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Entry tags:
do a will roll
I've been running my original-setting tabletop game for 6 sessions so far, and I've discovered:
-- No matter how much I write in prep the week(s) before, I always make most of it up on the fly. Even the super important world-building details. And honestly? I love that aspect of it. I get the immediate feedback of the player's reaction, I'm mostly locked in with my decision (I might retcon dates and clarify minor details in following sessions, but that's it), and I'm able to immediately move on to the next segment of the story. It also creates the ground on which I can build more lore and more adventures.
One of my big hang-ups with storytelling and world-building is that, left to my own devices, I get fixated on the tiny details. I adjust and refine them in search of getting it all "just right", but instead of feeling better about the result, I often feel worse and worse until I ditch the whole thing in a fit of frustration. Having a trio of players who need information or something to do right now requires me to keep moving forward and not get hung up in my own head.
-- Unfortunately, this doesn't prevent an insecurity meltdown, it just delays it. I spend the first 24 hours after running a game intermediately punched with anxiety and self-doubt. Sometimes it's a flood of thoughts; I said this one thing wrong, I didn't explain that other thing clearly, I said 'um' too much, I should've planned things out better ahead of time, how am I going to incorporate this info, I didn't give the players enough time, I gave them too much time, I'm not actually going anywhere with this story arc, etc. etc. Other times, it's just a generalized sense of I'VE DONE WRONG, I'VE DONE WRONG, like a fire alarm being set off by overcooked bacon.
It's... weirdly tedious.
I don't genuinely believe anything I did was that awful. And even if it was, well, at least I got it done. I did something that makes me very nervous and stuck with it to the end and that's always worth doing. I have all the internal framing narratives to combat the negative thoughts and feelings already set in my head.
Yet there's that alarm, still going off. I'VE DONE WRONG.
The plus side to all this is that the meltdown only lasts for a day. Then I'm excited to get back to planning and eager to see how the next part of the story is going to be received.
My great hope is that the more I do this, the less I'll have such a strong reaction.
-- It's super fun listening to my players speculate on characters and lore that they can't know the full story on yet, but it also reminds me that, roleplay being what it is, there's a chance they will never find out the full story.
This is true for all storytelling, where the details you hide are as important as the details you reveal, but usually, I -- as the sole storyteller -- have full control of which is which. In running a game, I have to give up a good chunk of that control. The players are going miss out on stuff that could help them, too, and it's equal parts frustrating and exciting. The sadistic part of me wants to see how badly their lack of information will fuck things over.
-- I can do exactly two accents (not counting Californian) semi-competently and act out exactly three personality types (Tired, Customer Service, and Puppy). My players aren't ever confused even in multi-character scenes, but I'd love to give the increasing cast of NPCs a more distinctive range of voices/personalities.
-- No matter how much I write in prep the week(s) before, I always make most of it up on the fly. Even the super important world-building details. And honestly? I love that aspect of it. I get the immediate feedback of the player's reaction, I'm mostly locked in with my decision (I might retcon dates and clarify minor details in following sessions, but that's it), and I'm able to immediately move on to the next segment of the story. It also creates the ground on which I can build more lore and more adventures.
One of my big hang-ups with storytelling and world-building is that, left to my own devices, I get fixated on the tiny details. I adjust and refine them in search of getting it all "just right", but instead of feeling better about the result, I often feel worse and worse until I ditch the whole thing in a fit of frustration. Having a trio of players who need information or something to do right now requires me to keep moving forward and not get hung up in my own head.
-- Unfortunately, this doesn't prevent an insecurity meltdown, it just delays it. I spend the first 24 hours after running a game intermediately punched with anxiety and self-doubt. Sometimes it's a flood of thoughts; I said this one thing wrong, I didn't explain that other thing clearly, I said 'um' too much, I should've planned things out better ahead of time, how am I going to incorporate this info, I didn't give the players enough time, I gave them too much time, I'm not actually going anywhere with this story arc, etc. etc. Other times, it's just a generalized sense of I'VE DONE WRONG, I'VE DONE WRONG, like a fire alarm being set off by overcooked bacon.
It's... weirdly tedious.
I don't genuinely believe anything I did was that awful. And even if it was, well, at least I got it done. I did something that makes me very nervous and stuck with it to the end and that's always worth doing. I have all the internal framing narratives to combat the negative thoughts and feelings already set in my head.
Yet there's that alarm, still going off. I'VE DONE WRONG.
The plus side to all this is that the meltdown only lasts for a day. Then I'm excited to get back to planning and eager to see how the next part of the story is going to be received.
My great hope is that the more I do this, the less I'll have such a strong reaction.
-- It's super fun listening to my players speculate on characters and lore that they can't know the full story on yet, but it also reminds me that, roleplay being what it is, there's a chance they will never find out the full story.
This is true for all storytelling, where the details you hide are as important as the details you reveal, but usually, I -- as the sole storyteller -- have full control of which is which. In running a game, I have to give up a good chunk of that control. The players are going miss out on stuff that could help them, too, and it's equal parts frustrating and exciting. The sadistic part of me wants to see how badly their lack of information will fuck things over.
-- I can do exactly two accents (not counting Californian) semi-competently and act out exactly three personality types (Tired, Customer Service, and Puppy). My players aren't ever confused even in multi-character scenes, but I'd love to give the increasing cast of NPCs a more distinctive range of voices/personalities.