresh yourself on by re-reading Clean Code. It's possible that our image server will be taken down some time this summer, but that doesn't have to stop you: you can find another data source to draw from, as the first part of the final exam implied. In fact, the university is moving to a cloud-hosted ContentDM database, and I'll be talking with Ms. Said and Mr. Bradley about how future students might take advantage of that.

A. J. Liebling wrote, "Freedom of the press is guaranteed only to those who own one." Andy Harris said, "You want to be a game designer? You write the code, or you write the check." Steve Jobs said, "To me, ideas are worth nothing unless executed. They are just a multiplier. Execution is worth millions." Kyle Parker told us that he was proving himself in the trenches for a decade before he was given a position of creative authority within the university. We are Computer Scientists—whether majors or minors!—and we are the ones who create value in the 21st century.

I hope that you have had a formative experience in this class. I wish you the best in future endeavors and will pray for your success.

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Happy Accident Studio and Canning Heroes: Reflecting on the Spring 2019 Immersive Learning Project

It was a great semester in my Spring Game Studio class. I had more applicants than ever before, thanks in part to recruiting assistance from the Office of Immersive Learning. It made it harder to select a team, but it also demonstrated the demand for this kind of experience. I ended up accepting six Computer Science majors, one Music Media Production major, two Animation majors, one Journalism Graphics major, and one English major with a Computer Science minor.

This class worked with Minnetrista in the second semester of a two-semester sequence. They inherited a paper prototype that was selected by me and our primary contact at Minnetrista, George Buss, the Director of Experience and Education. The specific prototype was inspired by Cooking Mama and involved players preparing and cooking foods related to Minnestrista's herb garden and Farmer's Market. The Spring class was able to take this project in connection with the renovation of the historic Oakhurst Home, which is where the original recipes of the Ball Blue Book were developed.

The end result of this work is Canning Heroes, which is a cooperative game for 1-4 players. It is designed to be played on a large touch screen, and our partners at Minnetrista are currently working on the logistics of installation in the Oakhurst home. The source code is available on GitHub, and the executable can be downloaded from itch.io. This is my first time releasing anything on itch.io, and I was pleased with how easy it was to post the game and add student collaborators to the project.

The students dubbed themselves "Happy Accident Studio," which is an homage to Internet-culture icon Bob Ross, who recorded many of his famous painting shows in Muncie right on Minnetrista's campus. I am very pleased with the work done by Happy Accident Studio. Like the best of my immersive learning teams, they were able to learn quickly how to work together and hit stride about ten weeks into the semester. This allowed us to make the necessary revisions in the tail end of the semester to really make the game shine. I think Canning Heroes is the most polished product to come out of my immersive learning classes, and I am hopeful that it will be installed at Minnetrista for public consumption.

Happy Accident Studio was a good team by any metric. They had their flaws as any team will, but overall, they really came to understand what multidisciplinary collaboration means and why it is necessary for this kind of risky and creative work. They struggled with accountability, as student teams often do. They had great eureka moments, particularly around playtesting and code quality. It turns out that except for two seniors, the rest of the team was juniors. This means they will be around next year, and it makes me wonder if we can make some hay while the sun shines.

This was the second immersive learning team I have mentored who have used Unreal Engine 4 for their projects, the previous one being last Spring's Fairy Trails by Guy Falls Down Studio. There was one team member from Spring 2018 who was able to join again this semester, and it was good to have another voice with some experience in the room. He and two others had done some work with UE4 before, and they were enough to seed the learning experience for everyone else. Once again, I was generally happy with how quickly students were able to learn the tools of the engine, particularly Blueprint programming. The team got up and running quickly, and the mistakes they make—such as poor functional decomposition or bad naming practices—are general code quality problems that dog all novices. That is, there was nothing lost by using Blueprint, and much to be gained. Also, whereas Fairy Trails was written entirely in UMG with an enormous amount of effort going toward platform support, Canning Heroes makes better use of the UE4 platform, even though it's entirely "flat" using Paper2D.

Reflections on Student Assessment

Two stories from this semester have me thinking about whether I want to change my student evaluation strategy in future immersive learning projects. This team experienced many of the common successes and failures during the semester, but these two stories stand out in my memory.

First, there was an artist who wanted to create tutorial animations for the game. Her instinct was to create them in After Effects so that then we could import them into the engine. I suggested that, instead, she learn to create the animations in-engine. The tutorial was already using assets that we had in the game, and if the animation were done using keyframes and tweening in-engine, then anyone could tweak them as necessary, for example if the assets or timing needed to be changed (both of which happened, of course). By contrast, if she had created the animations using her familiar tools, any change would require going back to After Effects and repeating the render and import process, decreasing the number of people who could make the change while increasing the bus factor. To this student's credit, she jumped right in, and within a few hours was as adept with creating in-engine animations of 2D assets as anyone else who had been using UE4 for months. In our final retrospective meeting, she brought this up as a great learning outcome of the course: that there are times to use familiar tools and times to learn new tools, and not to be afraid of either.

