In the autumn of 2021, I decided to switch to software development. Standing on the precipice of a new beginning, I felt a blend of uncertainty, excitement, and intense nerves. My mind was ready to dive in, and it felt as though a reservoir of untapped energy was bubbling just beneath the surface of my consciousness.

Then, like the delicate hyphal threads of a mycelium, an idea for a spore-based mechanic began to spread through my mind. I’ve always been a fan of fungal creatures in fantasy, and mushroom foraging is one of my most treasured childhood memories.

It took me only a day to create the first prototype, and soon after, I began testing. Within the first month, I had added more mechanics and introduced mushroom-growing elements into the game.

I approached the project with passion, intentionally taking a non-traditional path. I spent time on graphics that I knew I wouldn’t use in the final design simply because I loved creating them. I tried out mechanics that, admittedly, were obviously flawed.

In the spring of 2022, a friend of mine, Robert Tuharsky—an amazing board game reviewer, by the way—suggested that I apply to Albi’s board game design competition. So, I did.

Qualifying for the competition changed my entire design process for the next year. The journey was intense and often chaotic; I found myself rushing to create polished prototypes. I made it to the semifinals, but unfortunately, I didn’t qualify for the final round. I took this as a sign and decided to return to the drawing board. Throughout 2023, I explored all kinds of mechanics: resource systems, asymmetrical gameplay, and player-connected upgrade systems.

Ultimately, I settled on a semi-permanent resource system. Combined with the board’s geometry, it created a dynamic environment where players had to shift from focusing solely on building an economy to competing for space. However, one challenge remained: finding the right way to end the game. Initially, I used a point counter, but I quickly moved away from that. Mechanics based on a specific player action or point threshold always created a dilemma around balancing the starting player’s advantage. Increasing player interaction either led to excessive aggression or stalemates. This forced me to adopt a bittersweet solution: the game would end when players ran out of tokens. This preserved symmetry, but to me, it felt anticlimactic.

As 2024 began, I felt exhausted and demotivated—another job switch had taken its toll. Balancing a passion project with the demands of daily life had become a real struggle.

I needed a new spark. So, I decided to make massive mushroom hats. How else could I capture people’s attention but by wearing a giant mushroom on my head? It had to be done.

The idea was perfect. I’d have props for a trailer, and something visually striking for conventions and meetups. People could take photos with my mushroom hats and share them on social media.

So, I spent about 100 hours crafting four giant mushroom hats. They turned out great, though I secretly wish I’d spent that time working on another game.

Now, as I write this article, I’m deep in the process of setting up marketing, planning production, and preparing for crowdfunding. If all goes well, the world will have one more mushroom-themed game by the end of the year!