Indie / Part I
Recently, someone knocked on my door offering to join a project as a volunteer "for now." I've seen plenty of teams like this and know the problems well enough — so I decided it's time to write it all down.
When people gather together, united by some common idea, and start working on pure enthusiasm, several predictable situations emerge.
Either the idea turns out to mean something different to everyone, or enthusiasm crashes against reality and utility bills, or that beautiful future is just too far away.
In most cases, team members lose motivation, start dragging their feet on tasks, feel like they've let everyone down and couldn't even stick with a free project — ultimately doing more harm than good. But there's not much fault with the specialist here; it's all about setting the wrong goals from the start.
- Any studio needs clear process organization.
- "Manageable workload" isn't a 42-kilometer marathon — it's a hundred-meter sprint.
- Glory and belonging are often far more important than money.
Let me break this down.
Whether you're building a game dev studio or an asset production pipeline, it doesn't matter — wherever there's work and people doing it, there's always a production process. In the professional world, producers and supervisors handle processes, project managers and leads ensure compliance, and sometimes the ratio of managers to creators reaches one-to-one.
In most small indie teams, everyone is both manager and creator simultaneously. Tasks, at best, get dumped by whoever started this whole circus — and that's still good if they actually planned them in advance rather than making them up during the call.
Everyone works with the tools they know, the way they're used to. In small teams, individual preferences and "personal style" often seem more important than the common goal. But they're not.
So here's the first critical point: you need a crystal-clear workflow that minimizes individual quirks. Your pipeline should be set in stone from the start, only changing when the team outgrows it. Think military-style chain of command.
This doesn't mean the person handling prop models can't voice opinions about lore or mechanics — but they do it exclusively during monthly brainstorms, not by presenting a fait accompli of "I thought it would be better this way." Just as the game designer's opinion on color palettes doesn't override the art director's decisions. Everyone owns only their piece of the work toward the shared goal.
Speaking of goals — point number two.
I know a team that's been poking at some "game" for over six years. They've changed genres, seen dozens of people come and go, rewritten the lore — changed everything. I don't know if they'll ever ship anything. So far, it doesn't look like it.
My advice is simple: don't start small — start microscopic. If you're making games, make one in a month. It can have ONE mechanic, four props, a dozen textures, and two buttons — but it should be a complete game your team actually made.
You'll immediately discover how difficult it is, how poorly your processes work, how badly you manage time, how challenging leadership really is, and how people consistently overestimate their abilities. But you'll learn more in that one month than you would spending years on an open-world RPG with dozens of mechanics in a unique setting.
Imagine you're a paralyzed patient dreaming of running a marathon. To run a marathon, you need to train for a long time, sure — but first, you need working legs. Right now, you've only got a brain (the CEO), two tails, a trunk, and some gills. There was a leg once, but it got a day job and no longer has time to run with you.
Point three — belonging.
Any HR professional will tell you that money, frankly, isn't the most effective motivator. You can't retain employees with salary alone. If team dynamics are mediocre, people leave. If they're working on something unclear they can't even discuss — same result. If contributions go unrecognized or poorly acknowledged — same result. Money is just the baseline, and retaining even well-paid employees is challenging.
When money isn't in the equation at all, it gets exponentially harder. You absolutely must have results employees can be proud of. You must highlight everyone's contributions. You must let people talk about their work. Instead of money, the baseline becomes respect, professional growth, and clear understanding of what they're doing and why.
Therefore, every result — every finished product — must go live. Made a small game with the team? Great. Upload it to Steam immediately, to itch.io, to the App Store. Marketing (even if it's one person) should work in parallel with development, preparing for each release in advance, not as an afterthought. There shouldn't be more than a day between finishing development and announcement. This builds portfolios for both the team and individuals, shows people their work matters, and proves it's not all for nothing.
Beyond the internal benefits, this approach has practical advantages: you learn to navigate platform approvals, prepare marketing assets, and celebrate wins together.
To sum up: the team must understand exactly what you're doing without fighting against management. The task must be achievable with a clear deadline. During the process, you can talk about the work. After completion, there must be a release.
After several projects like this, the team becomes more resilient, capable of tackling complex work — and with a portfolio of shipped projects, far more attractive to outside investment.