Casual Interviews: With Friends Like These

I booted up Skype for an interview with one of my best friends from college, Kerri "Keeper of a Thousand Swords and Threats" Lines. She lives in New York--at least that's what she claimed was the reason for needing to interview over Skype rather than in person. Body odor is still a strong contender, though. I won't tell you whether mine or hers is the problem.

Kerri didn't greet me with words. She held up some wine, I held up a glass of vodka.

Colin: I think it is best to start with the easy questions.

She gives me a disappointed look over the rim of her wine. I try to ignore it.

Colin: What is your favorite game?

Kerri: Probably Settlers of Catan.

Colin: Why is that?

Kerri: I win a lot at it. Because I know how to build the longest road. The secret is not to focus on the army-- wait I shouldn't tell you my secrets. You should focus on the army.

It was my turn to giver her a disappointed look over the rim of my vodka.

Kerri: But really I've never had a bad time playing it, it's always a good time-- it's one of the first games I got into so it's a nostalgia thing.

Colin: So Settlers of Catan was your first ever boardgame?

Kerri: That might not be true. [Settlers of Catan] might not be the first one. Dominion came first. But my brother played [Settlers of Catan] at his job one day and came home raving. Then we bought it and played it-- so Settlers might not have been first but it was most memorable.

Kerri would later want it to be known after the fact that Candyland most likely came first, but she took my question to mean "boardgame not designed for and played by small children".

Colin: Let's switch it up-- what games haven't you enjoyed?

Kerri: That one we played that time in D.C. where I fell asleep on the couch.

Colin: That was Descent: Journeys in the Dark. One of my favorites.

Kerri: That one. Didn't like that one.

Colin: And why was that?

Kerri: I feel like there was a lot of keeping track of stuff and-- I dunno maybe I was sleep. I was just not a fan of that one.

I have, on occasion, what might in a certain light be called "journalistic instinct-- Kerri was holding back and I, like some sparrow-hawk of truth, was going to peck it out of her.

Colin: When I interviewed my mother, one of the sticking points seemed to be art and theme.

See how clever I am? I am so clever. I am the cleverest.

Kerri: Okay I am with her on that one, I also do not like the box art.

Colin: So are there any others like Descent that you haven't liked or haven't really clicked with you?

Kerri: Not that I know, not that I remember. You brought like 60 games last time you were here. I don't think there were others, I'm usually willing to give any of them a try.

My journalistic instinct was at that point distracted by the need to refill vodka. We were out of tonic. It isn't easy being a reporter, sometimes. Kerri held up a translucent pink cup that resembled a wineglass for alcoholic children.

Kerri: Do you like my class wineglass?

 Colin: Is that plastic?

Kerri: It's shatterproof, so yeah.

I am reporter par excellence.

Colin: Do you buy games for yourself?

Kerri: Not so much since I live in the same house with my brother-- and he is the primary person who buys games. I haven't bought a game in awhile. If I need to get a gift for my brother I can get him a game and it's a gift for me too! "Does [my boyfriend] need a present?, and I also am getting a game I'll be playing too. I do that a lot.

Colin So you're not looking specifically for games for yourself, but is there some element you enjoy? Like a mechanic, or a social aspect to a game?

Kerri: Obviously the social atmosphere, I mean. but I also love games where I can be, like shady, with a hidden element-- I'm so good at lying! I mean what's more fun than stabbing your friends in the back?

The vodka helps blunt my mounting fear. She nearly whispers, eyes hooded and conspiratorial.

Kerri: I'm a good person. So yeah, I like that. If there's a traitor or a bad guy. I like that. I wanna be that. I want everyone to say "oh she's so cute and innocent", and then I kill them seven times.

Colin: This interview just got dark.

Kerri: No, nothing, nevermind. Puppies!

I wonder idly how long it takes to fill out a police report, while trying to steer the conversation back to games.

Colin: So when you say "hidden or traitor aspect", that's touching on two major kinds of game elements-- something that is socially focused and also competitive. Is that what appeals to you?

Kerri: A traitor keeps everyone on their toes and if that traitor can be me it's even better.

This interview will probably get read to a jury, I decide. Prefaced by "Exhibit A". Kerr's name may be substituted for "The Defendant" or "The accused".

Kerri: I need a refill soon and we just started. I've got a box of red and white.

Colin: Super fancy.

Kerri: It's not Franzia though, we get the good stuff.

Colin: To be clear when you say "the good stuff"--

Kerri: It comes in a box, yes.

Colin: So I guess when we talk about your love of the hidden or traitor element, I immediately recall playing Werewolf with you in college, and you just brutally manipulating everyone. I figured out your tell, though.

Kerri: My ears turn red when I lie. I mean I wear my hair down now so we're fine. I'm fine.

Colin: Have you ever been to a local gaming store? When you buy things I know you do it mostly online.

Kerri: No I don't think I have--No, actually--Oh wait totally, no I have. When [my boyfriend] and I went away for my birthday we went in the middle of nowhere Massachusetts. We went into a game store there and stopped from buying every Dominion expansion ever. There was a tournament going on. Lots of little figurines. Do you have those?

My poorly hidden shame is an unhealthy love of miniatures. Kerri's grin is like a hungry shark that's flopped into a Florida buffet just as they're setting out the tuna salad.

Kerri: They're behind you aren't they, in the corner.

