Stories of creative projects often begin with a spark so small it almost feels accidental. For the designers behind Wonder Book, that spark can be traced back to childhood afternoons in a quiet Italian town. Two friends, who once spent hours making homemade trading cards out of scraps of paper, gradually grew into adults still fascinated by the playful act of creating. What started with scribbled Yu-Gi-Oh designs and Pokémon booster packs slowly evolved into early experiments in making games of their own.

The leap from doodling cards to designing an ambitious pop-up adventure was not immediate, of course. It took years of trial, error, and scattered attempts at building small games together. But what remained constant was curiosity — curiosity about how far the boundaries of cardboard and imagination could be stretched. By the mid-2010s, that curiosity finally collided with an idea bold enough to become a life’s project: what if a game board itself could come alive, rising from the table as a pop-up world players could touch and explore?

The First Glimmer of Wonder

The year was 2015. Neither designer had a background in paper engineering or much experience in elaborate storytelling for games. Yet during one of their brainstorming sessions, the question formed naturally: what if a pop-up board could become the stage for an adventure? They imagined a structure that wasn’t just flat cardboard, but something that unfolded, expanded, and revealed surprises with each turn. It felt revolutionary, especially compared to the traditional design of most board games at the time.

The earliest concept for what would later become Wonder Book was simple in its ambition but huge in scope: create a cooperative game filled with story, mystery, and challenges, supported by intuitive rules that anyone could pick up. Above all, the pop-ups had to be central. This would not be a normal game with decorative paper folds on the side. Instead, the entire experience would revolve around that magical moment when a flat page blossoms into three dimensions.

Of course, there was an obvious obstacle: neither of them had the slightest idea how to build a pop-up.

Diving into Paper Engineering

What followed was a crash course in an unfamiliar art. Pop-ups aren’t just craft projects for children’s books; they are the product of a discipline called paper engineering. Every fold, cut, and angle must be precise for the structure to collapse flat and then spring open smoothly. The designers immersed themselves in tutorials, videos, and guides, slowly piecing together a personal encyclopedia of techniques.

Their first prototypes were clumsy, more glue and frustration than artistry. Folded houses refused to lie flat. Dragons crumpled in strange directions. Yet each mistake revealed more about the mechanical possibilities of paper. Over time, the duo managed to create their first interactive scenario: a small village leading to a looming temple, watched over by a rough paper dragon that could lurch into play as a final boss.

It was a start, but the experience felt scattered. There were rules and mechanisms, but no unifying structure to keep the story and gameplay moving. Too many pieces cluttered the table, and the magic of the pop-up was overshadowed by complexity. What they needed was something elegant — a way for the story, rules, and challenges to be introduced naturally, guiding players step by step without overwhelming them.

The Deck that Changed Everything

The solution was surprisingly simple. Instead of loading players with a rulebook and scattered components, the designers realized they could use a deck of pre-sorted cards as the backbone of the experience. Each card could introduce mechanics in order, present narrative choices, or trigger events at just the right moment. The game could unfold the same way the pop-ups did: gradually, smoothly, with surprises delivered in sequence.

This revelation was pivotal. It meant that the pop-ups didn’t have to shoulder the entire burden of storytelling. The cards could carry narrative weight while the three-dimensional board delivered spectacle and interactivity. Together, they created a rhythm where every turn of the page or flip of the card brought something new.

Designing Across Distance

There was another challenge, though — geography. During much of the project, the two designers were living in different cities. Collaboration became an exercise in patience, with remote discussions and short bursts of progress whenever they could meet in person. Holidays back in their hometown became intensive work sessions, sometimes stretching long into the night with cups of tea and biscuits scattered among scraps of paper.

Eventually, they decided to close the distance and live in the same place for a time, believing that a few concentrated months would be enough to finish the game. That estimate proved wildly optimistic. Each new prototype revealed just how difficult it was to make pop-ups function not only as visual wonders but as game components sturdy enough to handle repeated play.

Borrowing Inspiration

At a certain point, they realized they couldn’t keep inventing entirely from scratch. Other creative fields had already normalized the idea of using references and adapting existing work — illustrators use reference photos, musicians remix melodies, and programmers build on libraries of shared code. Why should designing pop-ups be any different?

