Playing Dungeons and Dragons is a lot like writing a term paper. Both are worth doing right, and you can always tell when somebody is doing it wrong. What does doing it right entail? A metric ton of research, hours of weighing the options, and always being willing to shift your ideas and focus. You see, to make a dynamic D&D story, it requires solid writing habits. The kinds of habits enforced and modeled in a creative writing process.
Let me just say two things. Firstly, I am a huge geek. I’m pretty sure that was made apparent in the first paragraph of this narrative. Secondly, it is my belief that there is a lot more to Dungeons and Dragons than clicky-dice and fighting imaginary monsters. A Dungeons and Dragons game, if done right, can be one of the most insightful looks into both the process of creative writing, and the technicalities of game design.
I’ve been playing the game since I was eleven years old. I was always a player, (think a character in a book.) not a game master, (think the writer of a book) The latter of the two is much more difficult to do right. While being a player is akin to being a (more active) audience in the story, being the game master forces you to create the world, the other characters, and most importantly, write the story.
So when one of my closest friends approached me and said, “Kam, you should be a game master.” I was petrified. Then I thought to myself. “Let’s see, I don’t have the time in a week to plan a weekly story, I’ve never done anything of the sort, I don’t know where I’d begin, and I’m pretty sure I’d hate getting up in the morning.” So of course I said “Yes!”
Let me just say two things. Firstly, I am a huge geek. I’m pretty sure that was made apparent in the first paragraph of this narrative. Secondly, it is my belief that there is a lot more to Dungeons and Dragons than clicky-dice and fighting imaginary monsters. A Dungeons and Dragons game, if done right, can be one of the most insightful looks into both the process of creative writing, and the technicalities of game design.
I’ve been playing the game since I was eleven years old. I was always a player, (think a character in a book.) not a game master, (think the writer of a book) The latter of the two is much more difficult to do right. While being a player is akin to being a (more active) audience in the story, being the game master forces you to create the world, the other characters, and most importantly, write the story.
So when one of my closest friends approached me and said, “Kam, you should be a game master.” I was petrified. Then I thought to myself. “Let’s see, I don’t have the time in a week to plan a weekly story, I’ve never done anything of the sort, I don’t know where I’d begin, and I’m pretty sure I’d hate getting up in the morning.” So of course I said “Yes!”
Little did I know what I was getting myself into, and how much I would learn from it. After convincing my brother and a few friends, we made a gaming group, meeting every Saturday 10 AM sharp.
To put it generously, things were “rocky” at the start. No wait, “rocky” isn’t nearly a mean enough word to describe how terrible my writing was. The plot was barely coherent, mostly being made up on the spot. The side characters were as bland as a popsicle stick, and the villain was nothing more than an evil sorcerer on top of a giant tower with a pet dragon. It was not my best work.
I eventually saw that. Instead of wallowing in self-despair like I usually do, I asked my group “What’s wrong with my game?” To my surprise, it wasn’t the rules I had made up, but rather, the actual writing itself.
“We need less linearity! Let us have choice!” exclaimed the group’s wizard.
“More fighting! All we do is talk to people!” said the warrior.
“We need a good villain. Our villain is too cliché.” stated the thief.
The players (readers) saw all the flaws holding my game (story) back, and were critiquing me. They were never mean about it, but instead, kept encouraging me to make the story stronger. The best advice they gave me was to try creating the story in a different way.
Cut to spring break. All of my friends were traveling except for me. We couldn’t meet up that week. So what did I do? I bought three spiral notebooks, brewed a pot of coffee and started
To put it generously, things were “rocky” at the start. No wait, “rocky” isn’t nearly a mean enough word to describe how terrible my writing was. The plot was barely coherent, mostly being made up on the spot. The side characters were as bland as a popsicle stick, and the villain was nothing more than an evil sorcerer on top of a giant tower with a pet dragon. It was not my best work.
I eventually saw that. Instead of wallowing in self-despair like I usually do, I asked my group “What’s wrong with my game?” To my surprise, it wasn’t the rules I had made up, but rather, the actual writing itself.
“We need less linearity! Let us have choice!” exclaimed the group’s wizard.
“More fighting! All we do is talk to people!” said the warrior.
“We need a good villain. Our villain is too cliché.” stated the thief.
The players (readers) saw all the flaws holding my game (story) back, and were critiquing me. They were never mean about it, but instead, kept encouraging me to make the story stronger. The best advice they gave me was to try creating the story in a different way.
Cut to spring break. All of my friends were traveling except for me. We couldn’t meet up that week. So what did I do? I bought three spiral notebooks, brewed a pot of coffee and started
writing. Everything that came into my head was to be written in the first spiral notebook. This was my first draft notebook, I wasn’t worried about the structure or relevance, as long as it was writing, and exploring story. The second notebook was for organizing all the good ideas that came out of the first book. The third notebook… was just another spiral notebook. I thought I needed one for English.
Eventually, this became a ritual. Each day I got up extra early to plan out my thoughts. I was only accompanied with the cold silence of morning, the scutter of my pencil, and the warmth of coffee. If “Zen” is a real thing, then I think I found it.