I desperately try to deflect.

Colin: So you really don't have much first hand experience with gaming store culture or anything.

Kerri: We don't have a local game store here. We have a local comic store that maybe has games, but I got Pokemon cards when I was younger and that was where I got them. Maybe they have games now, maybe it's a crack store now who knows.

Colin: Would a gaming store appeal to you-- like playing with strangers does that appeal to you?

Kerri: I have this weird thing. I don't like learning new games--ask [my boyfriend]--I don't like it. I'm bad at it I get angry. I just get grumpy! I don't know why, something about learning-- I don't know why. so if I just went to a new place and like played a game with strangers... I would hate it, they would hate it. I also think people who go to game stores are really good at games-- I think I'm good at Catan but maybe I'm actually not good so it scares me! I don't wanna lose!

Colin: Does gaming occupy a kind of isolated part of your life, or have some skills and stuff tendriled out into other parts of your life? Like math or--

Kerri: It isn't isolated but I've never thought about it. I'm organized and when I strageize-- I don't know I've never thought about it. I wish I was better at math because of gaming but I'm not.

Things had reached a tipping point-- buy which I mean I accidentally tipped too much vodka into my vodka-tonic. I also forgot to add more tonic. Or rather, to add tonic at all.

Kerri: I saw that happening. That's why my cup you can see-- and I've got the fruit. I've got peaches and grapes in there so really it's nutritious. That's what I'm saying. I don't have a problem. This is 98% about wine and 2% about boardgames but that's my life. I wish I had a t-shirt that said that.

Colin: I don't actually need to interview you, I can just let you keep talking.

Kerri: Ask questions! Boardgames!

Colin: Well, I know me and [your boyfriend] briefly tried to get you into Dungeons & Dragons-- why don't you tell me a little about your experience with RPG's?

Kerri: I was actually thinking 'cause I figured you'd ask me this. I was thinking of the first time you introduced me to a round-- match-- what do you call a-- I don't know what you call it. a round. We'll call it a round. We were in college, we were in Max and Greg's room. I had to read an entire book that night and hadn't started and had to read the whole thing by next morning. So I sat in there and read the whole book and chimed in-- I thought I was being really funny but no one else did. That was my first experience. Memories.

Colin: I remember that game. Max set it up. It fell apart quickly-- one of the weirder sessions I've ever played in.

Kerri: Sessions!

Colin: It was odd.

Kerri: Not because a girl was sitting there reading the entire life of Frederick Douglas?

Colin: No, it was just a mess-- I forget who was running the session buy they didn't want to and didn't know the rules.

Kerri: I liked that it was socially acceptable to just stab things. If that's what I wanted to do-- it might not be the best choice but we're gonna do it. One day I might just snap in real life and just do it.

Colin: I'm super glad I'm documenting this.

Kerri: Joking!

Colin: No you aren't.

Kerri: Sweet and innocent.

Colin: Try again.

Colin Valkenet has not been seen for several weeks. If you or anyone you know has information regarding his location or well-being, please contact the Missing Person's Hotline immediately. Colin is survived by his D&D miniatures, who were not available for comment.

Roll Like A Wheel

Dice are fun. They're fun in a deeply tactile, visceral way. I've never met someone who did not enjoy the act of rolling a die, and if I did meet that person I would tremble in my very bones. I would rend sackcloth in twain and ululate to the heavens, uttering profane despaire to an uncaring universe for the person who does not enjoy rolling dice is the person who heralds the end of days.

Honestly, though, they're fun, right? Chucking a hunk of plastic, reading it off like some oracle or auger is fun.

Say, Colin, you're not about to do that thing where you say there's no wrong way to roll dice and then say 'ha ha but there is and you're doing it wrong ha ha', are you? Are you about to do that thing? Don't worry, there's not wrong way to roll the dice.

Don't Do That Thing

But you're rolling dice wrong.

Goddammit Colin

I'm not talking about the physical act of rolling dice, so relax. Though honestly if you're constantly having to crawl under the table in search of a wayward flung die maybe you are doing that incorrectly.

What I mean is that a lot of GMs don't apply enough scrutiny over when and why they or their players are rolling dice for a check. It is such a tactile thrill that, perhaps, the kind of restraint I'm going to propose is anathema. Maybe at the end of the day I'm the heretic. We'll see how convincing I am.

What Am I Doing Wrong With My Dice?

Possibly nothing. But let me outline a couple scenarios I've seen in actual play at the table, as well as iterated about online.

• The GM has a player roll iterative tests until they fail; a Rogue has to roll a Stealth check every thirty feet, or for each guard they attempt to pass during an infiltration.
• The GM has a player roll an "impossible" test but the player succeeds; a player wants to seduce a dragon, a player wants to convince the king to give up his crown, a player wants the lich to give up lichdom and become an alpaca salesman.
• The GM fails to arbitrate a roll's results; a player has to roll to see if their character knows some exceedingly common information, a player passes a Perception check but does not see anything because nothing is there, a player rolls a check without consulting the GM

If any of these have come up in your own game, it may be that your GM--even momentarily--lost track of when rolling the dice is meaningful.

That's the purpose of this article. I want to help you figure out how to make each roll of the dice meaningful.

But When Even Is Meaningful?

Most RPG books will mention that you roll dice in order to Do Things. That's technically true. More than technically, it is also actually true. But it isn't comprehensively true. I'll get to the point.