So they began collecting pop-up books, dissecting their mechanisms for inspiration. Some designs were breathtaking in their artistry, but many of them proved impractical for gaming. A tower that unfolded beautifully in a book might collapse under the weight of a miniature. A delicate fold that worked for display might tear after a few repeated plays.

Still, the study of existing work paid off. Certain techniques could be modified, strengthened, or reimagined for the gaming table. One of the most complex mechanisms they encountered, once adapted, would later become the centerpiece of Wonder Book’s board. Even so, the process of refining their prototypes into something durable enough for production still felt beyond their skill set.

What they needed was not just inspiration, but expertise.

Finding the Right Collaborator

That expertise arrived in the form of a paper engineer from Venice named Dario Cestaro. Known for his ability to bring books to life with intricate folds and clever structures, he seemed like an ideal partner. The designers reached out, half-expecting their unusual request to be ignored. Instead, Cestaro was intrigued. He agreed to take their rough “Frankenstein” prototypes — messy constructions stitched together from scraps of paper — and rebuild them into polished, functional models.

With his help, the project took on a new level of professionalism. The dream of a fully realized pop-up adventure was no longer just a homemade experiment; it was a concept with the potential to reach a wider audience. All that remained was to find someone willing to publish it.

The First Yes

The duo turned to a familiar partner, a publisher they had collaborated with before and whose philosophy of creating accessible, fun experiences aligned with their vision. The pitch was risky. They didn’t just want to make another board game. They wanted to make something that required unusual materials, high production costs, and an entirely new kind of manufacturing.

To their relief, the publisher’s response was immediate and enthusiastic: not just yes, but an emphatic “absolutely yes.”

The celebration, however, was short-lived. The game still wasn’t ready. In fact, it was far from it. The scope was massive, the narrative required hundreds of cards, and each pop-up had to be carefully balanced between affordability and spectacle. For every new idea, there was a price tag attached, and pop-ups were notoriously expensive to produce. Suddenly, the dream felt both closer and more daunting than ever.

The early spark of Wonder Book had already carried its creators further than they ever imagined. They had an enthusiastic publisher on board, a skilled paper engineer willing to help transform their rough sketches into professional-quality prototypes, and a clear vision of how the game would function. But as many creative projects reveal, the real challenge begins not with the idea itself, but with the countless hours required to make that idea a reality.

The journey from prototype to finished game would prove to be long, unpredictable, and filled with obstacles that tested patience, creativity, and endurance. What began as nights of cutting and gluing paper at a kitchen table would evolve into a multi-year odyssey involving international collaboration, cost negotiations, artistic struggles, and the unrelenting pressure of expectations.

Living With the Project

For a time, the designers believed that cohabitation would solve most of their development challenges. After all, when you live under the same roof, collaboration feels effortless. You can brainstorm late at night, leave prototypes spread across the floor, and return to them over breakfast. They imagined that only a few focused months would be enough to polish their system, refine the story, and bring everything together.

Reality, however, was less forgiving. The prototypes demanded endless adjustments, and the pop-ups required far more refinement than expected. Entire mechanisms that looked elegant on paper would collapse or jam after just a few uses. The story needed more depth to carry the sense of wonder they envisioned. And worst of all, the timeline stretched further and further into the distance with each discovery.

Even with both designers living in the same place, the project refused to move quickly. Nights blurred together, fueled by tea and biscuits, with stacks of discarded prototypes growing higher than the successful ones. What kept them going was the shared conviction that they were building something worth the struggle — a game that would feel unlike anything else on a table.

The Weight of the Pop-Up

One of the greatest obstacles was also the project’s defining feature: the pop-ups themselves. Traditional pop-up books are meant to be admired. You turn the page, marvel at the artwork, then close it again. The delicate structures are rarely touched or interacted with beyond that simple motion.

But in a game, the demands are completely different. The structures had to withstand repeated handling, the placement of figures, the tension of moving parts, and the wear of being folded and unfolded over many plays. Each pop-up was not just a piece of art but a component of gameplay, required to hold weight, allow movement, and remain functional after dozens of uses.

That level of durability was difficult to achieve with paper. Reinforcements were needed. Folds had to be tested. Angles were adjusted over and over. Sometimes a mechanism would look perfect in theory but fail in practice, collapsing after a few uses. The designers realized they could not simply borrow techniques from children’s books. They had to adapt and re-engineer them for the rigors of gaming.

