Jan 01 2009
Questions? Comments? Death threats?
It’s a tradition I picked up from the first GM I played under in college. I’m still not sure if the line was originally his, or if he was quoting something, but it stuck with me either way. So at the end of every session, after the experience has been awarded and the excitement’s started dying down, I settle down and ask the group:
“Questions? Comments? Death threats?”
(Needless to say, I get a lot more of the first two than the last.)
Feedback is extremely important to creative processes like this, and more so to interactive creative processes like gaming or even blogging. After all, when you’re doling out little bits at a time, and when you’re involving in your audience rather than just letting them receive what you’re giving out, you have to be able to keep your audience’s attention, or they just drift away. So I find asking regularly to be the best way to go. If someone’s losing motivation, you can catch them early. If nobody has any idea where the plot’s going, despite the fact that you thought the clues were clear, there’s a good chance to hint/explain, or just figure out what they’re missing so you can either sprinkle more obvious clues or obtain a bigger cluebat. And how many of us are energized by the enthusiasm of our players, when they launch into speculation or “wasn’t it cool when?” or complicated crazy plans or deciding they want to talk one or another of the NPCs at first possible convenience? I know I am.
Besides, it’s a chance to make sure the people who are in it for the socialization can do their chatting, and to get the out of the character connections (and maybe even the in-character ones, now that we look back at it) between the group strengthened.
But for me, this isn’t just good for game.
Here we are, at the end of the year. For me, this stage in blogging is rather like reaching the end of a game session, and it’s about time to go for feedback directly. I’ve learned a lot over the past hundred-ninety-some days, but being the writer, I’m always going to miss things. That’s where you lot come in.
What’s working? What isn’t? Want more gaming-specific articles, more writing-specific, more of the blends, more personal examples? More character, more world, more detail? Is there anything I’m missing that I could add, or overemphasizing that I could pull back on? What parts keep you coming back? Any favorites? Anything you really could have done without? Or in short:
Questions? Comments? Death threats?
I actually like how much territory this blog covers. Don’t focus it more, or we’ll be missing out on stuff.
Oh, and I know where you live. Well, I know the general geographic area. That sorta counts, right? Yeah, I know, I suck at death threats.
Satyr: Thanks for the approval, though–your problem with it being suggested that female antagonists find a few more schticks is what, exactly? GV, btw, is not done yet. We have a bit more to air than just that.
Brick: Yeah, I know what you mean. “I know what time zone you reside in” just doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?
UncleBear: Thanks. That’s really flattering.
I like the end-of-session “what did you learn”; I think I may have to implement that. Thanks!
You know, one of my old STs awarded XP for answering “what did you learn”. It led to some rather weird answers.
Well, you know I read here… so!
Question: Have you ever made a player cry through sheer cathartic intensity of storytelling? That is, I think, my goal… but I’ve never pulled it off yet.
Comment: I think you should hit us with more raw narrative. I like the writing and gaming tips, but every once in a while you actually write, and that’s good stuff.
A request: A monster. Not just a listing, but a monster the way they’re intended to be, a description of how they appear, what they do, their place in the plot, why they’re awful.
Remember the gelatinous cube? We used to fight those, long ago. The ol’ GM would say, “You see a gelatinous cube.” But that’s not what they really were.
When you see a gelatinous cube, you really don’t see it. It’s clear, it’s the same size as the halls it sweeps, and all you can see is the junk it swept up. Maybe it looks like a skeleton, maybe just floating garbage. So you turn the corner and there’s some junk there, in the air. It moves around slowly, and there’s a sort of glitter in front of and around it.
Get too close and you get paralyzed… get paralyzed and you get eaten. Get eaten and you become one of those floating skeletons that fools other people into thinking the thing approaching is a skeleton and not a huge transparent toxic protozoan monstrosity.
That’s what a gelatinous cube was, before it got a nametag and a page reference. That’s a monster.
So give us a monster. Something secret and horrible, so horrible that it doesn’t have a name, and the player has to make up their own whispered name for the thing they shudderingly avoid.
That’s my request.
That sounds like fun. I’ll see what I can come up with.
As to the getting tears through cathartic intensity–I think I might have, but I’m not sure. Running online means that I can’t see my players’ reactions, but I think I’ve been told I managed it a few times. Would have to check my logs.