barsoomcore
Unattainable Ideal
I was reflecting on why I like role-playing games so much and what it is specifically about them that I like -- and not to leave you in suspense, it's the chance to share and build something in cooperation with other people, to create a story that depends on all of us contributing in order to truly come to life. When a game takes off, everybody gets caught up in it and anything can happen and it's really exciting. It goes beyond the realm of a game, or even of entertainment. It approaches art.
There's a great quote from a book I'm reading right now on team
management called Peopleware:
"Owning part of a good work somehow feels better than owning all of it. This may seem like an odd notion, but if you've ever been part of a well-formed team or a harmonious work group, you'll know what it means."
When my campaign really gets off the ground and acquires its own emotional life, this is how I feel. I feel like I'm a part of something great, and that's actually a better feeling than being ALL of something great.
But that doesn't always happen. A game's emotional life is a fragile thing. The slightest disruption can send it crashing down to earth. Many of these disruptions are beyond our control (the phone rings, or Great Cthulhu emerges in the pantry), but lots of them are things we do. Things we do without thinking of the impact they have on everyone's enjoyment. And as long as we are doing these things, the game simply cannot take off.
Obviously, things like talking about South Park or reciting lines from Buffy make it impossible for the game to take off. We can't be, say, in darkest Roumania and in our living room simultaneously.
Acting from our own emotional needs for attention or approval rather than our character's needs makes it impossible. Being funny just for the sake of being funny, or trying to control the conversation or sulk or whatever interferes with other people's efforts to immerse themselves.
Out-of-character harshness to other players, diminishing their choices and efforts, makes it impossible. Every time somebody (rightly or wrongly) feels like they are being criticised for their role-playing choices (as opposed to feeling like their character is being criticised for her actions -- very different things, here) they feel the urge to withdraw, to quit making choices and thus protect themselves from further criticism.
Caution and timidity and refusal to involve oneself in the game make it impossible. I have to take risks. If I won't go out on a limb and risk looking like a fool, what will get everybody else going?
Everyone is guilty of these sins. The worst thing is, when we make it impossible for ourselves, we make it impossible for everyone. The only time the game can truly come alive is when NONE of us are doing ANY of these things.
Which is why I thought of the idea of generosity. Being generous means supplying the other players with the things they need to get caught up in the game -- first of all, by not becoming a distraction. But more importantly, by simply being generous -- supplying energy and focus to the group, running with other people's ideas and not insisting on your own all the time, encouraging other people's efforts by responding to in-character play with in-character responses. It gives other players the chance to shine. It lets them contribute. It's generous.
"Probably the most powerful and also the most readily available tool an actor has for staying in the moment is the other actors in the scene. Without all the actors giving to each other, really superior work cannot take place."
This quote (from a book on directing actors, and one of the reasons I'm thinking about this) points out how important all the players in a group are to each other.
Here's another quote, this one about risk:
"Cautious acting is not very good acting because in real life people incautiously make a lot of mistakes. In order to bring a character to life, there needs to be risk, mistake, serendipity, idiosyncrasy, surprise, danger. When the acting has risk, it makes drama more moving, adventure more thrilling, mystery more suspenseful. Great actors love to give. Lesser actors hide."
Players start to hide because they don't trust each other -- and the only way to acquire trust in each other is to start displaying more and more generosity towards each other, to give each other great opportunities for role-playing and to reward each other for taking risks. We need to pay attention to our co-players so that we can honestly and generously respond to each other. We need to believe that what we have to offer is valuable enough that it will help everyone else. It is, and it will.
"Geez, dude, it's just a game. Lighten up."
Yeah, so that wasn't in the book. But I hate it when people say that. It's a way of dismissing the importance of it, the potential of it. I wouldn't put this much energy and effort into something that was "just a game". Saying that it's not important is just another way to make it impossible for the game to come alive.
Just by saying it, you make it true. But I love what happens when nobody says it.