Endless Iteration

Iteration became the rhythm of their lives. Prototype after prototype was built, tested, and scrapped. Some versions leaned too heavily on complexity, overwhelming players with rules that distracted from the sense of magic. Others leaned too far into simplicity, losing the strategic depth that would keep players engaged.

What made the process particularly exhausting was the constant tug-of-war between ambition and practicality. Every new feature felt exciting, but each addition risked overcomplicating the experience or inflating production costs. They needed a balance that could satisfy their vision without collapsing under its own weight.

The solution, again, was to focus on elegance. They sought mechanisms that could achieve multiple goals at once: structures that looked impressive, contributed directly to gameplay, and were simple enough to manufacture reliably. Finding these solutions was painstaking, but each breakthrough felt like unlocking a hidden door in a labyrinth.

The Role of Story

While the mechanical side consumed hours of folding and gluing, the narrative side demanded just as much attention. From the beginning, the designers had wanted Wonder Book to be more than a visual gimmick. The pop-ups needed to support a story, not replace it. That meant creating a world players would care about, characters with depth, and dilemmas that felt meaningful.

This task was daunting. Narrative-driven games require massive amounts of content. Every chapter needs to be engaging, every decision must feel impactful, and the pacing has to flow naturally. Hundreds of cards had to be written, balanced, and tested, each one carefully placed to guide the adventure without overwhelming players with information.

The designers drew inspiration from other narrative-heavy games that had found success with structured storytelling and evolving campaigns. Yet they knew they could not simply copy those models. The integration of pop-ups demanded a different rhythm, one that blended spectacle with choice. Crafting that balance took countless rewrites, each one chipping away at rough edges until the story began to feel alive.

Time, Distance, and Disruptions

Adding to the difficulty were the personal realities of life. While they had once shared the same roof, circumstances eventually pulled the designers back into different cities and even different countries. Development once again became a remote effort, punctuated by long-distance communication and occasional in-person sessions.

Complicating matters further were the usual milestones of adulthood: new jobs, relocations, and even the arrival of children. Each change demanded time and energy, pulling focus away from the project just as deadlines loomed larger. Yet somehow, despite these obstacles, progress continued. It was slow, uneven, and often frustrating, but it never stopped completely.

The Harsh Economics of Paper

One of the most sobering lessons of development came when they learned just how expensive pop-ups were to produce at scale. Unlike flat boards and punch-out tokens, pop-ups required labor-intensive assembly. Every fold, tab, and glued joint represented extra cost. In publishing terms, this made Wonder Book an unusually risky venture.

Print runs for traditional pop-up books are usually massive, allowing costs to be spread across thousands of copies. Board games, however, are printed in far smaller quantities. That mismatch meant that each copy of the game carried a much higher price per unit than normal. To make the project viable, it would need to succeed on a larger scale than most niche titles.

This financial pressure weighed heavily on every design decision. Each additional pop-up element had to be justified not only in terms of creativity but also in terms of cost. Clever engineering could sometimes reduce expenses, but there were limits. Ultimately, the team had to make tough choices about which ideas stayed and which were cut, always mindful of the balance between affordability and impact.

Competition and Doubt

As if the challenges of design and production weren’t enough, the team also faced a creeping sense of competition. Rumors began to circulate about other games in development that featured pop-ups. For months, the thought haunted them: what if another team released something similar first? What if their years of work were overshadowed in an instant?

This fear created added pressure but also renewed determination. The designers doubled down on what made their vision unique. They reminded themselves that their game wasn’t just about spectacle; it was about weaving story, cooperation, and interactivity into the pop-up format. Even if others explored the same space, their approach remained distinct. Over time, that reassurance helped quiet the doubts, allowing them to focus on their own path.

Collaboration Expands

Throughout these struggles, collaboration with the publisher deepened. Far from being a passive partner, the publisher became actively involved in refining mechanics, shaping narrative flow, and stress-testing the durability of components. Dozens of iterations were sent back and forth, each one scrutinized for weaknesses.

