Posts Tagged ‘thoughts on’

Back in 2009 and early 2010, I worked 60+ hour weeks. Between my day job, Dresden, IPR, etc., life was full. Too full. “Mental breakdowns happening like clockwork due to the constant pressure”-full. Add my rather rigorous convention schedule to that, and it was a recipe for unhappiness.

The problem is that I tricked myself into this toxic situation because I would see the number of hours I *could* work in a day and the number of things I needed to do both to keep a roof over my head and to achieve the dreams I had, and said “yes, I will work all those hours. how bad can that be?”

Ambition is a demon on your back that makes you feel guilty when you have to tell someone “I would love to work on your project…but I can’t.” It makes you feel guilty when you decide to watch TV for a couple hours instead of working. (It also robs the feeling of awesome from the achievements in your life, but that’s a topic for another time.) Ambition is the thing that told me I should work all those hours.

The other side of the coin is that we aren’t robots.[1] We can’t be on 24/7, even if there’s time in the day for us to do so. Because time is only one part of the equation. It took me until a few months back to realize more of the equation[2]:

Time + Mental Bandwidth = Productivity

Mental bandwidth[3], unlike, time, is not a constant. It’s your ability to focus on an idea, your energy to do something brain-based, like deal with customers, write, edit, produce audio, manage projects, whatever. Of course, mental bandwidth is also consumed by dealing with home maintenance, travel, relationship issues, business meetings, taxes, all that crap. And mental bandwidth isn’t something entirely under your control — both in that the world will throw you crap you have to deal with and that it’s linked as much to your physical condition as anything else.

To plan my life solely around the time I have is an amateur move. I also have to plan around my mental bandwidth. But since I don’t know what that’ll be tomorrow or next week or whatnot, that’s hard to plan for. So I’m starting to take an approach of figuring out how much I could work in a given stretch of time, and committing to only working 70% of that. If a day gives me ten hours of work time, I know I have to work seven. (That doesn’t count breaks and the like. No one pays me for those anymore. But I’m strangely comfortable with that.) That said, I’m planning more weekly than purely daily.

Right after GenCon, I tried to dive back into work at 100%, and crashed a bit. I didn’t really have that mental bandwidth back. Lesson learned and all, but it’s hammered home that I need to be more aware of my mental bandwidth both in the moment and how I can predict it in the near future. To that end, I’m (slowly) reading Getting Things Done (mentioned previously) and am trying to take better care of myself physically & mentally.

This is not an easy thing to do. I can’t tell which activity of all those I need to do in a day will cost more bandwidth at that moment. Sometimes, dealing with customer service is easy, and costs less than writing. Sometimes, the opposite. Shoot, sometimes writing makes me feel like I have more mental energy than before I sat down. It’s all strange and relative and a bit chaotic — enough to make planning difficult. Especially because they all need to be done. I can’t just say “meh, I won’t do X today,” at least not without drastic consequences.

Like many of my “Thoughts on” posts, I am not stating a solution to something. Just putting thoughts to virtual paper on this lovely Seattle day.[4]

- Ryan

[1] Close friends will know the tone of voice I’m using here. And that I’m wincing as I type it.

[2] Math & CompSci nerds will cringe at how basic that equation is. But you get what I mean, which is the point.

[3] A friend of mine calls this Emotional Bandwidth. I used to think of that as something different, but today I’m less sure. I prefer “Mental Bandwidth” as a label, though.

[4] I’m writing this while chilling outside. It’s drizzly. I’m enjoying my pipe & KMFDM. This is heavenly.

Clearly, “Thoughts on…” is starting to be a thing I do. Best to keep it up.

I was talking with Elizabeth Shoemaker recently, a quick chat about Blowback (which I mentioned previously that I’ll be editing). We were talking about hit points and why her game doesn’t have them, and the implications of what she does with character consequence and death and the like. Our talk turned, as it often will with me, to advice text.

See, I have this passion…

(No, that’s not strongly enough said. But those who know me well and those who are creative can fill in the proper–or improper?–expletives.)

…for advice text. Paul Tevis & I have talked about that at length, particularly on Master Plan episode 50 where we talk about our working together on A Penny For My Thoughts. In any case, Elizabeth said to me:[1]

Most of my GM advice boils down to “Don’t be a dick.”