There are three good benchmarks for when you should be rolling dice or calling for your players to roll a check.

• When failure or success is not certain
• When failure or success is interesting
• When degree matters

If one or several of those apply, roll a die. Or several. Or consult whatever RNG the game uses to resolve tasks.

Can You Give Some Examples?

My pleasure, disembodied anthropomorphic rhetorical device!

GM Jackson Pollock has a player who wishes to have translated the ancient Elvish runes they found in the previous dungeon. Though none of the party know Elvish, the city of Fallcrest has a large enough population of Elves where it is more or less inevitable that someone will be able to translate the runes. Moreover, GM Jackson Pollock sees nothing particularly interesting in the group failing to find the translation-- in fact, he thinks that getting the runes translated will ultimately take the group in an interesting direction. GM Jackson Pollock decides not to call for a roll and merely narrates the process of finding a translator.

Now if the Elvish community of Fallcrest were xenophobic or particularly protective of their culture then the outcome of finding a translator might be uncertain-- a failed roll might also provide interesting complications. If that is the case, GM Jackson Pollock should probably call for a roll of some kind.

GM Eva Mendes has a player who wishes to craft a relatively simple item during the group's time between adventures. GM Eva Mendes considers that, given time, it is assured that the character will eventually be able to craft the item. Moreover, the consequence of failure is simply that the character is out a bit of pocket-change for crafting materials which GM Eva Mendes doesn't find particularly interesting. GM Eva Mendes calls for a roll, however, because she decides that the quality of craftsmanship matters (especially since the player wants to parade said item around as a point of pride). GM Eva Mendes asks for a roll to determine not whether the item is crafted, but how well it is crafted.

Were the item of more complexity or importance--a magical relic or new technology--then GM Eva Mendes might ask the player to roll to see whether they craft it or not. A botched attempt to create a magical item might have interesting consequences--perhaps a magical curse prompting the group to some new adventure.

Why Are You Still Here, Colin?

Because I'm not done. All I've done is provide guidance on when to roll dice not how to make your dice rolling more meaningful. I've got more. Well, I don't have more. Someone else has more. That someone else is named Luke Crane and he wrote an RPG system called The Burning Wheel whose later implementation in Mouseguard won the 2009 Origin Awards.

I won't get into the specific merits of The Burning Wheel's rules or execution-- I only want to point out one neat nugget that the game has: Intents and Stakes.

In The Burning Wheel a player explicitly outlines their intention before they touch a die, saying what it is he or she hopes to accomplish and thereby contextualizing things. Using that template, a player never rolls a generic skill check or blindly "rolls Perception" as I've seen happen at my own table.

The context a player provides is important for a GM because it gives a clear vector of response. That's the Stake. The consequence should match the intention of the roll. That's stupidly simple once you drill into it, but I've seen enough disconnect enough times at the table where maybe it needs outlining.

And note that I just typed consequence, not 'consequence of failure'. The Stakes tell a player what to expect both from a failure and a success.

The player states their intent ("I want to get into the castle") and the GM states the Stakes ("if you fail, you'll get caught by a guard, otherwise you are undetected"). Both of these can be tinkered with so that the roll of the die reflects what both player and GM want. The player may want to get into a specific room, the GM may decide that one roll is simply too few for such a complicated infiltration, or the GM may decide a failure indicates that the character literally couldn't find a way in (rather than being caught red-handed). What's important is that at no point is one party unclear with the other regarding the mechanical or fictional context of the dice.

Wrap It Up For Us

RPGs are social games and it is too easy to fall into thinking that the amount of communication which goes on within them is limited to verbal social dynamics. The truth is that nearly everything done at the table is a communication of some kind which telegraphs, anticipates, or signals something to the parties involved. The roll of a die is no exception.

By using the three guidelines above regarding when to roll (outcome uncertain, consequence interesting, degree matters) a GM should be able to make each clatter of the dice meaningful. And by using The Burning Wheel's philosophy of Intent and Stakes you can be utterly transparent in that communication, sidestepping the kinds of issues which naturally crop up when there is some disconnect between GM and player.

Take a look at your game. Do you have players roll the dice more than necessary? Do you try to resolve with multiple rolls something which could be done with fewer (but more impactful) ones? Is there some way that you can tighten up the lines of communication between GM and player, especially in regards to what a roll of the die entails? And who shot J.R. Ewing?

I'm out.

Genre Doesn't Actually Matter

"Deconstruction insists not that truth is illusory but that it is institutional." - Terry Eagleton

I am a liar. I am a lying liar who lies, and I lied to you in my previous article. I lied to you because I had to not because I wanted to. Genre was standing right there, man, right there. I couldn't just start trash talking it, y'know? Genre's been having a hard enough time as is, what with the divorce and the economy and you know.

Last week's article focused on why genre represents such a useful tool for a GM, and how its deployment can set a stable platform on which a campaign will run. I think I used the word "fundamental" but I'm not going to check because I'm not a peasant-- anyway I'll use it again. Genre is a fundamental tool. It is a tool you can rely on, fall back on, lean on when you're not strong, and it'll be your friend, it'll help you carry on.

But there is an unsauced side to every buffalo chicken tender, and this one is called deconstruction. You want some deconstruction, kid? First one is free. First one gets you hooked. First one makes sure you come back for more.

