Grognard
Lately I’ve been spending my evenings listening either to a series of lectures on World War I or an amateur podcast called “Fear the Boot,” which discusses various aspects of roleplaying games.
Fear the Boot is entertaining. The four or five regulars have strong opinions, and they cheerfully disparage all kinds of foolishness in genres, players, and rulesets. But, although they often agree on specifics, especially on techniques carried to excess, they disagree on broad topics, like the virtues of rules-light systems, the credentials of LARPs, and the proper balance of power between GM and players, so rarely do they present a monolithic face. Collectively, they have some good gaming anecdotes to share, and have no reservations about drifting off topic to share them.
Unfortunately, although Fear the Boot is entertaining, it is rarely instructive, at least for me. Partly, this is because they waste so much time in amusing digressions, and thus cannot properly explore in an hour’s podcast the ambitious subjects they take on. Mostly, though, I think it’s because I’m much more experienced than the hosts are.
I base this claim largely on my familiarity with systems. The hosts frequently touch on the principle that different systems perform different functions well, yet call up poor examples of a system that performs a particular function well, or even admit to knowing of no system that fits the bill. Never have they mentioned GURPS, even when discussing the merits of a skill-based system, nor any of the latest generation of trait-based systems like OtE when looking for a more free-form character design. The idea behind Chad’s “one-stat” system, where all tests are made against a character’s one and only stat, is not original with him; I first saw it in TWERPS twenty years ago. When the hosts protest that they’re all about story, and not simply kicking ass in their games, I have to wonder why they insist on playing systems with heavy mechanics and a huge emphasis on kicking ass. Their favorite titles for discussion include Battletech, Shadowrun (a love-hate relationship), and above all Dungeons & Dragons, pretty well the epitome of a game that presumes the measure of a character is how hard he kicks ass, and his preferred methods for doing so. Either they’re not being honest with themselves about their gaming sophistication (a common occurence), or they play D&D because they don’t know any better.
System knowledge, however, is only a symptom. More important, I’ve been around long enough to have seen a lot of techniques. I listen to their advice on how to achieve various narrative effects and nod: yes, I’ve done that. (Or I may shake my head at their off-the-cuff suggestions: yes, I’ve done that, and it didn’t work.) I listen to their war stories about bad play and nod: yes, I’ve seen that; in my younger days, I’ve probably done that myself.
Finding the entirety of a how-to program to be a subset of my own gaming wisdom makes me feel old and wise in the ways of RPGs. I’m beginning to wonder whether I should be making this wisdom available to more than my immediate circle of friends. I’m over the hump of asking for publishers and agents; it’s only a matter of time before I’m published, and I’m looking for a new project. This could be it. Against the idea, I have to weigh the already-published advice of established RPG writers, including some I respect deeply. I wouldn’t say quite what Laws and Stolze and others do, but there’s a lot of overlap. Perhaps I’ll be able to say something new in my freedom to write without a need for it to pay my rent. A desire for it to pay my rent, yes, but not need. I need to think about this: just how much do I have to say that hasn’t been said somewhere gamers can easily find it?