"Story"

I'd like to start with around and about the time the Internet first jumped into mass-interactive format, when it stepped beyond Dalnet, chat rooms and email, into webpages and search engines. In searching to self-educate about dungeon mastering and player management, I stumbled into a number of link-heavy pages dedicated to explaining real business management — self governance, attention management, stress techiques, task assignment and planning, information tools and systems, agile management, change, conflict, constraint... it's a massive, massive field. And while I rarely address those subjects in a post now, the process of understanding management on that level did correct and retrain my thinking process toward better explaining how to manage a game of D&D... but, I want to say, in an abstract way. Management as an academic approach, I'm afraid I have to say, is thick with magical thinking. Where what you want becomes true, not because it is true, but through the tautology of wanting it.

It was at that time, 25 years ago, that I first bumped into the word "story."  Beginning in the 1990s, motivational speakers like Stanley Finkelstein and later Barbara DeAngelis were preaching to large audiences paying hundreds of dollars each to be in the presence of such gurus that individuals, would-be business-people and others coudl change their lives by reframing their identities as "stories," which would make them more accessible to other people. Essentially, if you were at my seminar, I would tell you, "If you want to make it in business you're going to need others to get on board with you; you're going to need investors, you're going to need buyers, you're going to need people who can put their faith in you — and the way you can make that happen is by telling them a story about yourself. Not just any story, no, but a story about yourself that stresses why you want to succeed, and why they should believe in you, and why they want to get on board your train."

Understand: this wasn't "story" as a narrative craft they were preaching, no. I sat through a lot of these lectures on personal websites, before the invention of youtube, and it was perfectly clear they were not talking about meaning-making, but about story as a lever. As a way to influence the thought processes of others, to persuade them, to basically invent your "story" as a means of transforming their doubt into their belief. This is very much in line with Seth Godin's 2005 book, All Marketers are Liars, a huge bestseller, where he stresses that anyone trying to influence needs to tell authentic, compelling stories that resonate with an audience. The key is to create a narrative that feels true to the audience's beliefs, desires, and values. He argues that these stories aren't just about spinning facts; they're about creating a connection, something that captures attention and motivates action.

Why the word "story"... that's the question that needs to be asked here. Why that particular word, what did that word carry that made it effective and, essentially, created a massive wave in re-interpreting a quest for success? Well, the word story carries deep, culturally loaded associations. "Story" is a word that taps into something primal and universal. It connects to childhood, because we grow up on stories — whether through fairy tales, fables or family anecdotes. From an early age, stories shape our understanding of the world, teaching us values, norms and emotions. They're how we come to understand our own lives and the lives of others. So when people in business and leadership talk about "story," they’re not just talking about a narrative structure — they’re tapping into a deep, shared human experience.

But here's what we have to remember: the "story" itself that was told by those motivational speakers was NOT created to actually help anyone. It was employed to make people paying to see the speaker feel they were getting their money's work. The speaker didn't tell them what story to tell; the speaker did not provide details on how to get started with this story, or what the story ought to include, or the process of either finding it in oneself or inventing it. NO, none of that was part of the sell. The sell was to confound the listener and send them off with the idea that they knew what to do... only to convince hundreds of thousands that if they failed to do it, that wasn't because the "story strategy didn't work," but to convince them they merely didn't know how to invent the story they needed. Therefore, a great scam, as it sells a snake oil the user continues to believe in, even after it doesn't work.

Thus, long before "story" became a watchword in D&D, the word was already being used in hundreds of small amphitheatres all over the world every weekend to sell shit to morons. Thus the word "story" became this vague, magical solution that’s somehow both unattainable and completely within reach—if only they could figure it out. It's a kind of psychological trap that preys on the desire for personal success, without actually delivering anything of substance. And yet, because the idea is dressed in the familiar, comforting language of "story," it has a unique kind of power, allowing the scam to persist, even as it remains frustratingly out of reach.