Who is Jacques Derrida?

I didn't mention him, but now that you have he is pretty important to my (eventual) point.

We've established that there was a Swiss dude whose work was important to the study of linguistics, who more or less invented semiotics, and who provided a base from which the literary Structuralists developed their critical theory.

Jacques Derrida is the guy who came afterwards and wrecked up the place because he was skeptical of Structuralism's basic premise.

Derrida's skepticism relied on two basic facets of language; first that language is arbitrary, second that language is social. There is no inherent reason why a word sounds the way it does-- there is no connection between the symbols which make up a word and the thing the word purports to describe. Moreover, de Saussure himself had pointed out that the social communal understanding of a word is as important (if not more) than the formal dictionary definition of it.

If that were the case, offered Derrida, how could language be relied on as the Structuralists had relied on it? If linguistic meaning were social, how could linguistic meaning also be stable? Wouldn't that meaning be at the whim of the body of people uttering it? Wouldn't attempting to find static meaning in language and structure be like trying to drive nails into the tide in the hopes that it wouldn't recede?

Structure--especially that based in language--was at its core an uncertainty. The Deconstructionists had arrived.

What's This Got To Do With Games, Colin?

I'll get there, I promise.

Deconstruction is often perceived as just a kind of reversal, or flip. "But what if Elves lived short lives instead of long ones! What a deconstruction!" some hapless would-be fantasy author exclaims. Slap them. Slap them hard right in the mouth.

There are two common misconceptions with deconstruction; first that it constitutes something like a genre of its own, and second that it is about blowing up the establishment in a nihilistic fervor.

Deconstruction, first and foremost, is an activity. It is something you do to an established work of art, genre, convention, technique, or characterization. It is a lamprey cleaning the teeth of some larger animal. If a GM comes to you and says "This campaign will be a deconstruction" slap them. Slap them hard right in the mouth. A deconstruction, you retort, of what.

And, it should be noted, a deconstruction need not be complete. One of my favorite movies is Kiss Kiss Bang Bang and for all the parody, satire, and deconstruction that movie throws towards the noir-mystery genre it plays just as much of it straight. Deconstruction and structure are not, as you might've imagined, mortal enemies. Not entirely. They're competitors, maybe. A pair of quarreling lovers, even. But mutually exclusive they are not.

As to the second misconception, it is easy to miss the Deconstructionist's point when they cast doubt on the edifice of 'structure-as-meaning'. They do not suggest that there are no ways to find meaning just that the conventional structures do not inherently offer meaning. Deconstruction wants meaning just as much as structure does-- it just goes about it by excavation rather than constructing.

That Still Doesn't Directly Address Games, Colin

If the genre is a set of conventions and narrative beats meant to indicate or support a theme or tone, then subverting those conventions and narrative beats should also support a theme or tone. When you set out to deconstruct or subvert a genre convention in a campaign, ask yourself two things. What elements of convention are you bringing to task and what is left over after you have performed the deconstruction?

GM Serena Williams wants to run a noir mystery campaign, but also wants to include elements which deconstruct the genre. She decides that the physical trappings of the usual noir setting are somewhat stale and often get conflated for the thematic content of the noir genre-- that people think of fedoras and trenchcoats as the genre itself rather than window dressing to it. And so, GM Serena Williams decides to set her noir campaign in a Saturday Morning Cartoon rather than 1920's America or the like. Her campaign will still feature noir's usual elements of crime-and-punishmen, a cynical view of human nature and its institutions, and the dredging up of hidden vice. Except with fluffy cartoon animals instead of hardboiled private detectives, GM Serena Williams' campaign "The Gumdrop Valley Casefiles" is looking good.

Here it is, the crux of the article. This is the thing I'm hoping you take with you to your game. I'm going to give this a paragraph break and italics because I think it is so important.

Deconstruction is a scalpel with which to perform surgery on a genre or convention, not a shotgun to obliterate all trace of recognizable element.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with sticking to genre conventions-- it is inevitable. But the important thing which some GMs forget is that you'll always want (and probably need) a platform on which to work. Deconstruction is about scrutiny, intense and thorough, of a genre, convention or trope.

Here's a practical example: the Swedish RPG Symbaroum by Jarnringen, There are two deconstructive elements of the campaign setting which I personally enjoy. The first is its deconstruction of D&D's presumption of an active, universal pagan religion. Clerics in D&D serve--and are empowered--by a variety of gods who compete with one another but are almost universally culturally acknowledged. In Symbaroum, however, deities are culturally locked-- the barbarians of Davokar worship a pantheonic host of spiritual figures while the Ambrians are monotheistic. The second element is the presumption that divinity is real and actual and active. Clerics in D&D know their patron god exists because they are vested with powers to contact them directly, and more or less receive their mandate from said patron god. In Symbaroum those in service to the god(s) have no certainty; faith is not a prerequisite to wield theurgic power, and those powers are not indicative of the god(s) existence.

In both cases, the elements being deconstructed are purposeful and pointed. They reinforce, for example, the stark contrast between Ambrian and Davokaran cultural values. They also reinforce the grim, perilous, and almost hopeless world of Symbaroum; nothing is certain, not even the existence of the god whose power you nominally wield.

This Also Isn't As Revolutionary As You Probably Thought, Colin

Shut up. Not everything has to be revolutionary. And recognizing some nuance to the act of deconstruction is a nice tool for a GM's toolbox.

