Rebirth of the Gamer
Posted 7th September 2009 at 05:10 AM by pawsplay
In the course of a long-time gamer's life, the gamer is likely to experience the opposing forces of nostalgia and desire for novelty. We yearn for the innocent past, and embrace even the campiest objects if they remind us of those experiences. Conversely, wordliness leads us to seek new experiences, to be broadened, and to escape the hum-drum of the familiar. I suspect these are the basic forces, working in tandem, that have led to the "retro-gaming" movement. Like post-punk and like post-modern comic books, it would be difficult to describe any particular set of aesthetics that defines the milieu as a whole. Rather, the commonality lies in the texts to which these later creators and re-interpreters are responding.
Rather than identifying with the retro-gaming movement, I have chosen a different path to fulfill my needs for the dynamic as well as the familiar. While the mantle of the old school gamer has been largely claimed by retro-gamers and never-convert grogards, there remains a substantial zone for players who are interested in growth as gamers and creators but who also prize some of the aesthetics that drew them into gaming in the first place. Rather than wallowing in nostalgia or playing with surface text, I have tried to identify what, individually and collectively, were the sensory, social, and aesthetic experiences that drew me into gaming.
On a tangible level, I have to say that I love dice. I love looking at them, touching them, collecting them, and acquiring them. While the use of multiple polyhedrals is about as old school as you can get, I have to confess I relish any opportunity to break out the dicebag. I was probably 18 before I realized that Crown Royal bags came from bottles of liquor. I also love miniatures. Before the computer age and the dawn of customizable avatars, miniatures were an area where non-artists like myself could express themselves visually and revel in the spectacle of play. I might as well add maps and graph paper. There is something thrilling about wilderness maps in hexes dotted with little icons, and my youngest gaming years were filled with hours of arranging tunnels and countries on little maps. A few books or GM screens with exciting graphics is useful. While I have moved on from Mountain Dew, a Cherry Coke, glass of iced tea, or seltzer water still provides a fine beverage to consume. Character sheets... how I love the gleam of black and white graphical design, or conversely, the look of faux parchment.
Socially, I loved delving into an imaginary world for hours at a time with friends. We joked, hung out, and occasionally argued. For myself, gaming was very much tied up in my experience as a teenager. As an adult, I still crave regular communion on nerdly matters as well as uninterrupted "game time." While having children has complicated matters, this remains a priority in my general happiness.
Aesthetically, I like the use of images to suggest an imaginary world. For all that it is "useless," good gaming artwork is, to an extent, the game. While the design and writing itself supply the game mechanics, without an imaginary world, you are not going to get much game. Thus, artwork, writing, and loads of not directly relevant information is an important part of a game. I love both fantasy and supers. I enjoy historical games, but when I play one, I want it to be really historical. I like a variety of game mechanics. What I am interested in is the final elegance. Levels, in D&D, mark your progress as a monster-bashing, treasure-seeking adventurer, while dice pools in WEG's old Star Wars offered a "go ahead and try it" attitude sadly lacking in many other action-based games. GURPS provides a general framework for thousands of years of history and dozens of distinct genres, as well as your own strange ideas. Hero System plays well on a hex map, but can move beyond the map when needed, as well. I like a game book that is a good read as well as a good manual, a teaching text as well as a reference, and as pleasurable as useful. I like a book to have the personality of an author living inside it. Books by committee are rarely my favorite, although I value strong design and editing teams.
In many ways, I have gotten far afield from my roots. GURPS, D6 Star Wars and DC Heroes seduced me away from bags of polyhedral dice, while "modern" games like Hero System 4e, Vampire, and Teenagers From Outer Space taught me I could dispense with a map. While some indie presses lovingly pack their books with color graphics or at least the occasional quarter page B&W piece, many seem to have moved more toward a "how much art do you need to play?" design choice. Gaming had been harder and harder to schedule for a long time, and as a 20-year-old, I noticed I didn't game very much and briefly wondered if my gaming days were over, and if indeed I missed it. Many of my college peers grew up and moved on, though I am still in touch with some. The modern game is frequently more the result of "design meetings" than authorial vision, although there are some breakout products liek Mutants & Masterminds which bear the stamp of personal genius. If you want to hear an author speaking the language of games, most often, that means an indie press or garage press outfit.