The second story is not quite so positive. Our music major was de facto audio lead for the team, being in charge of both original compositions and sound effects. Several times during the semester, I encouraged her to do integration work, following the value of interdisciplinary collaboration and multidisciplinary pairing that is explicit in the methodology. However, even at the end of the semester, her approach was to upload files to the server and then step aside: she could not complete the loop of creating a new sound, putting it in the game, and evaluating it. A related story is that throughout development, many team members desired to randomize the sound effects. Again, I encouraged the team generally to look into UE4 support for this, but it was never pursued. It turns out that just after the game was complete, I watched an archived UE4 livestream that prompted me to look more into the audio system myself, and I was crestfallen to see that what the team wanted could be done with a single node of sound cue. I am certain that, had this student shown the ambition of the artist from the first story, we would have a much better aural experience in the game today.

Reflecting on these stories made me wonder whether there was some kind of more formalized incentive that I could use to nudge the students toward manifesting the attitudes and behaviors I desire for them. Several years ago I looked into KPIs as an industry practice that I could adopt in the studio to maintain project authenticity, but my investigations at the time led me to conclude that the timeframe of KPIs doesn't match conventional course structure. Regardless of my pedagogic choices, I am still locked in a three credit-hour class that meets three times a week for fifteen weeks, which doesn't seem to have the breadth required for Google-style KPIs. However, I have also recently been tinkering with specifications grading, particularly toward the goal that grading criteria become unambiguous. At least in theory, removing ambiguity from the grading scheme should help students plan their actions prudently.

The alternative idea that crossed my mind, which I share here in part as an excuse to explore it further, is paths for team members. "Paths" at least is the word that came to mind, informed I suspect by my anticipation of the new Pathfinder Adventure Card Game Core Set, but alternatives might be "roles" or "quests." Keep in mind that I manage the team using a philosophical model of team ownership inspired by agile practices. That means everyone owns everything: anyone can work on art, sound, story, programming, UI, and so on. Occasionally I have teams where one aspect of the game requires a lead who approves work in that area, but that's always in response to dysfunctional team members. Most of the time, I can get students on board with the idea of total team ownership and its concomitant responsibilities.

Paths might offer a concrete way to inform students about expected behaviors, potentially annotating them with incentives (that is, grades). We might start with something like Path of the Novice, which would include incentives for reading the team methodology document, getting accounts set up on Slack and whatnot, putting something on version control. From there, maybe one could branch out into:

  • Path of the Artist: create an asset, put it in version control, and integrate it into the game.
  • Path of Code: conduct a code review of someone else's work; have your work subject to code review.
  • Path of Quality: run playtesting sessions for the game, documenting the results
  • Path of the Robot: automate the game build using continuous integration 
Obviously, these are just off the top of my head. Perhaps students could choose a path each two-week iteration and provide evidence at the end about whether they met their goals. Perhaps it really needs levels of achievement. The clear problem that I can see is that it might constrain people in a way that total team ownership is designed not to: it may trick a team member into not contributing what the team needs at some critical point because it's "not their job" (i.e. not on their path). Maybe, then, the result of this reflection is that all I really need is a simpler rule: everyone needs to be able to integrate and test their work. Unfortunately, that really devolves into the existing rule, "Follow the methodology," which is missed by a subset of team members. 

This whole discussion of how to manage future projects has to be framed by Price's Law. I learned a year or two ago that there's a general rule that half the work is done by a square root of the team. It seems that this has strong implications for a group like my immersive learning class. Which disciplines are represented under the square root limit can strongly influence the direction the project can go. Yet, at the end of the semester, I still have to assign grades, and they should be done as fairly as possible. It's not the goal, then, to ensure that everyone produces equal outcomes, but rather than their work is fairly assessed.

What's Next

I've been doing the two-course sequence of immersive learning game development projects since Fall 2012, but I'm taking a little detour in 2019-2020. I received approval from my department to offer my game design class as a special topics class for CS majors and minors in the Fall, so I'm going to try that instead of teaching it as an Honors Colloquium. What I would like to do, as I wrote about two weeks ago, is try to transform my game design course into a regular CS course, which would make it much more sustainable. Fall's plan is set, then, but Spring is still up in the air. As I mentioned above, I would like to take advantage of the fact that I will have more students than ever who have experience with game design and development, but it will be a little while before I can determine what shape that will take.