In summation;

• Deconstruction begins with the conventional and goes from there; it cannot exist in a vacuum.
• Deconstruction seeks to find alternate, hidden, or deeper meaning rather than obliterate meaning altogether.

So there you go. Take a look at your campaign, your game, and think about what kind of genre expectations you'd like to scrutinize. Does the genre presume something which you think is untrue? Does modifying an element of the genre perhaps paradoxically enhance its core them? Is there some fun to be had in questioning an unscrutinized assertion the genre usually makes?

Above all, the act of deconstruction is a personal touch-- it is how you as a GM can customize your campaign and make it stand out from all others in the same setting or genre. It is how you as a GM can make a campaign yours.

I'm out.

Genre Matters

"There is no winning or losing, but rather the value is in the experience of imagining yourself as a character in whatever genre you're involved in, whether it's a fantasy game, the Wild West, secret agents or whatever else. You get to sort of vicariously experience those things" - Gary Gygax

Genre gets a bad rep, and not just because it was caught smoking behind the 7/11 with its friends when it was 14. In my experience, genre is often cast as the disapproving square principal in an 80’s coming-of-age movie starring Judd Nelson; it is the authority to be defied, gleefully subverted, and viciously mocked. Part of the anti-genre impulse, I suspect, is the natural anti-authoritarian impulse in most escapist diversion. We follow rules in real life-- it is therefore often cathartic to thumb our noses at them in fantasy spaces. Ultimately, one’s relationship to genre is a matter of preference and so one cannot really be wrong about genre.

But you're wrong about genre.

And here’s why: genre is not a straitjacket anymore than the rules for arbitrating attack rolls in D&D are a straitjacket. Our perception of genre will often run those lines, but that misunderstands the kind of tool genre represents.

Who Is Ferdinand de Saussure?

I didn't mention him but now that you have he is pretty important to my (eventual) point.

Ferdinand de Saussure (or The Ferd Bird to his friends) was a Swiss writer who was hugely influential in the study of linguistics. He was also crucial to something called “semiotics” which is, broadly, looking at how meaning is made within a given system (generally language). The field of literary criticism latched onto this pretty quickly-- previous manners of looking for meaning were Formalist (‘how does the form of the poem enhance the content’) or Historical/Biographical (‘how does the poem reflect, or not, the author’s intentions or life’). But de Saussure showcased a particular attention to language and structure; the Structuralists looked at works in terms of how their language related to the broader genre.

It seems kind of self-evident, in retrospect, doesn’t it? There is meaning in how a work coheres--or not--to the particulars of its genre. Works build off those that came before it, and meaning is in many ways a negotiation between what we intuitively grasp (the genre) and what we examine in detail (the work). I'm probably not blowing your mind right now.

What's This Got To Do With Games, Colin?

I'll get there, I promise.

The big take away from de Saussure and the Structuralists is that something like genre is not merely a matter of aesthetics or form, but can carry its own meaningful thematic implications.

That right there is useful when discussing games, isn’t it? Because genre is rarely something you have to teach someone-- if you place a player in a game set in the 1920’s, in which they control a character named Jack “Bourbongun” Scotchfist, they’ll divine pretty immediately that the game is of the noir genre.

By the same token, telling a player that the game will be in the noir genre gives them a recognizable structure--with its own narrative conventions and rules--on which to draw.

This isn’t something terribly new. I’m not telling you what you should do, I’m telling you what almost everyone already does. They just might not realize it. But once you do realize you’re working with genre, it can be a tool you consciously utilize.

But How?

If genre is a set of conventions and narrative beats, then being overt regarding a game's genre will forecast to players what they can expect thematically or stylistically. Saying that a game will be noir allows players to safely assume that, for example, a certain cynicism will pervade the game. That it will involve elements of crime and justice. That the gorgeous blonde in a tight red dress aggressively smoking down at the end of the bar might not have your best interests at heart. That a guy with a lantern jaw goombah named Tommy “The Hatchet” Gambini might not respond to rhetorical argument and emotional appeals.

Here it is, the crux of the article. This is the thing I’m hoping you take with you to your game. I’m going to give this a paragraph break and italics because I think it is so important.

In the same way that the rules of the system empower a character in the game-world, the rules of the genre empower a player at the table.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with breaking from genre conventions-- it is in fact inevitable. Roland Barthes, one of the first Structuralists, would eventually begin to move away from such a tight focus on things like genre because any creative act is as much a modification of its inspiration as a product of it. Genre is by definition a sum of many things, and so, any new addition to the body of work is also a change to the structure that body entails.

But the important thing which some GMs forget is that you really should establish the genre before you subvert the genre-- give your players a way to recognize which genre expectations you are changing or discarding before you do so.

GM Patrick Walburton introduces the players to a new NPC, the vizier of the king. This vizier is a powerful spellcaster with a bald head and a goatee and is next in line to the throne should anything happen to the current king. The players immediately suspect the vizier of being an evil antagonistic NPC-- to GM Patrick Walburton’s surprise! Despite having no intention of making the vizier a bad guy, GM Patrick Walburton nonetheless chose a bevy of genre conventions which implied that he was.