But I have arrived. I am now a happier gamer than I have been in a while. I now try to keep a number of games handy, with a high priority on games that involve toys or visual graphics, whether it's the bag-o-dice I use for Pathfinder or the slick superhero graphics of M&M or the lushness of a full color GURPS supplement. I have a (mostly) weekly game that I try to keep regularly, pausing only for a few months every so often for a new baby, and as I escape from graduate school, I'm hoping to do a con or two in the future. In terms of design, I have bookcases now full of variety and novelty. I have Pathfinder for that campaign-as-power-climb experience, GURPS for character-driven realistic or dramatic games, Hero for blow-by-blow high action games or high-powered superheroes, and even Runequest when I want to kick it old school, with all-too-mortal adventurers risking their lives on the throw of a percentile. I have mostly unburdened myself of awkward or difficult to play games, apart from a handful of oddities kept for educational purposes, like the bogglingly unusuable Fantasy Wargaming (1981) or a printing of V&V revised in all its quirky glory. Star Wars Saga? Fun, but I just didn't like it, gone. Hero System 4e? I like 5e, but 4e had some good points, so now I own both. GURPS 4e? Great game, love it. Ars Magica? How do you get players to learn the system? Gone.
I think a lot of gamers could gain a lot by looking past the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, by pausing in their quest for the next new thing, to instead look at the core of their gaming experience. I think by being honest with ourselves about what we like, we avoid the trap of thinking we are too mature to hunt kobolds for silver pieces or too cool to play an emo-fest like Vampire, when in fact there is a lot of good gaming to be had if you look beyond labels. Certainly, as strange and quirky as it was, and as dated as the graphics are now, you could take Basic D&D and show it to a new gamer and they would see there is a fun game there (though not necessarily to everyone's taste). There is nothing wrong with taking an OOP game and playing it for what it's worth, or conversely, taking something new and making it newer yet, if it will get you the experience you are looking for on game night. Gaming is very much about experiences, and labeling yourself or others really stands in the way of experiencing the power of an improvisational, partially chance-driven game that helps you tell stories about imaginary people doing amazing things. Certainly, the never-ending search for The Perfect Game is doomed to end in failure and dissatisfaction.
Rather than identifying with the retro-gaming movement, I have chosen a different path to fulfill my needs for the dynamic as well as the familiar. While the mantle of the old school gamer has been largely claimed by retro-gamers and never-convert grogards, there remains a substantial zone for players who are interested in growth as gamers and creators but who also prize some of the aesthetics that drew them into gaming in the first place. Rather than wallowing in nostalgia or playing with surface text, I have tried to identify what, individually and collectively, were the sensory, social, and aesthetic experiences that drew me into gaming.
On a tangible level, I have to say that I love dice. I love looking at them, touching them, collecting them, and acquiring them. While the use of multiple polyhedrals is about as old school as you can get, I have to confess I relish any opportunity to break out the dicebag. I was probably 18 before I realized that Crown Royal bags came from bottles of liquor. I also love miniatures. Before the computer age and the dawn of customizable avatars, miniatures were an area where non-artists like myself could express themselves visually and revel in the spectacle of play. I might as well add maps and graph paper. There is something thrilling about wilderness maps in hexes dotted with little icons, and my youngest gaming years were filled with hours of arranging tunnels and countries on little maps. A few books or GM screens with exciting graphics is useful. While I have moved on from Mountain Dew, a Cherry Coke, glass of iced tea, or seltzer water still provides a fine beverage to consume. Character sheets... how I love the gleam of black and white graphical design, or conversely, the look of faux parchment.
Socially, I loved delving into an imaginary world for hours at a time with friends. We joked, hung out, and occasionally argued. For myself, gaming was very much tied up in my experience as a teenager. As an adult, I still crave regular communion on nerdly matters as well as uninterrupted "game time." While having children has complicated matters, this remains a priority in my general happiness.