Artists, too, joined the process, tasked with creating illustrations that not only looked beautiful but also worked seamlessly with the pop-up structures. Unlike traditional board game art, these illustrations had to function in three dimensions. Every line and color choice needed to consider how the paper would fold, where shadows would fall, and how players would interact with the scene. The complexity was immense, but the results promised to be spectacular.

The Pressure Builds

By this point, the project had stretched far beyond its original timeline. What was once imagined as a few months of work had become years. With each passing milestone, expectations grew higher. Partner publishers in multiple countries expressed interest, eager to see the finished product. Fans who had caught early glimpses at conventions buzzed with curiosity. The game had become more than a private experiment — it was a public promise that now had to be fulfilled.

The designers felt that weight acutely. Every decision mattered, not only for the quality of the game but also for the livelihood of everyone involved. If the project failed, it wouldn’t just be a personal disappointment. It would ripple outward, affecting publishers, artists, engineers, and the faith of players who believed in the concept.

Designing Wonder Book was never just about mechanics, nor was it only about visuals. It was about combining the two into a seamless gaming experience that invited players not only to play but to live inside the world we were building. The process from raw concept to the final game box was a journey full of experiments, failures, surprises, and thrilling discoveries. In this section of the diary, I want to take you behind the curtain and walk you through the path that transformed a single spark of imagination into the fully realized Wonder Book that now sits proudly on gaming shelves around the world.

The Initial Spark – Where Story Meets Mechanics

Every game starts with a seed, a single question or a “what if” moment that pushes the designer to explore uncharted ground. For Wonder Book, that spark was:

“What if a board game could feel like opening a storybook, where every page turn creates a new world and a new challenge?”

That idea immediately set the tone. This wasn’t going to be a traditional board game where the board sits static on the table. Instead, the “board” would itself be alive—a pop-up book bursting with movement, depth, and storytelling energy.

At first, it sounded impossible. Pop-up books are notoriously fragile, and board games need to endure repeated plays. Could we merge the tactile wonder of pop-ups with the repeatability of a strategy game? That was the challenge, and it shaped every design choice from day one.

Pop-Ups as Game Mechanics

The next step was figuring out how the pop-up elements would interact with core gaming mechanics. Pop-ups are naturally theatrical—they do something the moment you open a page. We realized this was an opportunity to fuse narrative and mechanics in a way rarely seen in tabletop games.

For example:

• A dragon suddenly emerging from the book wasn’t just a visual effect—it became an active challenge in the game. Players needed to respond to the dragon’s appearance through movement, resource use, and cooperative planning.

• Trees and buildings that “popped” up weren’t just decoration. They created verticality in the play area, influencing line of sight, movement possibilities, and even how enemies spawned.

• Hidden flaps and compartments within the book acted as natural ways to introduce new rules, surprises, or cards at the right moment.

This integration of form and function was perhaps the boldest part of the project. It wasn’t just storytelling, it was gaming storytelling—where the book wasn’t a passive backdrop but the engine of the game itself.

Story-Driven Gameplay

Mechanics alone weren’t enough. The entire point of Wonder Book was to feel like living inside a fairy tale, so the story had to be front and center. We opted for a campaign-style format, where each chapter of the book introduced a new stage of the narrative.

Designing the story was almost like writing a video game campaign—players would face escalating challenges, meet allies, confront enemies, and unlock mysteries. But unlike a video game, there were physical, tactile moments: actually flipping the page to reveal a new world, or pulling out hidden envelopes that contained crucial cards.

The cooperative nature of the game also played directly into the story’s emotional beats. Players weren’t just reading a fairy tale; they were heroes working together to protect the magical world inside the book. This made every victory feel communal and every defeat sting with shared frustration.

Balancing Wonder and Strategy

A constant challenge was maintaining the right balance between visual spectacle and solid, replayable strategy. Too much emphasis on the pop-up gimmick, and the game risked being dismissed as a novelty. Too much focus on mechanics, and we risked losing the magic of the concept.

We solved this by ensuring every pop-up element had a direct impact on strategy. For instance:

• The dragon’s tail might block player paths, forcing new tactical decisions.

• Towers revealed in later chapters created vantage points, letting players attack enemies from above.

• Secret pathways under the pop-up terrain opened new cooperative strategies.

This meant players weren’t just admiring the pop-ups—they were actively thinking about how to use or overcome them. The result was a game that appealed both to casual players (who loved the storybook magic) and to hobby gamers (who appreciated the tactical depth).

