Rants are traditionally understood to do anyone but the author much good. A particularly witty and scathing one can be entertaining, to be sure, but the usual purpose of a rant is a therapeutic release for the writer, more an unleashing of frustration than a reasoned argument, and careful attention to the details of argument are likely to be counterproductive.
So the way this rant provided me, the reader, some therapeutic value is surprising.
I’ve complained here before about the state of the RPG industry. The hobby is dying, its aging devotees squeezed by demands on their adult time, younger blood drawn to other interests: first to CCGs, then internet gaming, with a brief flirtation with miniatures in between. The d20 indian-giving fiasco didn’t help: disrupting the distribution leg of the industry did nobody any good, but the costs were born disproportionately by small press and indie designers, so that almost all we see on the shelves today is D&D and White Wolf—maybe a little GURPS, if you’re lucky.
But dying? Probably not. The defining test of a true artist—that he must create, that he will create whether or not he’s paid to—applies to a lot of the best talent among RPG designers. The internet is a fertile ground for distributing small-press and indie games, especially those of the rules-lite variety. My sister-in-law’s surprisingly good showing as a novice GM, experienced only in online RPGs (literal RPGs, not merely MMO hack-and-slash) suggests that that medium is becoming sufficiently refined after a long period of growing pains to replicate the tabletop experience.
The picture isn’t entirely rosy. There’s a lot to be said for glossy products that a GM can use to whip up excitement among his players, for professional writing, and especially for rigorous playtesting, which the freeware model finds difficult to support in comparison to the heyday of the 1980s. Even if the internet makes it easier for gamers to stay in conversation with one another, and to exchange ideas, it won’t prevent the isolation of gamers who live outside metropolitan centers. Nor will it replace talent lost to the need to make a living.
Still, the blog rant, and the more perceptive comments attached below it, forced me to pause and rethink the glass as half-full, which has proven good therapy. As long as gamers can continue to find players around them, we’re good. Fewer, but still provided for.