There was a bit more to that, and a conversation, but to spare you, dear reader, from having to read a conversation you cannot take part in, the high points where thus:

Assume most people don’t want to be dicks. Thus, telling them “don’t be a dick” is as beneficial as reminding them to breathe.

Assume those who do want to be dicks don’t care about being chided. Thus, telling them “don’t be a dick” will fall on deaf ears. (If I may mix the text and vocal metaphors.)

For our assumed dickishless population, they only have two ways of knowing if going to cross a line and “be a dick”: though experience having crossed it before, or through forewarning. It’s cause-and-effect; wanting to avoid an effect means knowing, whether first-hand or by being told, the causes.

If your game gives them tools they are unfamiliar with[2] then without guidance they may not know where that line is until after they cross it. So, focus not on chiding the reader for being a potential dick, but on articulating an understanding of how your tools are used, how to cross and to keep from crossing various lines of dickishness.

In fact, consider striking “don’t be a dick” from your authorial vocabulary (unless you’re Wil Fucking Wheaton, of course). It doesn’t help, not in this arena. Just tell people how your tools might be used and might be abused, things to watch out for, a sense of “X action with my funky mechanic tends to make Y happen,” and you’ll go a long way to helping people avoid being unintentional dicks. Relying on “don’t be a dick” to explain yourself is a crutch, not an aide.

Finally, consider that that phrase is in fact poison. It’s a value judgement. Not everyone plays the same. What you consider dickish me and my play group may not. By helping us understand your game and where one can push, you’ll help those who play like you and those who play differently. But “don’t be a dick” can also make your reader turn against you, as for some that is attacking language. And, believe it or not, the reader has the last word in any conversation between you and your book. So if your language attacks, you lose. Every time. So share an understanding of your tools, not a judgment on play.

Anyway, those were my thoughts on the subject from earlier today, a bit expanded since this is a blog post and not IM.

- Ryan

[1] Repeated with permission.

[2] Hint to most indie designers: you probably are, since that’s one thing we pride ourselves on

I’ve been working on the character creation text for Mythender lately, as my editor (the redoubtable Amanda Valentine, managing editor on The Dresden Files RPG) has given me the gift every writer needs: a deadline. So, I find myself going back through my old revisions and notes on the character creation, and have new opinions on the subject on how a text can best serve it.

Consider this post a “Dear self, here’s a reminder how to not fuck up.” Perhaps it will also be of use to some of y’all.

A good character creation text should consider a number of things (in no special order):

1. Inspire the players with thoughts of characters
2. Instruct players on how to make a character
3. Be usable as a reference while in the middle of the process
4. Help the GM/facilitator with his role in character creation

So, that said, and this is freakin’ key: I don’t have to get all of these right in the first draft. That’s been one source of paralysis lately, though now that I’ve realized that I’ve been able to move on.

Let’s specifically talk about the first bit, though, the “inspire” point. That is freakin’ key, more so the more specific your setting or your system is…like, say, a game where you’re a walking, talking force of nature that is still trying to remain human. If you don’t frontload with some ways of inspiring character, people may either have a hard time locking on to an idea or end up being inspired by something external to the game, thus making a character concept that doesn’t really work with your conceit. (A few dozen playtests of Mythender end up strongly corroborating this idea for me.)

Text I had last year said:

Question 1: What is your Heroic Concept?

Heroic Concepts take the form of:

[Adjective] [Noun]…[Prepositional Phrase]

These quickly generate ideas that, with the other four questions, kick-start ideas for the character. Examples:

• Determined Baroness…with a dying people
• Battle-scarred Knight…in need of a cause
• Scorned Scion…with a need to prove himself
• Wrathful Sea Captain…under pressure from his love

Pro tip: “Prepositional Phrase” is a good time to introduce a twist to the character concept, like “Villainous Prince…with a broken heart.” Alternatively, if you have a killer concept that doesn’t fit in that format, go with your concept and forget the format.

