This post is attempting to kill two birds with one stone. We'll see how it works.
Both Daniel from Driving and Dragons and Lex/aka Squid Lord have been in something of a conversation with me over the past few days.
A conversat, however indirect, has spun out of this one post. Lex and I have been going back and forth (my replies and his original posts can be found
here), and he posted a new response
here. I have thoroughly enjoyed these correspondences, told Lex as such, and told him I would post a response as soon as I could. He told me to sit on it. And I did! I kinda had a way forward that was plotted out, and I was really excited to sit down and bang out my response.
And then Daniel posted the video below about some dumbass arguing with me on Twitter (for once, I wasn't the dumbass, sorry Lex).
Daniel's musings before rightfully roasting my idiot of an interlocutor sparked off my plans, and I decided "to hell with it", and resolved to address them both, because my position on design doesn't seem entirely understood.
I'm not sure how that could be, I'm an absolutely clear and concise person! Ross from Mythic Mountain has never spent hours trying to decode my rantings and musings to see if I'm crazy or secretly brilliant! Somehow he got more out of what I was saying than I did. Figures.
I've never been called out for being unclear! Or grandiose! Or just downright weird in my views! The abovementioned Ross has never pointed this out to me!.. or my wife... or my brother... or anyone else.
Anyone who says this hasn't seen me debate about the Star Wars sequels with ten people, at once. No, really, that happened. That's on some random Discord. I can't remember which one, not anymore.
The first step to fixing a problem is admitting there's a problem? Hopefully?
The way to explain my view of design that most amuses me as of this moment is to show the following picture, and then explain it.
Why?
Because I like Medieval labyrinths, I like talking about menticide/brainwashing, and I love being absolutely clear in everything I write.
Assumptions Make an Ass...
First, we gotta get our assumptions out of the way. I'm pretty sure Daniel and I share more than a few assumptions, given that he's a Roman Catholic with seemingly tradional leanings, but Lex is a Randian Objectivist, best of my knowledge, and that means I gotta try and say the unsaid.
As an Orthodox Christian, I don't think the natural state of man actually works that well. Humans need help to operate in a way that doesn't just naturally destroy them. You have to guide human behavior.
Not control it.
Not stifle it.
Guide.
The word is deliberate.
Human Nature Needs Help
Light correctives are to applied to most human behavior, so that way it doesn't do what it always does: degenerate. You can't stop degeneration, and you can't fix stupid, but you can help the willing, for a time. You either agree with this, or you don't. I'm not going to defend something I find obvious. But I will state it so that way you don't have to ask what I'm up to.
Lex Wanted a Statement...
... in his latest reply. Lex wanted me to, and here's the quote:
In what way do you want to see storygaming philosophy concretized?
Sure! In Crescendo-
No, you don't get to turn this into an opportunity to talk about promoting your own work, because goddammit, every third post that people make in the TRPG hobby these days seems like it's about self-promotion and pushing their own work. It feels like an advertising seminar rather than a high-minded discussion of philosophies, opportunities, and methodologies.
Goddamnit, Lex! Fine. You're right. I take issue with the following statement you made, which Daniel indirectly agreed with in the above video:
... what I really mean is carrot-and-stick rewards, because I don't think those are legitimately part of storygaming, either as a philosophy or as a mechanical hook that you can hang a similarity between wargames and story game RPGs on.
That would be a bit of an anti-hook. Most of the mechanical manifestation of the storygaming philosophy is purely[10] carrot, not stick. When there are visible and deterministic negatives, they are generally carried in the form of resource management (a real element of both historical and modern wargaming), and not carrot-and-stick operations.
To be fair, Daniel called it an "attitude problem". I don't know if he meant what Lex meant, but I have a feeling if the two of them started talking they'd agree. If I'm wrong, they're both more than welcome to comment otherwise.
An Example
Let's go back to faerie tales. If we were to use the whole friction idea, there's a really obvious place to do it.
Whether or not humans listen when being told what to do. This is a central point of friction in enough faerie tales that making it a central mechanic wouldn't go amiss.
So, let's say you have a Stat called Humility. We'll rate it from 1-5. When you must act upon information and/or advice that was given you, roll d6: if you roll equal to or under your Humility, you must choose something else to do. Something you know won't work. And then further complications are chosen for you by the table.
