The Labyrinth of Time’s Edge Devlog – Lessons from Sharing, Growing, and Expanding the Game

When I first started The Labyrinth of Time’s Edge, I wasn’t thinking about marketing, visibility, or “getting it in front of people.” I was a kid with a notebook and a keyboard, drawing maps and filling in rooms because it thrilled me. Now, decades later, it has grown into a sprawling QBasic text adventure with over 3,600+ handcrafted rooms, multiple maps, hundreds of NPCs, and more atmosphere than I ever dreamed possible. And with that growth came the realization: I wanted others to play it. To not just hear about the Labyrinth, but to live it.  Getting eyes on a project like this has been a journey of trial and error. Social media, for example, has been a double-edged sword. Tweets with short, haunting room snippets or atmospheric screenshots always draw attention. People love the bite-sized taste of the world, the eerie one-liners that could have been torn from a lost gothic manuscript. But the minute I try to "sell" the game with standard promotional language—hashtags and sales blurbs it falls flat. Lesson learned: this project thrives when I lean into what makes it unique. The Labyrinth is not about gimmicks or trends, it’s about imagination and dread.

YouTube has been a breakthrough. Devlogs, milestone videos, and explorations of maps like The Lantern Trail or Dirgepath let me show the depth of the game in a way that words alone can’t. Viewers connect when they hear my voice guiding them through the adventure, when they see the ASCII maps, when they realize this isn’t just another indie title chasing Steam charts, it’s a labor of love, handcrafted over decades. Still, YouTube has its challenges: thumbnails matter, titles matter, and if you don’t play the algorithm’s game, your video might vanish into the void. What worked for me was leaning into retro aesthetics, such as Infocom-style ads, old 8-bit fantasy covers, and even CRT mockups. Nostalgia speaks louder than bullet points. Itch.io itself has been a blessing because here, people actually seek out projects that are weird, unique, and personal. I’ve found that long-form devlogs (like this one) do wonders for keeping people invested. The community here wants to know the "why," not just the "what." Still, getting attention on itch requires consistent posting updates, engaging with comments, and giving people a reason to come back. A static page is a forgotten page. Patreon has been another avenue. While it hasn’t exploded, it has provided something invaluable: a community of supporters who believe in the vision. They aren’t just backing a project, they’re backing the philosophy behind it, that games can be art, that imagination matters more than graphics, and that a text adventure can still haunt you in 2025. What didn’t work? Expecting Patreon to grow on its own. It needs constant attention, communication, and rewards that feel personal. The patrons who stick around are the ones who feel like part of the journey.

What I’ve learned through all of this is simple but powerful: the best way to get The Labyrinth of Time’s Edge in front of people is to let it speak in its own voice. Not as a “product,” but as a living, breathing story. When I show rooms like:

“Portraits of forgotten nobility hang crooked on the walls, their images nearly erased beneath choking layers of dust.”

That’s when people stop scrolling. That’s when they lean in. The Labyrinth doesn’t need gimmicks. It just needs a chance to whisper its secrets.