In late 2016 I started a video game podcast with a few friends of mine. Podcasts had become a big part of my life and I looked forward to shows like the Beastcast, Bombcast, Into the Nexus, and Harmontown dropping each week. I loved thinking about games and discussing them, and having a scheduled weekly session for it seemed wonderful. I wasn't getting into it to make money, make a name for myself, or build a brand. I just wanted to have a good time and maybe build a small community of like-minded people who enjoyed what we were doing. It was pretty much the same format as Giant Bomb - we get together to shoot the shit and talk about games and gaming news once a week.

We had some challenges and made some mistakes for sure. None of us had any experience with podcasting, audio production, streaming - nothing at all. Our first - and most costly - mistake was with our early sound quality. My own sound quality for the first half dozen episodes was rough - my audio levels were low and I could only massage it so much in post. Those first few episodes are the chance to make a first impression with listeners, and the time when friends and family interest is at its peak (whether out of genuine interest or politeness). When I'm listening to a new podcast, if the sound quality is bad I usually give up on it right away. If I had a do-over, I'd make sure the sound quality was up to snuff before publishing our first episode. We were excited and inexperienced.

After a couple of months, it became clear that each of the four of us engaged with the show and with video games in very different ways. I play a pretty wide variety of games and, as much as this was my baby, I'm not a confident or gifted speaker. It took some effort and adjustment for me. One friend (T) kind of slotted into the host/leader role naturally. His gaming habits tend toward depth rather than breadth, and when he finds one he likes, he eats, sleeps and breathes it. The other two (L and A) were far more casual in their gaming habits and in their approach to the show. Eventually we fell into a rut where I had a couple of games to talk about, and a couple of the guys rarely did. That's not necessarily a deal-breaker, but they also didn't have much to contribute to the show. A few times I noticed their attention wandering, them on their phone, and the such during recording. It began to feel like we had 2 people who really cared about the show, and 2 who were just along for the ride. T would try to keep the conversation rolling, but sometimes the entire production just felt forced.

Some resentment and discouragement started to fester. T was disappointed that he was putting himself into this show, and the numbers were just not going up. We had few listeners, no emails or signs of an audience. It felt like we were broadcasting to an empty room. Which we basically were. I was less concerned about the numbers and more concerned with creating something I could feel proud of. I (perhaps naively) figured that if we care about this and have fun making it, it'll find an audience - even a small one - sooner or later. But I rarely felt good about what we made.

We had a couple of face-to-face group sit downs where we talked about our expectations and how we were feeling about it. Concerns were voiced and plans were made, but we always fell into our old habits shortly after. T and I did our best to offer a guilt-free way out to the others. "If this isn't for you, no hard feelings." I liken it to getting into a weekend bowling league. A couple of friends are going to want to join because "this is what we're doing" and they want to hang out and have fun with friends. Hanging out with friends, having a few drinks, some terrible food, and bowling a few games is a good time. But it's frustrating if you want to be competitive. I wasn't about to fire friends from our silly little podcast though. My biggest regret, I think, is our inability to be honest with one another. I offered outs with no hard feelings; I offered to bow out if they wanted to do a Sea of Thieves podcast when they had a fever for that game that I didn't share. I think I just wanted to see us make something with passion, whether that included myself or not. When it came time to do a game of the year episode, I could not get anyone else to really engage with the notion at all.

I don't want to give the impression that I am blameless, or that the entire experience was without joy. We had to record over Skype calls (this was pre-Covid) so we had various equipment and internet connection issues. A couple of us have young children, so we had to record late in the evenings at about 10pm, which is not ideal. There were episodes where one or more of us was too tired to engage, and I didn't always handle myself as well as I wish I had.

But we had a lot of laughs and good times. The show was at its best when we made an effort to all play the same game. We all played through Life is Strange over a few episodes, and later did the same with The Wolf Among Us. Discussing the our interpretations of the stories, and the choices we'd each made and why was an absolute blast. After we wrapped up the podcast for good, we kicked around the notion of starting a games club-style one with a less rigid schedule. We even recorded an episode for Gone Home, but I wanted to have a few in the can before publishing any. We agreed that Doom 2016 would be the next game, but it never went beyond that.

This is where I'm not sure what the takeaway is; it certainly isn't "Don't make a podcast with your friends." Maybe it's just to make sure everyone has compatible goals in mind and the same levels of investment. What started as a something fun and exciting to do with friends became an albatross, something I dreaded as often as I looked forward to. It's something I hope to give it another try one day in some form.