The First Concrete Step to Being a Dungeon Master

When I wrote How to Run, one subject I was able to dodge was that of becoming a dungeon master. Because I was interested in writing and "advanced" guide, I undertook the premise that the reader already knew how to DM, and was therefore adept at doing it. This allowed me to skip past the subject that ought to be included in many books that give advice on how a person might become a DM in the first place. There were lots of books like that on the market, though I feel they're all dreck, while no one had bothered to assume an audience that didn't need to be taught the basics.

A hurdle to overcome in addressing this issue is the expectations of the non-DM. Next to nothing concrete is written about what makes a person a "DM." I myself have argued that being a DM is a state of mind, based on my anecdotal evidence that most who perform the art want to do it enough that they didn't let ignorance or inability stop them. I've argued that to be a good DM, one has to do it, a lot, gathering pattern-recognition and skills along the way.

This is a simplification, obviously. I didn't succeed at being a DM because I "wanted it," as a self-help book would say. That post clarified my thinking, leading to this post. I didn't keep climbing and I didn't become a better DM because I kept learning. Moreover, I didn't "check my ego" either, because if there's anything a DM really needs, it's a bigger ego. 'Course, the goal is to have a lot of self-esteem and not to be a monster. There are egos and there are egos.

Here's a quick list of things I did in the three years after encountering D&D that improved my abilities as a dungeon master.

1.  I read the books.  I don't mean this facetiously, I mean that I read the books fervently and all the time, over and over, like a hard-core smoker digging in public ashtrays looking for butts.  I read the books so thoroughly that the bindings creased and the page corners were bent.  The pages didn't come out because, thank gawd and elvis, the DMG and the Players Handbook were made well ... but a lesser book would have come apart in those three years from all the use I gave them.

Many of the better passages became second nature to me, while anything that someone might say about the books would either ring a bell or it wouldn't ... and a lot of times, some player would "claim" a thing was in the books while I had the confidence to say, "It damn well isn't," and throw the book at the player (well-made) and say, "Find it!"  Which failed, because I'd read those books too often to be caught in a trick like that.

2. I practiced the game.  I mean, all the time, and not just when there were players.  All the time.  I was 15 and I had lots and lots of time to roll up piles of characters and assign them to miniatures and devise random tables to dictate who fought who, so I could play out combats and then assign treasure and update the characters to higher levels and have them fight again, and again and again.  I played in my room on my desk with three books open on my bed, at my elbow on one side, a nest of papers in front of me upon which I took notes, and repurposed game boards from other games to serve as templates for moving characters upon.  Ever play D&D on the "Life" boardgame and reassign the notes on the squares to have D&D meanings?  I have.  Ever played mass combats on a scrabble board where the coloured squares were either traps or treasure?   I have.

I didn't play just when I had players.  The players weren't there all the time, were they?  I couldn't wait for players.  I was obsessed.  I wanted to play.  I was like the would-be piano student whose parents are getting worried because he won't stop practicing.  I didn't need encouragement to practice.  I was busy finding new ways to practice.  I loved practicing.  I crammed 30, 40 hours of D&D play into each week, after school and on the weekends, and when I sat in class I sketched ideas out to myself in class.

There is a reality we all learn where it comes to reading, though most of us forget all about it by the time we're 10.  There is a time when we can't read; when we don't even know the letters.  There is a time when, after we're taught how, most of the things in the world that have been written are still incomprehensible to us.  At this point, a sort of self-selecting principle divides one sort of reader from the next — the willingness to read something we don't understand.  Most children shy away from that.  Quite a few are weaned onto it by being read to by their parents and others, which gives encouragement to try again, because it sounds so interesting when Grandma reads the words.  The rest of us just want to read so bad, we keep trying.  The world does its level best to put words in front of us.  Sure, there's video and music and games and all sorts of things to distract us, but even then, such things include words we don't know and ideas we want to look into further.

But to learn to read well, we have to read even when it means we're not getting the whole of it.  Even when we misunderstand.  Even when we're going over the same passage a dozen times and it still doesn't make sense.  Because that's how we learn.  We practice.  We practice even when it sucks to practice, even when it's boring, even when our fingers ache from trying to go from G to C to D.  Even when the webs of our fingers burn from doing scales.  Even when we sound like shit.

And this means, running the game when we can't run the game.  It means precisely that.  It means wasting a lot of time looking for things in books because we need to have the answer, while everyone sits around and moans or complains that the game is so boring.  For a while, we're going to bore or upset our players.  For a while, we're going to be unfair and accuse them of things.  For a while, we're going to mess up on some rule and have to retcon everything.  For a long, long while, we're just going to fuck up.

And when someone says, "Hey, the rules don't have to be this complicated ..."

... we should be thinking of how a statement like that might apply to learning guitar, for instance, and how that statement might fit into our conception of what really talented guitarists say, or how we feel about a particular guitar solo.  Do we really want Stevie Ray Vaughn or Jimi Hendrix to have taken a "less complicated" route?  Is that what we want?  Does that even make sense?

And when someone says, "Hey, make the rules up instead of looking the rules up ..."

... we should be thinking about our boss at work taking that approach to our jobs, or our spouses taking that approach to our marriage, or anybody in authority taking that approach to their authority.  And when they say that they're doing this for our own good, are they?  Is that how it feels?  Do we get a sense of feeling ... good about them doing that?

And when someone says, "Hey, give the players as many chances as possible to succeed ..."

