Anxiety & Excitement

Picking up where I left off, the sort of fear experienced when we're worried our D&D character's about the die is more rightly called "anxiety."  I pulled a fast one, there.  Anxiety is a state of inner turmoil, often seen as an overreaction to a situation that's only subjectively menacing.  This last is the reason why numerous people reading my last post thought, "I don't feel fear when I play D&D."

These people have a cynical view of game.  That is, they don't get immersed in it.

Some who get very deep into the game are able to convince themselves very easily to become "over"-emotional about it ... in a good way.  It's similar to those who see scary movies in order to prove that nothing bothers them, and those who go because they want to experience every jump scare as if for the very first time.  Approaching the game earnestly, as though death in it really means something important, is an aesthetic choice for some.  It's not surprising that snobby people make such a show of being above such things.

Yep.  If you see that as a personal insult, that's because it was meant for you.

Let's look a bit at the connections between anxiety and excitement.  From Excitement vs. anxiety: Same chemicals, different vibe:

"These two arousal emotions are separated by the associations we make with them, says Sal Raichbach, Psy.D., LCSW, a psychologist with Ambrosia Treatment Center.

"When you experience anxiety, the first thing that happens is that your senses observe your environment and you feel that rush of cortisol in your brain as the fight-or-flight response begins to set in.  This is an instinct humans have evolved to sense danger and respond quickly, which is why it all happens in a matter of seconds, Raichbach says.

"But another part of this response is your ability to recall your previous experience, and that’s where the anxiety or excitement will start to differentiate.  For example, if you’ve been anxious in the past while public speaking, chances are you’re going to be anxious when you’re walking up to that podium again.

"The difference between healthy anxiety and unhealthy anxiety is your relationship with this stimulus and whether it’s making you feel fear."

Sometimes, when I claim things like anxiety and excitement being chemically related, I feel my readers think I'm making shit up ... so, I felt it was best to include the whole quote.  To get a firm handle on this DMing thing, we've got to grasp the mass of chemically-induced emotion taking place as the die bounces across the table and we feel the tension of whether or not our character's about to die ... even in tenths of a second.  Our senses observe the die; the cortisol hits like a bullet in a heart beat; it has to set in fast enough to keep you alive on the savanna two million years ago — or else your ancestors don't make it and you're not here.

From Raichbach's observation about public speaking, we have the same connection with characters you've see die in the past.  Good old Luxtar got eaten back in good ol' High School and now Tablik's one pip from the same fate.  The more death-as-part-of-the-game you play, the more that feature preys on your mind ... and on your hormones more to the point.  And you can't think your hormones away ... not without conciously deciding to repeat to yourself like a mantra, "This is a game, this is a game."  Which, of course, ruins any possibility of the game equalling it's measure.

Turning our anxiety into excitement is possible because we know, intrinsically, we're not actually going to die.  We can let go, let ourselves feel anxious, enjoying the anxiousness ... especially when we're playing with the sort of friends who won't use our mistakes as an opportunity to shame us.  Playing with strangers or near-strangers, there's never the feeling that we can roast our emotions on the game's spit ... and there again is the explanation behind players who can't fully immerse themselves in the game.  Their experience playing is so affected by the strangers they've played with, they don't know how to be vulnerable.

Take public speaking.  Have you done it?  Would you do it?  For decades, research has named it one of our greatest fears; many people would rather have a near death experience than get on a stage and speak in public.  In fact, that's often the example used when pointing out an overreaction to something that's seen as menacing, but in fact isn't.  People very rarely get spontaneously lynched for tripping over their words when speaking in public.  It's even more unlikely that they'll be catcalled for the clothes they're wearing.  To date, I haven't yet seen an audience member insult someone who chances to freeze up on stage.

If you see public speakers, you know that what you feel for them is concern and empathy.  It takes a real asshole to condemn someone showing nervousness while giving a speech; if anything, the applause is louder when nervous people step down.  We want them to feel encouraged.