Aesthetically, I like the use of images to suggest an imaginary world. For all that it is "useless," good gaming artwork is, to an extent, the game. While the design and writing itself supply the game mechanics, without an imaginary world, you are not going to get much game. Thus, artwork, writing, and loads of not directly relevant information is an important part of a game. I love both fantasy and supers. I enjoy historical games, but when I play one, I want it to be really historical. I like a variety of game mechanics. What I am interested in is the final elegance. Levels, in D&D, mark your progress as a monster-bashing, treasure-seeking adventurer, while dice pools in WEG's old Star Wars offered a "go ahead and try it" attitude sadly lacking in many other action-based games. GURPS provides a general framework for thousands of years of history and dozens of distinct genres, as well as your own strange ideas. Hero System plays well on a hex map, but can move beyond the map when needed, as well. I like a game book that is a good read as well as a good manual, a teaching text as well as a reference, and as pleasurable as useful. I like a book to have the personality of an author living inside it. Books by committee are rarely my favorite, although I value strong design and editing teams.
In many ways, I have gotten far afield from my roots. GURPS, D6 Star Wars and DC Heroes seduced me away from bags of polyhedral dice, while "modern" games like Hero System 4e, Vampire, and Teenagers From Outer Space taught me I could dispense with a map. While some indie presses lovingly pack their books with color graphics or at least the occasional quarter page B&W piece, many seem to have moved more toward a "how much art do you need to play?" design choice. Gaming had been harder and harder to schedule for a long time, and as a 20-year-old, I noticed I didn't game very much and briefly wondered if my gaming days were over, and if indeed I missed it. Many of my college peers grew up and moved on, though I am still in touch with some. The modern game is frequently more the result of "design meetings" than authorial vision, although there are some breakout products liek Mutants & Masterminds which bear the stamp of personal genius. If you want to hear an author speaking the language of games, most often, that means an indie press or garage press outfit.
But I have arrived. I am now a happier gamer than I have been in a while. I now try to keep a number of games handy, with a high priority on games that involve toys or visual graphics, whether it's the bag-o-dice I use for Pathfinder or the slick superhero graphics of M&M or the lushness of a full color GURPS supplement. I have a (mostly) weekly game that I try to keep regularly, pausing only for a few months every so often for a new baby, and as I escape from graduate school, I'm hoping to do a con or two in the future. In terms of design, I have bookcases now full of variety and novelty. I have Pathfinder for that campaign-as-power-climb experience, GURPS for character-driven realistic or dramatic games, Hero for blow-by-blow high action games or high-powered superheroes, and even Runequest when I want to kick it old school, with all-too-mortal adventurers risking their lives on the throw of a percentile. I have mostly unburdened myself of awkward or difficult to play games, apart from a handful of oddities kept for educational purposes, like the bogglingly unusuable Fantasy Wargaming (1981) or a printing of V&V revised in all its quirky glory. Star Wars Saga? Fun, but I just didn't like it, gone. Hero System 4e? I like 5e, but 4e had some good points, so now I own both. GURPS 4e? Great game, love it. Ars Magica? How do you get players to learn the system? Gone.
I think a lot of gamers could gain a lot by looking past the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, by pausing in their quest for the next new thing, to instead look at the core of their gaming experience. I think by being honest with ourselves about what we like, we avoid the trap of thinking we are too mature to hunt kobolds for silver pieces or too cool to play an emo-fest like Vampire, when in fact there is a lot of good gaming to be had if you look beyond labels. Certainly, as strange and quirky as it was, and as dated as the graphics are now, you could take Basic D&D and show it to a new gamer and they would see there is a fun game there (though not necessarily to everyone's taste). There is nothing wrong with taking an OOP game and playing it for what it's worth, or conversely, taking something new and making it newer yet, if it will get you the experience you are looking for on game night. Gaming is very much about experiences, and labeling yourself or others really stands in the way of experiencing the power of an improvisational, partially chance-driven game that helps you tell stories about imaginary people doing amazing things. Certainly, the never-ending search for The Perfect Game is doomed to end in failure and dissatisfaction.
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