Okay, let’s imagine that you’re an amateur game developer. You’ve been working on a Nintendo fangame, and you started to work on it because you wanted to have your own take on one of your favorite franchises.
You’re not very confident in what you’re making, though. Most of your previous fangames hadn’t been received too well. So you put a lot of time into polishing this one, and you show it to the fangaming community. To your surprise, they like it! A lot even! They tell you that you have something potentially special in your hands.
You spend months, years even, putting out something a bit more complete. You ask for help from other fans, and you assemble a team. Together, you make a demo a few levels long, and you want to share it with the rest of the world. However, as soon as you release it to the general public, the floodgates open. Everyone commenting on it seems to be more interested in questioning whether Nintendo will take down your fangame than discussing the game itself.
At first, you understand the curiosity and the concern. After all, it is very common to hear about Nintendo taking down fangames. But all the same, as people make the same comments for the billionth time, you find yourself growing weary. The repetitive and draining nature of these comments starts to overshadow the initial enthusiasm you had to talk about your game. It’s not that you don’t recognize the potential legal issues; it’s just that you wish people would engage with the game itself rather than fixating on a takedown that may or may not happen.
To add to the frustration, some just treat it as a joke. They comment about how it’s going to be so funny to see all your hard work getting wiped out. All the countless hours you have poured into the game end up getting reduced to a punchline, repeated by dozens of people, in the exact same uncreative way.
You even encounter a few people who view the potential removal of your game as some sort of poetic justice. They argue that creating fangames is a blatant infringement on intellectual property rights, and write emails to Nintendo, asking them to remove your game. It’s only a few people doing this, but it stands out to you. Why would people think this is deserved? You’re not even making any money.
Nevertheless, you still manage to gather a sizable group of followers who don’t seem to be as fixated on that subject. You receive so much praise from them: “This is awesome!”, “This is better than what Nintendo makes”, “Nintendo should hire you”. It’s surprising to you, but it sure feels nice to hear so much praise for your hard work. They all love what YOU have created.
As time passes, however, you start to notice that some people are talking behind your back about you and your game. They state that your game’s success is undeserved or that this other game they like should’ve been the one receiving that level of attention. Your game’s success is a fluke, a stroke of luck that somehow bypassed more deserving projects.
They don’t say it to your face at the start, only within communities dedicated to those other projects. You see it regardless, though. You’re also in those Discord servers. You were also interested in those games.
Sometimes even the creators of those games join in on shitting on your game. People you respect, people you once thought you could become friends with. Some of them even turn that hate on you. After all, it IS your game. Most people already see you as “the guy who made that fangame” anyway, so you get the blame for it. Some convince themselves that your game is so bad that you’re worthy of being made fun of. A select few make it even more personal and accuse you of “using” those people who helped you. It was never your success in their eyes. You’re just a hack.
You start to question everything. “Is it true? Do I really deserve all this success?” The doubt creeps in, starting to overshadow the joy you initially felt when people praised your creation.
Yet you don’t give up. Instead, you dedicate yourself to improving the game, making it better. “Maybe if I keep improving what I have, I’ll show those people that I’m not a hack,” you say to yourself. You keep working, and working, and working. Always iterating on what you have, to make the best fangame out there. That wasn’t your goal at the start but…it sure is now!
Despite that, the fans of your game are not happy. It’s been years at this point. All they keep seeing is the game failing to make any meaningful progress. But how are you supposed to move onto adding more content when what’s currently there is not good enough?
Burnout starts to take its toll. You’re sick of working on the same game for years. No matter what you do, people aren’t happy. Or maybe they are. There are still people who keep saying “Nintendo hire this man!!!” regardless, but you’ve heard the same thing for so many years that you’re numb to it. It no longer brings you the joy it once did, almost as if it has lost all its meaning.
So you start working on side projects to distract yourself, hoping your passion will return eventually. You work on multiple of them. Some get a lot of attention, some disappear into obscurity. They eventually help you land a job. You’re finally making some money making games, isn’t that great? No drama, no people talking behind your back, no “haha nintendo DMCA” comments.
Yet there’s still a part of you that wants to go back to the original fangame that started it all. So much time, so much effort had gone into it. And you’re still just as passionate about that franchise as you were when you first embarked on this journey. There are still so many people who want to see it done too. But you don’t have the time anymore. You have far more responsibilities than you once did. Gotta pay the bills somehow.
What would you do in this situation?