In real life, I work with relics of the past. I preserve little bits of history so that future folks know what life today was like. Sometimes, it’s tough, especially on the days when the “future” feels so bleak that I see nothing but a Fallout-esque future. Other times, it feels like the best job in the world, because it provides me opportunities for reflection and hope. It goes without saying that my feelings about what I do are inextricably intertwined with my feelings about gaming, which has become the most important other “thing that I do.” Early on in the life of this site, I asked that those in the game industry take seriously efforts to preserve their work. “Save your records!” I implored over and over in 2013. Ten years later, wiser, and in some regards, more jaded, have I changed my tune?

Nope. What’s great is that now there’s some legitimacy to my call in that more cultural institutions are collecting and preserving the history of gaming. Certainly, there are many collectors out there who, in building and maintain their own collections, are participating in preserving gaming history. But a number of different museums, archives, and libraries have also turned their attention officially to this work, as well. In the United States, the Strong Museum of Play and the Museum of Art and Digital Entertainment are a couple major examples of organizations that have dedicated video game collecting and preservation strategies. Other places like the Museum of Modern Art and the Smithsonian’s American Art Museum also claim video games among their collections, which has further cemented gaming’s legacy.

Not to split hairs, but there’s video game preservation, and then there’s the preservation of the records of how those games were made and by whom. In some cases, the two go hand-in-hand, but not always. My soapbox concerns the latter. Because although it is incredibly important to preserve physical and digital media, consoles, computers, and accessories, I’d argue that the material documenting the creation of games and the actions of those in the industry are more important. It’s one thing to maintain something like Space Invaders so that it can be accessible to future generations; it’s another to maintain the process of its creation. With that history in the coffers, the life of Space Invaders may live long beyond its physical form and inform any interested minds as to how it came into being the first place.

So, here I am, still beating that “save your records!” drum I first started ten years ago. The present-day innovations that are being made in the game industry today are tomorrow’s foundations, and it’s vital that we work to keep that history alive, meaningful, and accessible. After all, what a shame it would be if, someday, the only place to see a video game is in a museum. Locked away behind glass; an isolated relic lost to time. That would be tragic ending to what could be an enduring, enriching, and enlightening pastime. Now is the time to write the present so that future never happens. To those in the game industry, I once again implore…save your records!

Lede image by Flickr user david_s_carter (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0).