What's more, we can have it to where pleasant things (like sudden fortunes, accolades, or success in marriage) in the story have a chance to decrease your Humility, while unpleasant things (like losing your wife, being betrayed by your friend, or going to war) have a chance to increase it.
And then, yes, pretty much stick to "we know how to make a faerie tale, we know what faerie tales are". I would argue that one piece of friction will go a long way to making it feel authentic.
Humans Need Friction
My issue with your statement, Lex, is that human nature requires sticks so they think to look for (or return to) carrots.
And, on top of that, stories require friction in order to work. Friction is at the heart of stories! And from just a basic knowledge of human nature, people don't like using sticks, even if they're necessary as a funnel. Asking people to be masochistic is wrong. Mechanics are necessary to help to supply the stick, so that way people aren't thinking of ways to hurt each other. Because, yes, people perseverating on how to hurt each other is a bad thing.
Stories need friction. Humans are bad at friction. Mechanics help take the burden of making friction off of humans.
Humans Need Nudging
Now, Daniel may be wondering why he's in this article, because so far, it's probably not terribly clear. See, in his commentary, Daniel said he wasn't sure there was a mechanical solution to an attitude problem.
Now, he's partly correct. You can't fix the unwilling, and you can't fix stupid. But you can help the willing and weak. Which, for the record, all of us are weak from time to time.
Remember that bit about the Medieval labyrinth, from earlier?
We're back to it. The concept of a labyrinth in Christianity was a pilgrimage and/or meditative process. You go on a walk, in a predetermine way, and your experience the same labyrinth differently
because you are different this time. It's the same basic concept of the Rosary or the Jesus Prayer, just when it comes to walking.
The structure frees you from your own exhaustion, carrying you just far enough to where you can get started. The repetition enables you to stop repeating yourself.
An Example
My favorite example is the game Misspent Youth. At the beginning of every session each player asks and answers a question from the standpoint of their characters. These short conversations are used during the session, in a pre-determined "flow":
1. What’s Up: Sets up the episode's initial conflict or threat. Establishes the setting, the daily life of the PCs, and how the Authority’s System of Control is currently encroaching on their world.
2. Fighting Back: The PCs take the initiative and push back against the Authority's threat.
3. Heating Up: the conflict is escalated. The Authority reacts to the PC's resistance, upping the stakes and forcing the clique to commit further.
4. We Won: A moment of tactical victory or good fortune for the PCs. The scene ends with a reveal or twist that sets up the downfall in the next scene.
5. We’re Fucked: The floor falls out. The Reversal hits. The Authority strikes back with overwhelming force, complications multiply, and the PCs are pushed to their limit.
6. Who Wins: the climax of the episode. The central Question posed in Scene 1 is answered. The final high-stakes conflict resolves whether the YOs triumph or suffer defeat.
7. Dust Settles: The epilogue, the aftermath, emotional fallout, and how the world and the characters have changed after the dust has cleared.
This little structure is not a railroad, but a series of thematic links that let you plug in whatever you want, in an order that you can rely upon. Things do not get old, but instead you can riff and trust that you're going to go somewhere good because you have the structure. Now, granted, that's a very specific structure, and it's going to limit what you can achieve, but what it takes away it gives a lot more, if that's what you're going for.
A more open example is the Trait Vote or Winter Sessions from the Burning Wheel and Mouse Guard/Torchbearer games. Every 6-12 sessions the story is paused for a session .Everyone tweaks their characters a little bit, talks about where things are going, and sets new leads down for the next few sessions. This simple reset does tons for the experience: characters are made more accurate to how they're being played, stuff that's no longer fun is wrapped up, and new plot threads can be thrown down. Nothing is dictated, other than taking a quick second to get your breath. This little momentary jolt goes stupidly far.
So when Daniel wonders
if mechanics can fix an "attitude problem," my answer is: no, but they can support fragile intent. They give willing players a path to walk when their own creative willpower runs out. And eeveryone's runs out from time to time.
And when Lex argues
that storygaming is purely about carrots and self-directed motivation, he's assuming human beings don't need external friction to generate genuine drama. But we do. We need the stick—not as a punishment, but as a lens. We need the labyrinth floor beneath our feet so we don't wander off into the mud.
Good mechanics
don't force you to go anywhere you don't want to go. They simply ensure that when you take the walk, you don't have to reinvent the path every single step of the way.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go see if Ross has finished decoding this post yet.
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