Theme and rising action are built into (part of the intent of) the rules of some games, and communicated by them. Maybe not everyone notices that, but it's there to see. This comes back to prospective play. When I read a game text, I imagine the play - that gives me a taste of the experience it will offer at the table. I think such qualities are in some sense a property of the cues, else how does one explain one set of cues more likely having those consequences than another.
The explanation is that
X causes Y doesn't mean that
Y is a property of X.
Consider vehicles powered by internal combustion engines. One might go faster than another: that is a result of (perhaps) engine design, or transmission design, or body design, or . . . . It doesn't follow that
speed or
maximum speed or
typical speed is a property of any of those vehicle components.
One might have a greater range than another: that is a result of (perhaps) fuel capacity, or fuel efficiency due to engine design, or fuel efficiency due to transmission design, or . . . . It doesn't follow that
maximum range or
typical range before refuelling is required is a property of any of those vehicle components.
Like you, I can sometimes read a RPG rulebook and imagine the play it might lead to, if its instructions are followed. I assume that a skilled driver or automotive engineer can read the specs for a motor vehicle and imagine how it might perform, what its speed and handling and range and so on will be like. But that doesn't mean that the specs for a vehicle are faster or slower or more or less efficient, or possess any of the salient properties that the reader is imagining the vehicle having. Likewise for a RPG rulebook.
This point can be made by reference to concrete examples: Burning Wheel, played as set out in its rulebook, is more likely to produce theme and rising action than AD&D as set out in Gygax's PHB. But that doesn't mean that there is theme or rising action
in the BW rulebook. Both the BW rulebook and Gygax's PHB are colourful reads, but the properties of them as reads are not the properties of the fiction that will result from playing the game they provide instructions for.
what is it like to conceive a rule. How does that happen? A notion I've considered is something that could be labelled "prospective play", where the designer has not seen their rule elsewhere nor yet played it, but they're able to imagine how it would be played. They turn it over in their mind and think about how it could go.
To me at least, I don't see that RPG design is going to be any different from other sorts of design or authorship or composition, except that it is probably at the simpler end (compared to, say, the very complex technical designs that engineers are involved in).
I mean, I don't know how much of this sort of drafting you have done or thought about. I've got a reasonable amount of experience, not so much in relation to RPGs (though I've probably written as many house rules as the next ENW poster) but in relation to written rule-promulgating instruments. I've studied statutes quite closely, have taught and published on both the theory and practice of statutory interpretation, and have assisted in the drafting of policies and procedures in the institutions in which I work. My experience is that most people - even very clever people - who have not had much of the sort of experience I have had are terrible drafters, in multiple ways: they are unable to come up with clear language that actually sets out the norm they wish to implement; and they are unable to think clearly about how the norm they wish to implement will interact with other norms in the neighbourhood, with the various sorts of corner cases that inevitably arise, etc. (One can see both problems being manifested in the way WotC has drafted the Steath and the two-weapon rules in the new PHB, and the ensuing discussions/complaints about these rules.)
I think this is an area where the quality of RPG design has improved, due to the gaining of experience and also greater intellectual grasp of what is involved. (I suspect the same is probably true of boardgames more generally, but that would be a bigger claim.) It's clear, for instance, that many of the rules in Gygax's rulebooks - especially his DMG - are conceived of in an ad hoc fashion, in response to particular situations that have arisen in play, without any systematic attempt to think about how they relate to the broader context or dynamics of play, how they might contribute to a certain "feel" in play, etc. It's also clear that, to the extent that Gygax did have an understanding of the broader context and dynamics of the play he was aiming for, he was only partially successful in reducing that to writing in his rulebooks. (His efforts in this respect reach their peak success in the AD&D PHB's discussion of Successful Adventures.)
But in any event, none of this directly affects the proposition that the fictions created in the process of RPGing are not edited. And its indirect relevance is this: if a RPG designer cares about the properities of the fictions that will be generated via their game they will recall that that fiction is a bit very lightly edited, and hence will design rules that are apt to generate the desired properties
first time around. Baker's design of the GM-side of the AW rulebooks is perhaps a par-excellence illustration of how to achieve such design. Conversely, there are chunks of Gygax's DMG, and even moreso of the whole Rolemaster corpus, that could serve as examples of what not to do: rules that are designed with no eye at all on the sort of fiction they will produce first time around, but rather only with an eye to the mathematical and wargame-y features of play.
Playtesting then forms an extension of prospective play. The aim is to see what effect the rules will most likely have on conversations. Taking rehearsal as an activity done to secure that a performance goes as planned, I had in mind a notion of rehearsing on behalf of. One might discover that the wording of a prompt tended to produce conversation Q when one wanted more to see R. There's a strong connection between playtesting and a game text's performance at tables, which led me to contemplate it as a "prospective rehearsal".