Did you forget the mnemonic "HARTIARTATIOTRBRTITRA" from my previous article? Know what you’re changing, know why it exists in the first place, and be prepared to live with the change. In the above example, GM Patrick Walburton can simply roll with the punches and retroactively make the vizier a villain. In the future, however, he might be better served by being cognizant of how he deploys certain genre conventions.

If we’re being honest, a lot can go wrong at a table when there is disconnect between expectations. The classic scenario in which a Paladin PC and a Thief PC are at odds because the former cannot countenance the latter’s skullduggery? That’s a disconnect of expectation, and solving it might be as simple as outlining which genre the game intends to operate within.

A cynical, amoral thief is out of place in a game whose genre is swashbuckling, high fantasy with few moral grey areas.

A hardline, law-abiding servant of the gods is out of place in a game whose genre is gritty, grim sword-and-sorcery low-fantasy.

Establishing beforehand which kind of game you're running could mean that the player in question creates a character less at odds with the tone, theme, or genre of the campaign.

In many ways the GM's responsibility is to be the straight-man. characters are more often than not exceptions and exceptional. They break the mold because--for most games--they are agents of change within the game world. By playing to genre, the GM not only gives players the space and freedom to be The Heroic Exception to a convention, but also contextualizes their Heroic Exception by contrast.

More succinctly, the GM can draw a line so the players can choose to cross it (or not).

That Probably Isn't As Revolutionary As You Thought, Colin

And you’re just an expression of my insecurities, disembodied anthropomorphized rhetorical device, so shut it. Not everything has to be revolutionary, fundamentals are good. And recognizing when and whether genre can play a part in a game is a fundamental tool for a GM’s toolbox. In summation;

• Genre doesn’t have to just be a matter style, it carries with it elements of meaning and narrative expectation
• Game rules help characters do stuff, genre rules help players do stuff
• Subverting genre expectations is an awesome thing to do but it is a good idea to establish the genre expectations before you do so

So there you go. Take a look at your campaign, your game, and think about what kind of genre expectations you’re assuming. Do the players know there is a genre at work? Are they assuming a genre which isn’t in play? Is there some expectation, narrative or thematic, that you could make clear so the PCs can play with it? Try a couple of those questions out, let me know if they’re helpful. Or don't, I'm not your supervisor.

I'm out.

Blood Is Thicker Than Tonic-Water: Part Two

This is a continuation of an "interview" of my family in regards to boardgames. You can find Part One here. My mother had just avowed her dislike of games like "Panzerblitz" and "Jutland".

Colin: My mother has leveled serious charges against some games near and dear to your heart.

Dad: Let's just say that the world stopped rotating when Avalon Hill stopped pumping out World War 2 hex-and-chit boardgames. And I'm just wondering when a respectful amount of time has passed for them to start pumping out Panzerblitz-type games about Fallujah.

Colin: That's a thing already. One I remember is called A Distant Plain.

Dad: Really?

My father seemed genuinely intrigued at the idea of a War on Terror hex-and-chit boardgame, and I explained to him what I knew of the game. My brother unhelpfully suggested several other historical events which could get a boardgame treatment-- they were so tasteless that I won't repeat them here.

Dad: I would echo your mother's sentiment that the names are off-putting. You say "You wanna play a game called Love Letter?" and I go "No, I don't!" A game called "Luftwaffe" and I know what I'm getting but you call it "Silk Scarves In The Air" or something and I don't know.

Colin: I don't think they'd call a game about the Luftwaffe "Silk Scarves In The Air". And you ended up loving Love Letter! So is there something juvenile, then, in some of the names?

Dad: I don't mean to be insulting but yes. "Flat boardgame with hexagons and colored pieces" I'd play that! I know what I'm getting.

Colin: Now Mom mentioned some games she liked, do you want to shit on a couple of those like she did with your favorite games?

Dad: See as much as I like [Firefly: The Card Game], the thing I don't like is the cooperative aspect. If you aren't chosen to go on a mission you're just sitting there talking.

Colin: That may not be a matter of it being a cooperative game, though, that's a matter of downtime. In game design, downtime happens whenever a player isn't being given a choice to make-- remember in Game of Thrones when everyone is placing order tokens? There's no downtime because everyone is doing it at the same time. Compare that to resolving battles or fights in Game of Thrones, where you can just check out while the people fighting choose their cards and stuff.

Dad: And you guys don't like what I do with downtime. I use my phone. I multitask. What was that game where you pushed a part of the game--the die under a clear plastic bubble--you'd press it and it'd go "pop"?

Brother: Sorry! had that.

Colin: I think there is something kind of absurd about you preferring games like Panzerblitz and Jutland AND Sorry!

Dad: Well [Sorry!] moved quickly and you knew when it was your turn.

Colin: It just seems like a strange split.

Dad: Because when you're playing with the "pop" game you are drinking and talking--

Colin: You're drinking during a game for eight year olds?

Brother: I don't remember this part of our childhood.

My father pointedly ignores our observations.

Dad: You have to remember I played Avalon Hill alone. I could play it alone, and work it out. Setback is a social game I like too.

Mom: You're terrible at Setback. I'll tell you what it is, it's a math thing, you hate math.

Colin: But in something like Panzerblitz you're calculating things like enemy firepower, your firepower, ammunition type modifiers, elevation or entrenchment-- they've got a hidden stack of chits you need to guess-- so there isn't a small amount of math happening there

My mother threw up her hands in frustration.

