Reflections from JMC’s Introduction to Immersive Storytelling
By Mike Loder
I’ve never really committed to formal education - university settings can sometimes feel like foreign ground to me - places I’ve circled around, but never quite stepped into. In another life, I’ve said I would’ve been a game developer. But this weekend at JMC Academy, something clicked.
Introduction to Immersive Storytelling didn’t feel like a lecture. It felt like a warm catch-up with a version of myself I used to imagine – a celebration of the choices I’ve made, and a gentle push to keep stepping outside my comfort zone.
In a sunlit classroom filled with students, developers, and old friends, I found something unexpected.
Ceri shared how his game Deficit: An ADHD RPg intentionally frustrates players without ADHD to generate empathy for those who have the condition.
A point of note I found really compelling was when Ceri touched on Quake and how players started using the rocket launcher to launch themselves into parts of the map the devs never intended. It was a reminder that once a game’s out in the world, players will find their own way through it.
He framed it as an intellectual challenge — designing something intentional, but open enough to be reinterpreted. It’s not about losing control. It’s about learning how to share it with the player.
Matthew had us grinning with stories about how “careers aren’t straight lines”, and how stepping into things beyond your focus can often be where the magic happens. “You grow with the work,” he said — and it landed.
He talked about his years performing improv across Australia and London, and how that background has bled into his approach to game design. That playful, collaborative mindset — the “yes, and” of improv — helps him stay open to where a game wants to go, not just where you think it should.
One look at the Toot Games website shows how clever he is at blending humour and technical skill!
There was something comforting in the way he framed it. You don’t need to have it all figured out from the start. Sometimes you just say the first line, trust your team, and follow the weird idea wherever it leads.
And when you zoom out and look at your work more broadly, it’s okay to admit: “I don’t think this is what the game wants to be.”
Inge, co-founder of Lemonade Games, talked about balance between creative passion and production limits.
She referenced her mum’s wisdom: “One for the goal, one for the soul.” Her reflections on leaving a steady job at a studio to chase her indie dreams were both grounded and inspiring.
Also: she loves designing beautiful tufts of moss for in game environments... like, a lot! I wonder what my creative motif might be if I ever jump into game development.
Another huge theme was cross-disciplinary learning. Ceramics, English lit, architecture, café management – these were the unlikely places where their professional strengths were forged.
“You won’t always get to do the glamorous stuff,” Inge admitted. “Getting put on UI and designing menu buttons might not spark the same joy as building a lush patch of in-game moss, but it all matters. Every task is part of the craft.”
This made me reflect on the times I’ve come across amazing UI and how seamless it actually makes the experience of navigating a game’s menu.
There was discussion around “scope creep”, the fear of showing work before it's polished, and the creative dangers of perfectionism. “Sucking at something is the first step to being sorta good at something,” Ceri quoted from Adventure Time, to nods and chuckles throughout the room.
No one mentioned AI. No one seemed panicked about the future. I saw a set of students wander past outside with a 16mm camera and a film cannister.
People took notes by hand. There was a softness to the whole thing – thoughtful, unhurried, and very human.
And that’s the thing. These weren’t just developers. They were storytellers, improvisers, mentors, sculptors. And the stories they told weren’t just about games – they were about life, which had me reflecting on my own journey with filmmaking, acting, and even the second-guessing of my intellect when it came to actually starting a project.
To any JMC student or aspiring creator reading this: don’t wait for permission to start. Make the moss-covered environment. Write the weird story. Pick up that journal again. Your skills will come from the most unexpected places, and the people in your life might just help you find your path.
Community is everything – and what’s delightful is that the talk inspired me to push for the things I want to achieve. That in itself is a huge gift.
(And to think I didn’t believe I’d fit into today’s discussion – and nearly didn’t attend.)