The use of the word  as a central concept in D&D really ramped up around the time of the fourth edition, which was released in 2008. Around 2007, after numerous bestsellers were on shelves telling would-be self-styled business owners how to use "story" as a marketing tool, Wizards of the Coast began using the word as a marketing tool. Prior to this, while D&D had always been about collaborative narrative-building and improvisation, the language of "story" was never quite as prominent in the branding or system discussions. With 4e, though, storytelling was positioned as a key pillar of the experience. The company shouted that role-playing "was a great tool to tell great stories."  Thereafter, and to this day, the idea of "story" was woven throughout the promotional materials, discussions of campaign settings, even the rules themselves.

The timing is important. As self-help books and seminars were teaching people how to craft personal narratives to sell themselves or their businesses, D&D began to follow suit, placing storytelling at the forefront of its appeal. It worked... at least for the company. The "shared story" model permeates every discourse about the game in the present day, with the framing leaning heavily into "unfolding story archetypes" and "character-driven plots." Note these plots are driven specifically by the "character," not the player, who has next to no real agency in game play. Moreover, while the word story is used constantly, the process by which this story plays out, the manner in which the DM runs this story in-game, is never part of the dialogue. It "just happens," as it's "meant to," and those who ask too many questions are pretty much told just to go with the flow and let things happen.

It's even argued that this character-based (as opposed to player-based) model is "simpler." By shifting the focus away from the player's agency (while simultaneously protecting the character with effective plot-armour in the narrative), it promises the players that whatever happens, they are made more important by the narrative BEING important. Because the character's roles within the broader narrative are constructed by the DM, and because the players are free to "act out" the character's roles however the players want, it gives a sense of "agency" in the sense that they seem to be running the character, but since the character's success is pre-ordained, the agency is really just kabuki theatre.

Let's say my character is destined to be the character who steals the Jewel of Arimoor.  And now we're in the Temple of Arimoor... but I don't know what to do.  No problem. I have the "agency" to go to that room, pull my weapon, attack whom I wish... but in the end, the only thing that really matters is that, eventually, whatever dumbshow I put on until then, that I steal the Jewel. Even if I forget to do so, I'll find the Jewel in my pocket when we leave, because the DM needs only to create some premise for it being there. My agency doesn't matter, so long as the arc of the story is fulfilled.

This "simplifies" the game because, for the DM, it doesn't matter what you do. Sure, of course you can kill the Mratll!  Absolutely, you can leap from that pillar to the ground twenty feet below.  No problem, you can make that leap.  Nothing needs to have a consequence, because the only consequence that matters is settled. Q.E.D.

This approach removes the pressure from the DM to maintain a complex, dynamic world where player choices can truly influence outcomes. It reduces the need for deep world-building or careful management of player actions, since everything funnels toward the predetermined narrative. The characters, and by extension the players, are free to do whatever they want, but as long as the key plot points are hit, the story will resolve as planned. In a sense, it’s an experience more akin to a guided tour through a pre-arranged spectacle than a collaborative storytelling venture. And because the players don't know what they're characters are destined to do, until it happens, they get the JOY of finding out after the fact. Fun all around!

This makes the multitude of splatbooks comprehensible. The DM doesn't really need to know all the "rules," because in fact none of them are rules designed to dictate game play. They're really just sourcebooks for DMs to use in designing character/story arcs, where the players choose what "skin" to put on overtop their characters, like an avatar they wear that fits a particular pre-determined story model. My DM's story needs someone to do something that a dragonborne can. So someone in the party has to wear the dragonborne skin.  It's just that easy.

Thus is created the curated experience of modern D&D. It clearly works. It's very popular. Story is preserved as a warm, fuzzy word to describe the process, while all the other words like "collaborative" tend toward a group dynamic that conveys belonging, acceptance, friendliness and social engagement.  "I'm the dragonborne" describes that player's clear, comprehensible and most of all very important role, among persons whose "importance" is always in question outside the game community space.