The flaw: wasn’t inspirational enough. Yes, it helped form an idea into something usable at the table, but did shit for coming up with that idea. So, I’ve thrown out this rubric for a new scheme. Character creation starts by picking two things: an Archetype and an Identity. Each thing is a general idea with some focusing questions, and only from there do we get into further character stuff. Here’s a (rather unedited) taste:

Archetypes

Mythenders have many different ways of achieving theirs goals, but each prefers a particular way of dealing with Mythic Norden. We call these Archetypes. Here are the six most seen in Mythenders:

Warrior

These Mythenders go by many names: swordsman, knight, master of arms, duelist, barbarian, even the common “warrior.” No matter the name, these men and women share certain traits—they all share a willingness (though not always the desire) to battle. They all prize skill over mere steel. Of all Mythender, it is the warrior that truly understands that they are the weapon, no what is in their hands.

• Why did you become a warrior?
• What skill do you value the most?

Crusader

Some crusaders champion a god. Others a king, a love, an ideal. But as much as crusaders struggle against one another, they have one thing in common: they do not wield sword or axe. They wield belief. Their passions are as sharp as any blade, strike as true as any arrow. No Mythender is more willing to accept his fate of falling than the crusader. If death or the loss of his soul is the price to pay for his ideal, so be it.

• What happened to turn you into a crusader?
• What do you believe in so strongly?

[Four more Archetypes are listed]

Identities

Fate takes mortals from all walks of life and turns them into Mythenders. There is no single background, single Identity, that they share. Still, some are more common than others.

Child

Of those chosen by fate, one could argue that the children who become Mythenders are the most tragic. With their innocence sundered, they make for fierce fighters—untempered by age or wisdom. But it takes more than a simple tragedy to turn a boy or girl into such a being. Seeing…no, enduring…the true cruelty of man, of armies, of nature, of Mythic Norden, that is how a child Mythender is made.

• What cruelties have you endured?
• What fuels your limitless rage?

Lost

Everyone loses something they care dearly about. Some lose much, much more than others. Some are unable to move on. And a very few are shown by fate how they can get back what they’ve lost. Those who’ve lost and become Mythenders have lost something so dear, so personal. They’ve lost in a way that’s broken them, that has them killing gods and risking their very souls to recover. The reason they do this to themselves goes beyond lost, though. They have grief and they have guilt, two forces as powerful as Norden itself.

• What did you lose?
• Why didn’t you prevent this loss?
• How has losing this changed you?

[Four more Identities are listed]

The bit of testing with this has told me that this is how I should be doing character creation, at least for this game: a number of choices that constrain (to focus characters to what a Mythender is, as it’s not just any fantasy hero), to inspire (as reading one of these count help spark a character idea), and to guide (with the questions that each section has to further character creation, Evil Hat-style). Of course, this is just one piece–albeit an important piece–of character creation, but it’s the one that’s taken me two years to finally understand.

Anyway, that’s it for now. We’ll see if I’m onto something or if I’m totally off my ass.

- Ryan

Footnote: In a bit of parallel thought, some people talk about character concept vs. creation on a Story-Games post.

I’ve been thinking a bit about this, as I’ve been nose-to-the-grindstone on editing the third edition of Primetime Adventures. There’s a part of me that wants to encapsulate in a relatively small amount of text what I do as an editor. Talking about grammar and organization and stuff is all well and good, but I think those are means, not at end. To that, I have the following two duties I hold myself to as an editor:

• My job as an editor is to make your text match your intent
• My job as an editor is to call bullshit on your intent (or what I perceive your intent to be) when warranted

Grammar, spelling, all that copy editing stuff is there to make the text communicate well. Organization is there to make the act of processing and understanding the text to flow as smoothly as possible (among other uses). But none of that matters if you’re communicating something other that your intent. And your intent doesn’t matter if it’s off, or if I misunderstand your intent because of your text.

I think about that from a whole-book level, from a chapter level, a spread or page level, section level, paragraph & sentence level. I think that makes me a slower editor than I could be, and I know I don’t have that luxury on a larger book to be that critical and detailed, but right now that’s the editor I like being. Revealing a writer’s intent is rewarding.

(This probably bleeds into game development, which is why Paul credited me as both editor & developer on A Penny For My Thoughts.)

Anyway, back to work. I just wanted to share some (likely disorganized) thoughts. Feel free to call bullshit…on my text or intent.

- Ryan