The people we really hate are those who step up and act all, "Hey, I've got this; I'm so prepared, you're in awe of my perfection."  These people are awful gawddamned speakers.  They're dry, they're boring, they have the audience playing with their silverware, restlessly tapping their feet, looking mournfully at the exits and wondering if perhaps they couldn't pretend they really, really have to go pee so they can pass the time outside the auditorium doing nothing — which is sure to be more fun than listening to this speaker.  When the speech is over, the speaker is pleased that nothing went wrong; except there's only a smattering of applause and it doesn't last long.

Why is it the speaker who does everything "right" gets so little love?

Because we don't like perfection.  We like imperfection.  We like self-effacing.  And those of us who like caring about our characters so much that we scream in pleasure when they live, or scream in pain when they die, do it because our friends ... don't mind.

Which is why I can argue that the best way to DM is to make the world frightening enough that the players don't want to compete with each other.  They're too busy supporting each other so they can survive 'til tomorrow.

Now, I have noticed ... I get a kind of player online who responds to my inculcation of anxiety with a kind of neuroses: that every rock and tree is a death sentence waiting to happen.  Online, I have to keep reassuring my players that I'm not going to kill them in an unreasonable, no-win situation.  I've thought about this.  I don't have it with off-line players.  But online, playing as I do ... there are certain players who get rigid about this.  To the point where they feel they can't act.

I think it must be my expression.  Players who can't see me can't read the signs my off-line players recognize.  My face, when I'm pushing fear, is a message all it's own; and likewise, when there's nothing to be afraid of, it's my face telling that to the players moreso than my words.  Online, the player is stuck with his or her imagination ... and only their imagination.

This dichotomy is more than enough to convince some that I'm a scary nightmare of a DM without sympathy for the vulnerable, perhaps happily wringing my hands as I anticipate the next character's death.  I certainly talk about death a lot.  This is only because the audience here, online, has taken the position that death in the game is bad, that it's always bad, and that forestalling death by ANY means, including lying to the players, is plainly better than the alternative.

Players aren't stupid.  Well, mostly.  We can pretend that we're keeping them alive for the sake of "everyone's fun," but pretty soon every risk related to the game is an empty superficial gesture.  We know that whatever happens — losing all our money, getting stripped naked and thrown in a dungeon, being humiliated in front of the king, having the big cheese teleport in to threaten us — is just our going through the motions.  We know none of this matters because, with this or that coming next, we'll roll around and get on top again.

Faced with a DM who won't pull the switch, the players have to make up their own game, if only to pass the intermidable time between the DM's plot rhythms.  It's the guy on stage whose droning carefully crafted sentences puts us to sleep ... in uncomfortable chairs.  If we didn't have to be here because it's a professional conference or it's the only way we can see the next speaker, who's got to be better, we'd leave in groups.  We've got to play with this DM.  It's the only DM we have.  Not to mention the same as all the others.  Obviously, this must be the game, because this is the way that everyone plays it.

Except us few on the periphery, chatting on about death.  Obviously, any sane player wants to stay far from us.

All this weaving around, I hope I'm making a point.  I'd like to address things I said in the last post about how to set up fear and destabilize a party.  Surely, that's got to be a better post than this one.  Only this, this one is way, way easier to write.  Thing is, knowing what to throw and how much, and when to throw it, not to mention when to stop, or when to filter aid to the party so they don't give up, while giving them what they need and making all of this matter, in the sense that it "matters" what happens when the party succeeds ... there's no road map here.  160 years of psychology and we have no idea where ideas come from, or how to form them together to create things.  All we know is the brain lights up and it fuckin' happens.  That's it.  That's where we are.  So my telling you, do this, do that, do the other thing, make it count ... makes as much sense as my saying there's no D&D without a monkey, seven ballerinas and the exhumed corpse of Modest Mussorgsky.

Still, I'll take a swing at it.  What else have I got to do?  Cure cancer?