Mom: I can't explain it.

Brother: Explain it, Pops.

Dad: The most fun I had [when I was a kid] were the two or three day Jutland games where I had a friend come over and we'd clear out the living room. When you'd get too tired to continue playing you'd talk about what strategy you'd use the following day. We were nerds. We were big nerds.

My mother was still trying to fogire out why my father is terrible at Setback.

Mom: --and by the way, you hate Setback.

Dad: I love it.

Mom: But you're terrible at it.

Dad: I hate being assumed that I'm the dead weight at a game of Setback!

At this, we piled in. My father is a notoriously hit-or-miss and inattentive card player. And among my kin, the cardgame Setback has nearly religious significance at family gatherings. So this is a sticking point.

Colin: But you are terrible.

Brother: And there's a way to shirk that moniker. Like paying attention during the game.

Dad: I pay attention!

A silent, judgmental disbelief filled the room.

Mom: I think he does it to just piss people off.

Dad: I don't do that.

Brother: Besides, everyone here has feigned being non-invested just to piss off the competitor. It pisses off the other side to pretend not to pay attention.

Some merciful instinct kicks in and I attempt to avert the patricide going on.

Colin: So I want to get back to what Dad was saying about--

Brother: I know that's what you want.

Colin: It is what I want.

Brother: What about what I want? I've had diarrhea for four days. And it comes out cold. Is that normal?

Dad: He's writing that down.

Brother: The people must know.

Colin: I want to get back to Avalon Hill, Dad, because that doesn't sound like something your father would just get for you. What drew you to those games in the first place?

Dad: I was always interested in World War 2 history. I was fascinated by it. I was fascinated by the generals--my father had told me about the Dutch Resistance--but I think I'd have been interested even if he hadn't told me that information. I read everything World War 2. The televisions shows I watched-- I found out [a family friend] taped episodes of the shows I watched! We watched Rat Patrol when your mother and I visited him! It was disappointing to watch the shows of my youth, actually, but [the family friend] liked it. Rat Patrol and F-Troop. It was a friend of my family growing up--and older brother of a friend actually--who turned me onto Panzerblitz. At least 4 years older than us. Watching them play was like "holy fuck, you can do this, you don't have to just read about it" that was a real eye opener. And then I went and spent my money on these games. And when I traveled with my father on business I'd--like you, Colin--look for the local gaming store. It also gave me something to do rather than interact with my step-mother.

Colin: So the games were a means for you to keep accessing your love of World War 2. Was the game fun on its own or was it just its connection to World War 2?

Dad: the thing about Panzerblitz is there were 20 odd scenarios and the winning conditions weren't zero-sum. Have more of this or less of that by turn something. So you could be the Russians with donkeys and cards and you'd still have a chance against the Wehrmacht if you met certain win conditions-- I liked that. I liked that you could reconfigure the boards too.

Colin: So you didn't feel limited to just what was in the box or in the manual.

Dad: You could play the scenario, you could read the history of what happened-- or you could try something different. And with Jutland-- absolutely freeform. No board. And you didn't know who would battle until the search phase. You might have all your battleships against a tiny cruiser group and on turn one they move out of the field of battle and you're back to the search phase. Or maybe you hit the main fleet.

Mom: You have to understand we grew up in the time when there weren't video games. Pong was introduced when we were in high school and even that was a little bit mind numbing.

Dad: I played [Pong] for hours...

Colin: So I have to ask, because you're talking about loving the really open and free nature of Jutland and the expandability of Panzerblitz-- why has something like Dungeons & Dragons never hooked you? It is essentially infinitely expandable.

Dad: For the same reason that Call of Duty and FIFA capture me but Halo and Red Dead Redemption and Assassin's Creed don't capture me. Isn't that just a sign of my age and my generation?

Colin: That answered nothing.

Dad: Well Call of Duty is close to what is actually in the news--

Colin: That's false.

Dad: --FIFA I can play as Doug Flutie.

Brother: Also false.

Colin: But I'm getting your point that you do want to connect it to something real.

Dad: Yes, absolutely. In FIFA I love manager mode. You only play when you wanna play, otherwise you are shuffling players and managing ticket sales.

Colin: I think it is interesting because Assassin's Creed is more historical--for lack of a better term--than the latest Call of Duty games. [The Assassin's Creed games] are revisionist history rather than speculative. Call of Duty has moved past its World War 2 thing and really is like sci-fi. This whole "secret history" thing Assassin's Creed does strikes me as something you might like.

Dad: I would play if you gave me the chance. If you ever got off the system I would play.

Colin: Fair point. [Brother] do you have anythig to say about boardgames?

Brother: Like you would write down anything I said.

Colin: I would not.

Dad: I think our family uses games the way a hillbilly family uses a fiddle.

Colin: That seems like a good sentiment to end on.

Blood Is Thicker Than Tonic-Water: Part One

Casual Interviews: Blood Is Thicker Than Tonic-Water

Sometimes, one needs to dig for the truth. Like an archeologist bravely plundering the sacred objects of some poor native tribe, I must delve the dark countries of the uninitiated for some sweet kernel of perspective. Too often the culture of games and gamers gets a bit myopic-- it is an echo chamber in which some things can go unheard in a cacophony of what has already been said.