Iteration and Prototyping

Prototyping Wonder Book was unlike anything I had ever experienced as a designer. Traditional board game prototypes are made with cards, cardboard tiles, and tokens. For this project, we had to mock up crude versions of pop-ups to test how they would function mechanically.

Some highlights (and lowlights) of this phase:

• Prototype #1: A messy cardboard contraption that barely stood up on its own but gave us the first taste of how thrilling it felt to “open” a new chapter mid-game.

• Prototype #3: An early dragon model that looked impressive but collapsed under repeated use, teaching us the importance of durability.

• Prototype #6: The first successful integration of hidden flaps, which gave players that delightful “aha!” moment of discovery during playtests.

Each iteration brought us closer to understanding the delicate balance of aesthetics, mechanics, and durability. We also realized that manufacturing would be a massive hurdle, as traditional board game factories weren’t accustomed to producing intricate pop-up elements at scale.

6. The Role of Playtesting

Playtesting was where Wonder Book truly came alive. From the first moment players gasped as a dragon burst out of the page, we knew we were onto something special. But playtesting also revealed the cracks:

• Some players were so enamored with the visuals that they ignored the strategy, leading to unbalanced experiences.

• Others wanted clearer instructions on how to interact with the pop-ups, forcing us to refine rulebook clarity.

• The cooperative aspect sometimes created a “quarterbacking” problem, where one player dictated the group’s actions. To address this, we introduced mechanics that gave each player unique responsibilities, ensuring everyone stayed engaged.

Watching players laugh, shout, and lean in together as the story unfolded was a reminder of why we do this work. The energy in those sessions was electric, and it guided us toward making the game not just playable but unforgettable.

7. Manufacturing Challenges

One of the toughest parts of the journey was figuring out how to mass-produce the game without losing its quality. Pop-up engineering is a specialized skill, and the factories that could make high-quality pop-ups weren’t the same ones used to producing board games.

We had to:

• Partner with paper engineers who understood the mechanics of pop-ups.

• Work closely with factories to test materials that could survive repeated folding and unfolding.

• Ensure that the final product would fit inside a standard-sized box without sacrificing the “wow” factor.

There were sleepless nights spent worrying about whether the dragon’s wings would tear after ten plays, or whether players would accidentally break hidden components. But in the end, persistence and careful testing led to a durable design that could withstand repeated use.

8. The Emotional Core of Wonder

Beyond mechanics, story, and production, the real heart of Wonder Book was emotion. We wanted players to feel something every time they opened the book—curiosity, excitement, tension, and joy.

Moments like:

• The collective gasp when the first pop-up dragon appeared.

• The laughter when hidden elements revealed unexpected twists.

• The tension of working together against overwhelming odds.

The design of Wonder Book was a story of risks, creativity, and persistence. But a game’s life doesn’t end when it’s manufactured and boxed. In many ways, that’s only the beginning. Once players sit down to explore its pages, they breathe life into the world you’ve created. And in this final part of my diary, I want to explore what happened after Wonder Book left the studio: how it was received, what lessons it taught us, and what it means for the future of innovative game design.

1. The First Reactions – Awe, Curiosity, and Skepticism

When Wonder Book was first previewed at conventions, reactions came in waves. The striking cover art drew people in, but the moment that truly defined the game was when the book opened and the dragon rose from the center in full pop-up splendor.

I’ll never forget the first time a group of seasoned hobby gamers saw it. These were players who had tried hundreds of games and often prided themselves on their critical eye. As soon as the dragon unfolded, they leaned in, smiling like children rediscovering the magic of their first game night. That reaction was repeated countless times, across countries and audiences.

Of course, alongside the awe, there was skepticism:

• “Will this hold up after repeated plays?”

• “Is it just a gimmick, or does it have depth?”

• “How replayable is it once the story is done?”

These questions were fair, and they reflected the careful balance we had tried to strike. A pop-up campaign game was unusual, and unusual things often provoke doubt.

2. Critical Reception – The Blend of Story and Game

When reviews started arriving, they highlighted exactly the aspects we had hoped players would notice. Critics praised the way Wonder Book blended tactile wonder with meaningful cooperative mechanics. They called it:

• “A storybook come to life on the gaming table.”