The language itself does all the heavy lifting. By creating an atmosphere where people can feel valued for being themselves, where everyone is a part of a story unfolding with all of them having their parts in it, the social dynamic becomes a source of personal validation and connection. Who wouldn't want that? Who doesn't want to feel a part of a thing, whatever we call that thing... especially in what we might identify as a safe space, where we're recognised and made to feel significant?

Arguing against that, or fighting it, or disparaging it, is a losing effort. One might as well tell a group of Seahawk fans that they should just cut out that nonsense.

Give Abilities Their Due

I had a look at the much vaunted 4e D&D books that were released this month, and I’ll just make a quick review. First and foremost, I’ll start with two words: white space.

Lots of it. The books appear to be printed in 12-point font, with an inch-wide border around the outside…so while they are pretty hefty tomes, big and bold with more than 200 pages each, they aren’t very dense.

Another word? Try “pabulum.” As in, not for the serious player. The first 35 pages of the DMs Guide is apparently an effort to explain a game that I haven’t needed to be explained to me in three decades. Which—I believe—everyone who would vaguely consider buying the books probably don’t need either. Glancing through the Players Handbook and the DMG, mostly what I find is simple-Simon text for the addle-pated. But there are many, many pages…it will take time to squeeze out of them anything actually useful.

I’ve no doubt given the impression that my interest in 1st Edition has left me blind to later books. Not true. While I don’t pay full price for them (I’ve found most of my copies at junk sales), I do read them and try to use whatever I can find to augment the game I play.

The rules I follow defining the D&D characters my players play are recognizable as 1st edition, but hardly limited to it. I’ve tried new rules, sometimes keeping them or tossing them, depending on their satisfactory addition to the overall concept. I’m open to new ideas. I would like it if they were good ideas.

The d20 concept was, obviously, a very BAD idea. The adoption of any method that would seriously randomize the likely results was certain to reward weak-thinking players and punish smart-thinking players—and it would bring everyone into the middle ground (which was, no doubt, the idea the developers had…especially since 4e appears bent on going that further).

The game has NEVER been about the die roll. It is about the possible vs. the impossible. The DM judges, reasonably, what is possible as opposed to what is not; that judgment should NOT be made by a dice roll.

Okay, there are occasions when the dice applies: for instance, a thief climbing a wall. But if that thief should decide to jump the five foot gap between the wall and the building, there should not be any need to calculate the likelihood. Shit, at eight I could make a five-foot leap. Reducing every part of a character’s action to its % chance was sheer lunacy.

Another example? A fourth level bard enters a village of 500 people and begins to play. D20 rules tell me that I’m supposed to calculate some number which says the bard will impress the town…and then have the bard roll a 20-sided die to see if he achieves that level by the modified number shown.

A little demographic analysis, please. I estimate that, on average, about 2-3% of the population of my world has leveled status; this is higher than others have given (1% is pretty standard), but let’s use my number.

Out of every hundred leveled persons, I estimate about 1-2% are bards, depending on the cultural level of the region. France, obviously, would have more bards per leveled humanoids than sub-Saharan Africa.

Furthermore, let’s admit that it’s harder to be 4th level than it is to be 1st. Let’s be generous and call the ratio 4:1…though obviously 8:1 is more likely.

That means that there is a 4th level bard for every 10,667 residents of the kingdom. Um, impress a village of five hundred people? Are you fucking kidding me?

Understanding the characters people play begins with understanding that the skills the classes employ are not chance representations of ability. Plumbers do not “statistically” succeed in fixing toilets. Architects do not “statistically” construct ordinary houses. When I was 15, I successfully shot a set of rapids in a canoe, after three days of canoe experience—I was never in any physical danger, it was just very exciting. No doubt my inexperienced half-elven cleric would have had to “roll a die.”

The earlier example of a thief climbing a wall should involve a die roll only if there is some mitigating factor which would make that wall difficult to climb—being 300 feet high, for example; or being sheer with few handholds; or someone firing arrows at the thief while he or she climbs. I would not have the thief roll to climb an ordinary two-story building—that would be idiocy.

And yet there are DMs out there who insist everything is a die roll. Which baffles me, at best.