How do you help your groups to get off the ground, to get past the "just a game" thinking?
There's a great quote from a book I'm reading right now on team
management called Peopleware:
"Owning part of a good work somehow feels better than owning all of it. This may seem like an odd notion, but if you've ever been part of a well-formed team or a harmonious work group, you'll know what it means."
When my campaign really gets off the ground and acquires its own emotional life, this is how I feel. I feel like I'm a part of something great, and that's actually a better feeling than being ALL of something great.
But that doesn't always happen. A game's emotional life is a fragile thing. The slightest disruption can send it crashing down to earth. Many of these disruptions are beyond our control (the phone rings, or Great Cthulhu emerges in the pantry), but lots of them are things we do. Things we do without thinking of the impact they have on everyone's enjoyment. And as long as we are doing these things, the game simply cannot take off.
Obviously, things like talking about South Park or reciting lines from Buffy make it impossible for the game to take off. We can't be, say, in darkest Roumania and in our living room simultaneously.
Acting from our own emotional needs for attention or approval rather than our character's needs makes it impossible. Being funny just for the sake of being funny, or trying to control the conversation or sulk or whatever interferes with other people's efforts to immerse themselves.
Out-of-character harshness to other players, diminishing their choices and efforts, makes it impossible. Every time somebody (rightly or wrongly) feels like they are being criticised for their role-playing choices (as opposed to feeling like their character is being criticised for her actions -- very different things, here) they feel the urge to withdraw, to quit making choices and thus protect themselves from further criticism.
Caution and timidity and refusal to involve oneself in the game make it impossible. I have to take risks. If I won't go out on a limb and risk looking like a fool, what will get everybody else going?
Everyone is guilty of these sins. The worst thing is, when we make it impossible for ourselves, we make it impossible for everyone. The only time the game can truly come alive is when NONE of us are doing ANY of these things.
Which is why I thought of the idea of generosity. Being generous means supplying the other players with the things they need to get caught up in the game -- first of all, by not becoming a distraction. But more importantly, by simply being generous -- supplying energy and focus to the group, running with other people's ideas and not insisting on your own all the time, encouraging other people's efforts by responding to in-character play with in-character responses. It gives other players the chance to shine. It lets them contribute. It's generous.
"Probably the most powerful and also the most readily available tool an actor has for staying in the moment is the other actors in the scene. Without all the actors giving to each other, really superior work cannot take place."
This quote (from a book on directing actors, and one of the reasons I'm thinking about this) points out how important all the players in a group are to each other.
Here's another quote, this one about risk:
"Cautious acting is not very good acting because in real life people incautiously make a lot of mistakes. In order to bring a character to life, there needs to be risk, mistake, serendipity, idiosyncrasy, surprise, danger. When the acting has risk, it makes drama more moving, adventure more thrilling, mystery more suspenseful. Great actors love to give. Lesser actors hide."
Players start to hide because they don't trust each other -- and the only way to acquire trust in each other is to start displaying more and more generosity towards each other, to give each other great opportunities for role-playing and to reward each other for taking risks. We need to pay attention to our co-players so that we can honestly and generously respond to each other. We need to believe that what we have to offer is valuable enough that it will help everyone else. It is, and it will.
"Geez, dude, it's just a game. Lighten up."
Yeah, so that wasn't in the book. But I hate it when people say that. It's a way of dismissing the importance of it, the potential of it. I wouldn't put this much energy and effort into something that was "just a game". Saying that it's not important is just another way to make it impossible for the game to come alive.
Just by saying it, you make it true. But I love what happens when nobody says it.
How do you help your groups to get off the ground, to get past the "just a game" thinking?
), Barsoomcore, that was a great first post. You might be aware that Asgard magazine started a regular article: "Wisdom of the Boards," where we encourage boardmembers to take one of their noteworthy posts and flesh it out into a small article, giving advice and helping your fellow gamers. 
