During Blaugust, I read Ocho’s post about maintaining and managing a backlog of unplayed games. It gave me some things to think about.
I like tracking the games I’m playing for two reasons: the mindless busywork of recordkeeping is soothing when I don’t have the time or energy for actual gaming, and it helps me manage some of the more extreme mood swings that can come from beating a game.
A lot of times, I get close to finishing a game and put it aside because I don’t want it to be over. If I’m lucky, I return and take care of unfinished business — I finally beat Inazuma Eleven and Metal Max: Xeno last year, which was rewarding. (My attempt to return to The Last Story was less successful.)
But beating a game is like being the dog that caught the car it was chasing. I’ll be absolutely blown away by the experience for as long as the game lasts, and then I suffer an existential crisis. What am I supposed to do now that this amazing ride is over?
That’s when the backlog helps with a list of shiny objects unplayed/unfinished games that can serve as distractions.
Those are the theoretical benefits. But practical experience has taught me that managing my relationship with the backlog is as important as managing the list itself. If the backlog is a system for managing games, it needs to be a well-designed system that fails gracefully.
I don’t need another collection of unfinished projects to feel guilty about. Instead, I should be okay with a backlog that's not completely accurate, or even one that gets abandoned. My PS2 died, and I’m not likely to see the end of Rogue Galaxy, Dark Cloud 2, Wild Arms 3, and several other games. I don't need them haunting the list as perpetual failures.
I’m playing these games to have fun, not to discharge obligations. Loosely tracking my unplayed/unfinished game backlog has been working for me, and I don’t want to turn it into an obsession.
I think I’ll keep things unchanged in the year ahead.