... we should be thinking how much this sounds like giving everyone a participation ribbon in school, and how much this lowers the standard of our success, and how much it cheapens our experience at work when the co-worker who fucks up the most, all the time, gets promoted to a better paying position because "skill" is less important than "pull."  How many chances at success do you think a baseball player should get, or an actor putting on a performance for a play we paid $95 to see, or the doctor that's going to remove our gall bladder?  And how much "fun" is a player's guaranteed success?

Nearly all the advice about DMing and running role-playing games isn't just bad, it's two-faced and backhanded.  It's there to serve the speaker, not the listener, for the speaker's goal is to sound fine and encouraging, while not giving a rat fuck if the advice is useful or not.  Worse, most of this advice clearly sets out to undermine the would-be DM's capacity to ever get better at the task.  "Choose the easiest path; don't expect things of yourself; don't have a standard for anyone; ignore the rules."

In what field, in what thing we respect in this world, does this advice ever apply?  In what experience of ours have we ever learned that doing things the easiest way, by ignoring the greatest number of rules, ever served us well long-term?

And they are giving this advice to children, for fuck's sake.  And making money at it.

_____

Just for shits and giggles, I took a title from the list provided in this post of JB's, "Making Players Shine," and suggested that chatGPT write an essay for D&D with that title.  Here it is, without a single edit:

Title:

Making Players Shine: The Art of Dungeon Mastering in Dungeons and Dragons

Dungeons and Dragons (D&D) is not just a game; it's an immersive experience where players embark on epic adventures, conquer challenges, and weave tales of heroism. At the heart of every successful D&D campaign lies the Dungeon Master (DM), the storyteller who crafts the world, sets the stage, and facilitates the players' journey. One of the most rewarding aspects of being a DM is creating opportunities for players to shine. In this essay, we will explore the art of dungeon mastering with a focus on empowering players and allowing their characters to become the heroes of their own stories.

Central to the concept of making players shine is understanding and embracing player agency. Player agency refers to the freedom and ability of players to make meaningful choices that impact the game world. As a DM, it's crucial to provide opportunities for players to exercise their agency, whether it's deciding how to approach a problem, choosing their allies, or determining the direction of the story. By giving players a sense of ownership over their characters and their actions, DMs empower them to truly shine.

Another key aspect of making players shine is designing dynamic challenges that cater to their strengths and weaknesses. Every player brings a unique set of skills, abilities, and preferences to the table, and it's the DM's responsibility to create encounters that allow each player to showcase their talents. This might involve designing combat encounters that play to the strengths of certain classes or providing puzzles and role-playing opportunities that allow players to utilize their character's abilities in creative ways. By tailoring challenges to the individual strengths of each player, DMs can ensure that everyone has a chance to shine.

While D&D is ultimately a collaborative game, it's important to recognize that each player's character is the hero of their own story. DMs can make players shine by creating opportunities for each character to take center stage and showcase their unique personalities, motivations, and backstories. This might involve weaving character-driven plotlines into the overarching narrative, introducing NPCs that have personal connections to the players' characters, or allowing players to make meaningful decisions that shape the world around them. By fostering a collaborative yet individualized experience, DMs can ensure that every player has their moment to shine.

In D&D, some of the most memorable moments occur when players think outside the box and come up with creative solutions to problems. As a DM, it's important to reward players for their creativity and ingenuity, even if it means deviating from the original plan. Whether it's awarding bonus experience points for clever tactics in combat or granting inspiration for inventive role-playing, DMs can encourage players to shine by recognizing and celebrating their creativity. By embracing the unexpected and allowing players the freedom to explore and experiment, DMs can create a truly immersive and memorable gaming experience.

In the world of Dungeons and Dragons, the true magic lies in the stories that unfold around the gaming table. As a DM, one of the greatest joys is watching players step into the spotlight and become the heroes of their own adventures. By understanding and embracing player agency, creating dynamic challenges, fostering collaboration and role-playing, and rewarding creativity and ingenuity, DMs can create an environment where every player has the opportunity to shine. In doing so, they not only enhance the gaming experience but also cultivate a sense of camaraderie, creativity, and empowerment that will keep players coming back for more adventures. So, let us raise our dice and embark on a journey where every player has the chance to shine bright like a supernova in the vast cosmos of Dungeons and Dragons.

I could publish that, as is, in any present-day D&D forum or book, and it wouldn't be the least out of place.  It is complete bullshit from end to end, but that doesn't matter, because people — kids — will pay for it, believe it, try to run their games according to it, and never fully understand that there's anything wrong with it.

I could use chatGPT to produce an essay for every one of the titles that JB listed on his blog, package it, put a cover on it and sell it as a book on the internet without probably having to make a single edit throughout.  And while it would sell, and I would make money (and the reader would too, since Chat is available to all), I wouldn't make enough money to make it worth the powers-that-be to go after me for copyright infringement.  Which also wouldn't help them because just and you and I, Dear Reader, can produce this book and have it on the market by Saturday, so can thousands and thousands of others, just as easily.

I made a comment on JB's post that Chat has made Michael Shea, of the Lazy Dungeon Master, obsolete.  And it has.  Though neither he nor most people know it yet.

But you know it now.  And though I choose not to be a monster, there's nothing stopping you, Dear Reader, from being one.  So go ahead, be one.  They're willing, and have been willing, to shove this crap out for decades, without hesitation or a hint of shame.  To children.  So why should you be any different?