There is a strong connection between
what a composer writes down in the score and
what an orchestra will produce when they perform that scored piece; that doesn't mean that the composition is rehearsal. There is a strong connection between
how a rocket performs during test firings and
whether or not it will take its payload and astronauts to the moon; that doesn't make a test firing a moon journey. A cook testing a recipe, and adjusting it to see if it works, is not the same thing as another person practising their own preparation of that dish.
There are many passages of text that I've read and re-read - non-fiction technical texts (eg monographs, articles, judgments, RPG rules) as well as creative texts (eg novels) - to better understand what is going on in them. I imagine that the authors of those texts might have, at least in some cases, read and re-read and re-written those passages, just as I have done in my own writing. But those authors were not "reading on behalf of me". They were authoring. My reading is my own.
To put it more generally: there is no such thing as "rehearsing on behalf of". That is simply perfecting one's own design, so that the designed thing will do its thing properly when others use it.
Design and composition; perfecting that through iteration; communicating it to others via a written set of instructions; others then using those instructions; and others perfecting their own performance (via rehearsal) so that when they perform without the chance for editing it will go well - these are all different things.
The important point is to understand playtesting as a bridge between designer and players, that enables designer to procure (but not guarantee!) that players perform along lines they intend, where rehearsals by said players are going to be ruled out.
But playtesting is no more a bridge between designer and player than any other part of the design process: writing down the rules, for instance, and even conceiving of them in the first instance. Playtesting is one important way of perfecting the rules; but careful editing (in the conventional sense) of how the rules are written is also important. All these are ways in which the designer perfects their conception of what it is that they are trying to design, and their communication of that conception to others.
And while players in RPGs typically don't
rehearse, they do practise, and in that way they do get better. In their practice they may even discover possibilities that the designer didn't conceive of. (This was especially common early on, when the possibilities of this genre of game were still being discovered, and quickly outstripped what Arneson and Gygax themselves seemed to have imagined.) How closely we should connect this practice to rehearsal will depend on specifics: is practising one's chess openings, or one's M:tG play against a deck that is well-known in the current "meta", or a particular set of combat interactions between the PCs in a D&D party, also a mode of
rehearsal? (Eg imagine a group getting ready to go to an AD&D tournament c 1980 with the intention of winning it.) Not always, but maybe sometimes that makes sense as a way of thinking about it.
In any event, I don't think that there is any tight connection between
the significance of playtesting, and the perfection of design more generally, and the degree to which RPG players practise and (perhaps, in some cases) rehearse. Even if you knew that the users of your design would practise a lot, you'd still want to perfect your design, and playtesting would likely be part of that.
It seems you're thinking of editing as largely a matter of arrangement, while I have in mind artistic choices made to achieve a creative intent.
That is not editing, is it?
When Wagner decided to adopt a particular approach to the relationship between voice and instrumentation in The Rhinegold, that was not an editorial decision.
To step down a level of artistry, when Wilkie Collins decided to use the form of letters and diary entries for The Woman in White, that wasn't an editorial decision either.
Editing is a process of improvement of delivery of content by honing the "vehicle" whereby that content is delivered. Editing might reveal the need for new artistry, or prompt new artistry - perhaps the editor notes that a particular passage is falling flat, and that leads the author to conceive of an entirely new way of doing what that passage was intended to do. But in these sorts of cases I think it is helpful to retain the distinction between what is editorial, and what is authorial.
The best way to judge the aesthetic impact a recipe has is by testing (tasting) it, and after doing so one might decide to leave it out of the book. Not because it fails as a recipe, but because the chef has a creative intent for this book and it doesn't fit their present intent.
<snip>
I am saying that noticing a rule (or any game element for that matter) fails to meet one's creative intent and cutting it is editorial.
An editor might read a recipe, and then - based on their skill as a cook or a gourmand - imagine what sort of food it would produce, and on that basis query whether it coheres with the book as overall conceived. That can be part of the editorial role: pushing the author on the coherence or tightness of their conception.
Maybe the same conclusion is reached not by imagining, but by actually following the recipe and making the dish. That doesn't mean that cooking something is editing.
Play-testing may prompt decisions about what to cut from a RPG rulebook. That doesn't mean that the play-testing is editing; nor that anyone else's play, using the edited book, is itself edited. Whether the cutting of the rule counts as editing or not may be a matter of degree. (Likewise for the recipe.) If the decision is made at an early stage, as part of the process of conceiving of the point of the work, it is less likely to count as editing than if it is made towards the end, as part of the process of perfecting the work's communication of its point. Even then, we may want to say that the author who decides how to respond to the editorial prompt is making authorial, not editorial, decisions. This is not of purely abstract relevance - it matters, for instance, in decisions about who gets credited as an author and who gets acknowledged for their editorial assistance. Within academia, different disciplines have their own conventions and understandings here; likewise, I would imagine, in other fields. In RPGing this also feeds into the designer/developer contrast - whereas normally I would assume that the
editing credit in a RPG book is more about layout, copyediting and general qualities of the text, rather than about deciding what should be in or out in a substantive sense of serving the purpose of the game.