• “A rare mix of visual spectacle and strategic gameplay.”

• “An adventure that feels truly shared.”

The cooperative nature of the game was especially well received by families and mixed-experience groups. Players didn’t feel excluded by steep learning curves, but they still had opportunities to strategize and contribute. For many, Wonder Book became a “bridge game”—one that could connect casual players with hobby gamers.

However, reviews also raised constructive critiques:

• Some noted that once the campaign was complete, replayability diminished, as the surprises had already been revealed.

• Others pointed out that while the mechanics were clever, hardcore strategy gamers might find them lighter than expected.

These were important reminders. No game can be everything to everyone, but being aware of its place on the spectrum helps both designers and players set expectations.

3. The Community Response – Shared Stories

Perhaps the most rewarding part of the game’s release was hearing stories from the community. Players shared their experiences online:

• Families telling us about children gasping in delight when the first pop-up appeared.

• Couples who played through the campaign together, treating it like a series of date nights.

• Groups of friends who made inside jokes about characters or moments from the story that lived on long after the game was packed away.

The idea that people weren’t just playing the game but building memories around it was profoundly moving. It showed that the emotional design we had strived for—the sense of wonder, surprise, and cooperation—was resonating with real people in their real lives.

 Industry Impact – Expanding the Definition of a Game

The release of Wonder Book sparked conversations in the board gaming industry about what a tabletop experience could be. Could more games use physical transformations—like pop-ups, folding boards, or hidden compartments—to heighten immersion? Could storytelling and spectacle be designed hand-in-hand with mechanics instead of tacked on afterward?

Other designers reached out, curious about the challenges of working with unusual components. Publishers took note of how strongly the community responded to something different. In its own way, Wonder Book nudged the industry toward embracing riskier, more imaginative projects.

Player Reflections – The Magic of Shared Play

The most common feedback we heard from players wasn’t about mechanics or strategy—it was about togetherness. People spoke of how the game encouraged teamwork, how it gave quieter players a voice, and how the story pulled everyone in equally.

For children, it was often their first taste of campaign-style gaming. For adults, it was a refreshing break from the dry euro-style strategy games or the heavy competitiveness of other titles. Wonder Book reminded players that games could be joyful, surprising, and deeply social.

No designer looks back at a project without wondering how they might improve it. For me, a few areas stand out:

• Replayability Options: I would explore modular story paths or alternate endings to extend the campaign’s lifespan.

• Scaling Challenge: While the game worked well for families, I’d consider optional “hard mode” rules for veteran gamers seeking a tougher strategic puzzle.

• Digital Companion Integration: A light digital app could add atmospheric music, voiceovers, or random events without replacing the tactile core of the game.

These aren’t regrets, but opportunities. Every design is a snapshot in time, and the next one always benefits from the lessons of the last.

Final Thoughts

Looking back over the long path that led to Wonder Book, I realize that its story is not only about one game but also about the philosophy of design itself. It began as a spark of imagination—what if a board game could be a storybook you opened together?—and grew into a full-fledged experiment in combining storytelling, spectacle, and strategy.

The journey wasn’t easy. Every stage demanded trade-offs and careful balancing: between narrative and mechanics, between innovation and accessibility, between durability and beauty. There were moments of doubt, times when prototypes crumbled, and nights when the challenges of manufacturing pop-ups at scale seemed insurmountable. But those challenges were what gave the project its soul.

What makes me proudest isn’t just the dragon bursting from the page, or the clever puzzles woven into the campaign. It’s the way Wonder Book reminded people of the magic of play. Watching groups lean in, laugh, gasp, and strategize together showed me that the heart of gaming is always about connection. Rules and components are the tools, but the true product of a game is the memory it leaves behind.

I also learned that not every game has to aim for endless replay. Some experiences are powerful precisely because they are singular. Just like reading a favorite novel or finishing a beloved film, the memory of Wonder Book lingers even after the pages have closed. That, too, is a kind of replayability—one etched into the emotions of players rather than the mechanics of the box.

For players, I hope the game delivered more than entertainment. I hope it offers wonder, curiosity, and the joy of discovery. Whether played as a family’s weekend campaign, a couple’s storytelling adventure, or a gaming group’s shared journey, it was always meant to be a space where imagination and cooperation could flourish.