And so I have left safe lands for the most dangerous of regions; family. My family members are not gamers by any traditional stereotype. They do not aggressively pursue news about boardgames the way I do, nor eagerly await the release of some second printing of an old classic. In practice, they are open-minded which makes them invaluable as a sounding board for a topic like this.

With a vodka-tonic firmly in hand, I made sure my mother, father, and brother had been drinking before I started the interview. And I started off as simply as I could.

Colin: What is your favorite boardgame?

Mom: I really like that boardgame you introduced to me over Mother’s Day--I don’t remember what it was--but I liked that. I’d play it again.

Colin: Shadows Over Camelot.

Mom: I think one of my favorites is Settlers of Catan. It’s very easy and it has different levels of complexity so you can start someone off with it [...] Some of them you know what you’re getting into, others-- I understand but... I don’t know. I know that I don’t know a lot about games and the culture, but I think that you guys tend to make it within your culture. A lot of the games you’ve introduced, the name just turned me off. You’ve always convinced me “No, try” and you’ve always been right.

Brother: I know with [my friends] if you tried to get them to play Eldritch Storm or Ascension...

Colin: Elder Sign.

Mom: I know I look at some of the names and I just cringe-- but then I play it and I’m like [excited] “oh my god!”

Brother: But we reduce every game. Like [Ascension] we reduce it. Once we’re playing, we’ve reduced it to the competitive, to the strategic aspect.

Mom: A lot of these games you’re not gonna see on TV, you’re not gonna get a window in the store. [Dad] do you remember when we were growing up? You’d see commercials for boardgames all the time! Do you remember? Now can you imagine seeing one on TV?

Colin: So the name is important?

Mom: I see the names of like Descent and Ascension and they’ve got pictures of horrible creatures on it-- what’s the one is it Descent?

Colin: It isn’t something I think about it, actually, now that you mention it.

Mom: I know, but I think about it all the time!

As critical as my mother seemed of the single-target demographic she perceived in boardgames she was quick to defend them as a valuable tool.

Mom: I can’t tell you how many times me and your father had to go to Parent Teacher Conferences and defend you and your brother playing Warhammer and D&D. [...] When your old teacher came to us about you playing Warhammer, when we told him how much math was involved. I was like “do you know what kind of math these kids are doing”? That’s when he came around to it.

I should note she was referencing my middle school math teacher, who had contacted her and my father with some concerns regarding my gaming habits. Being a deeply religious man teaching at a Catholic school, my teacher thought that my love of D&D and Warhammer Fantasy Battles was spiritually unhealthy and practically detrimental to my development as a young man. Credit where credit is due, my mother changed his mind on both accounts.

It was around this time my brother interjected regarding the theming of certain games-- a theming that was sometimes difficult for an audience like my mother. His was a defense of the game.

Brother: But I know that we reduce it. [When we played Ascension] we weren’t talking [Rune symbols and Fight symbols] we were talking symbols like triangles and circles. We reduced it to its most elemental form.

Mom: Which is what they don’t do.

Brother: But they can’t, they have to do window dressing when they’re playing to [the traditional gaming demographic]. We only play with the parts because we want to win. We’re a competitive family.

Mom:: I know my brother Jeff played Settlers of Catan and he liked it, and I know my other brothers and sisters would like it but the names really turn them off and shut them down. It’s you that’s stopped me from being that person.

Brother: No. No. Don’t write that down.

Despite my brother’s insistence that I not immortalize a compliment from our mother, there was a repeated theme. As unappealing as the theme, name, or artwork of a game could be, the gameplay itself was often a saving grace.

I tried to steer the conversation back onto what someone like my mother--familiar with certain boardgames but not the culture at large--looks for in a game.

Mom:  I shouldn’t say I don’t like fantasy because I like some fantasy based games. For me its economic stuff it makes sense to me, you know what I mean?

At that point my brother leaned over and held down the ‘w’ on my keyboard.

Brother:  I’m helping

I tried to catch up and fix the ‘wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww’ while my my mother talked and my brother sat back with his bourbon. Some duty specific to older-brothers had been satisfied, apparently.

Colin: So the economic aspect resonates with you because you recognize it in your life?

Mom: Now that you’ve asked that question that is exactly why I like it. I’m trying to think of the games I like. I like 7 Wonders, and you’re trying to get stuff and its economic. [...] And maybe that’s what why I like Settlers of Catan, you have to earn stuff and you have to get stuff and that’s how it happens. [...] I really like The Firefly Boardgame, it makes sense. You have to try and gather all this money so that you can do all those steps to complete a mission and its really-- its you alone in a game

Brother:  You know he’s paraphrasing you, I would demand editorial cut.

Ultimately, I think the conversation had helped renew my mother’s interest in boardgames and gaming.

Mom: We need to do game night again. I’m really desiring that now. But honey you have so many games I know I’m not giving them all relevance, I know I haven’t played them all. I think you’re-- if we could figure out how to get people involved, you are a great person--

Brother: Stop saying that.

Mom: I still think that Warhammer had one of the best models. You go in there, you can come in and play their games, it makes you want certain things. You guys got stuff for your battles and then there was Game Day Convention-- that’s what’s missing [from most boardgames]. It is like boutique marketing, I think you guys could capture so much more. I have to tell you, I hate games like Jutland and Panzerblitz.

At this, my father cringed. Those are his two favorite games.

Next week, Part Two!