Nonetheless, using this method to write my stories taught me two things. First: coffee is the greatest smell in the entire world. Nothing will change that. Second: The only way to achieve successful storytelling results is to go through the processes of writing. Eventually, I even started taking that first notebook everywhere I went, writing down every possible idea that came to mind.
While going through my notebooks, one idea in particular stood out. “A crazed king with a motivation that made him reasonable. “ I transcribed my drafts and put some of my process here:
Someone should make Kefka from Final Fantasy VI with reasonable motives.
What if the group had two opposing sides without a clear idea of who was good and bad?
This can’t be just about talking, conflicts need to get emotional enough to have the players want to cause a change and fight for it.
Wait, what if I made one of the people they trusted betray them?
What would happen if the players had to take a side between the good king with a bad idea, or the bad wizard with a
Eventually, this became a ritual. Each day I got up extra early to plan out my thoughts. I was only accompanied with the cold silence of morning, the scutter of my pencil, and the warmth of coffee. If “Zen” is a real thing, then I think I found it.
Nonetheless, using this method to write my stories taught me two things. First: coffee is the greatest smell in the entire world. Nothing will change that. Second: The only way to achieve successful storytelling results is to go through the processes of writing. Eventually, I even started taking that first notebook everywhere I went, writing down every possible idea that came to mind.
While going through my notebooks, one idea in particular stood out. “A crazed king with a motivation that made him reasonable. “ I transcribed my drafts and put some of my process here:
Someone should make Kefka from Final Fantasy VI with reasonable motives.
What if the group had two opposing sides without a clear idea of who was good and bad?
This can’t be just about talking, conflicts need to get emotional enough to have the players want to cause a change and fight for it.
Wait, what if I made one of the people they trusted betray them?
What would happen if the players had to take a side between the good king with a bad idea, or the bad wizard with a
good idea?
You know how the players are heroes? What if they couldn’t save someone?
What if the players couldn’t save someone they had emotional connection to?
That has to be my conflict.
After spring break, we all got together again. This time, we had a fresh start brimming with new ideas. When we first started playing way back when, the story was weak, and the players were bored. When we met up after spring break, the opposite happened. My friends loved the new changes and story. There was a constant conflict that kept everyone interested, and everyone wanted to contribute to the story. All my hard work of going through the process was paying off and teaching me at the same time. Sessions flew by. Eventually we were playing two to three hours past when we were supposed to be done. It was a fantastic experience that became everyone’s story. Nobody could wait for next week’s chapter.
However, all stories have a beginning, middle, and end. Mine eventually had to end. Somehow, fate conspired to make the last part of the story work, because it ended the day after we graduated high school. The last session was incredibly cathartic, feeling like the true conclusion to both our high school adventures, and our fantasy adventures.
By the end of it all I learned three things. The first thing was that I could design games. I didn’t use the D&D rulebooks, in my opinion; they constrict too much, and make aspects of the game too complicated. Or as stated by Richard Garfield “no one except the most hardened of players actually read rules,” (86) Which is exactly what happened to me. I didn’t want the rules toslow down storytelling. Because I put that much focus into that aspect, the group loved my rules.
Second, I learned that I am in fact, creative. Before I only put myself down, and had doubt that I could write anything fun or entertaining for people. All I needed to make something fun, was a push in the right direction. As a plus, my audience let me know what worked and what didn’t. I think I can safely say that making this D&D story gave me the confidence to continue writing.
Third, I learned that I could write. I may not be the next Steven King or J.K. Rowling, but give me time, and I could churn out a great story. I learned good writing comes from creatively experimenting, listening to feedback, and knowing your audience. Or in another way to look at it, I learned that writing was simply daring and drafting. Or as I like to say, D&D.
You know how the players are heroes? What if they couldn’t save someone?
What if the players couldn’t save someone they had emotional connection to?
That has to be my conflict.
After spring break, we all got together again. This time, we had a fresh start brimming with new ideas. When we first started playing way back when, the story was weak, and the players were bored. When we met up after spring break, the opposite happened. My friends loved the new changes and story. There was a constant conflict that kept everyone interested, and everyone wanted to contribute to the story. All my hard work of going through the process was paying off and teaching me at the same time. Sessions flew by. Eventually we were playing two to three hours past when we were supposed to be done. It was a fantastic experience that became everyone’s story. Nobody could wait for next week’s chapter.
However, all stories have a beginning, middle, and end. Mine eventually had to end. Somehow, fate conspired to make the last part of the story work, because it ended the day after we graduated high school. The last session was incredibly cathartic, feeling like the true conclusion to both our high school adventures, and our fantasy adventures.
By the end of it all I learned three things. The first thing was that I could design games. I didn’t use the D&D rulebooks, in my opinion; they constrict too much, and make aspects of the game too complicated. Or as stated by Richard Garfield “no one except the most hardened of players actually read rules,” (86) Which is exactly what happened to me. I didn’t want the rules toslow down storytelling. Because I put that much focus into that aspect, the group loved my rules.
Second, I learned that I am in fact, creative. Before I only put myself down, and had doubt that I could write anything fun or entertaining for people. All I needed to make something fun, was a push in the right direction. As a plus, my audience let me know what worked and what didn’t. I think I can safely say that making this D&D story gave me the confidence to continue writing.
That.... was a good game.
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