Being a writer is weird. People ask what you like to do in your free time and you tell them you like to write. They ask what you like to write? You ponder this and respond with some combination of “stuff, things, a little of this and that.” They’ll ask if you’ve ever written a book. You say no but secretly you’ve written three and they’re just sitting in your hard drive collecting dust. You neglect to tell them about the copious fanfictions you’ve written about your favorite movies and video games. They’ll ask you to share some of your writing with them. You’ll feign enthusiasm and say “Absolutely, I’d love to!” and then you’ll never mention it again. And then you’ll repeat this cycle over and over at every work party, high school reunion, wedding, and retirement party until you die.
This is not to say that being a writer is a bad thing, just that it’s an unpredictable state of existence. You can spend years being prolific as hell, churning out stories and essays and poems faster than some people change underwear. Or you’re somehow the next J.D. Salinger, with one landmark piece of work to your name and then disappearing back into the shadows like some modern day Gollum in his cave of rants and laments. I’d say at the very least, being a writer is never boring. But frustrating? Oh, hell yes.
I’ve been writing since I was six years old, some of my earliest work being illustrated storybook sequels to Disney’s The Lion King and to a lesser extent, Pocahontas. Upon completion of each work, I would proudly strut into my parents’ bedroom and showcase my latest story, with full on reenactments for dramatic effect. At the dawn of the internet, I started writing full fledged novels, sequels and backstories within Lion King’s universe that gained some semblance of popularity in the early aughts, enough so that my work was being discussed in a few well known fan forums of the day. As I got older, my writing matured (thankfully I guess?) but a lot of the wonder and excitement that only really exists within childhood was lost in the process. I found myself writing far less often, and my stories have carried dark, heavy themes, a far cry from the work I was creating as a kid. But it got me noticed, and I ended up minoring in Writing in college, and getting a Master’s in Creative Fiction. All that work to ultimately write maybe one or two short stories a year, if I was lucky. Oh, and the thrill of being tens of thousands of dollars in debt thanks to student loans.
I’ve started to surmise that the reason for my decades long writer’s block was rooted in this feeling that my work needs to be more “adult.” That the fantastical, whimsical, child-like settings, characters, and themes of my childhood had no place in my adulthood writing. And feeling boxed in like that, while a good challenge in adapting form, is no way to consistently live in a creative space. While I have found outlets in non-fiction to write about my personal experiences (like right now), there is still an element of wonder that feels conspicuously absent. Whatever I do write creatively always ends up scrapped due to my own internal critic, who is downright vicious and quite frankly, just mean. Writing is hard enough, but adding in an unfairly cruel internal voice is basically the writer version of imposter syndrome, and overcoming that is arguably one of the hardest feats for any creative.
And then about 6 months ago, a friend I’d met through Twitch asked me if I’d ever played Dungeons & Dragons.
I remember chuckling a bit at the thought. The only running knowledge I had of the tabletop roleplaying game (or TTRPG for short) was what I’d seen in the show Stranger Things. Which, to be fair, looked like a lot of fun.
“I think you’d love it,” she told me. “If you like telling stories and creating worlds and characters, then you’re gonna like D&D.”
We started off slow, and my friend created a one-shot tabletop game for us with similar rules, but far simpler (for the uninitiated). It was a space western, reminiscent of the themes you’d find in Star Wars and Firefly. I created a badass female mercenary named Priest, with a quick trigger finger and a past filled with trauma, regret, and cynicism. In the process of creating her and her backstory, I got the chance to get to know a character again, as I created them. I felt all her pains, her frustrations, her joys, her successes. She became as real to me as anything I’d ever known or felt or touched. But instead of laying the path in front of her, I stopped just at creating her. We would live her story together and watch it unfold. And that was something I’d never done before.
It’s weird to create a character with a full and complex life, and not know where their story is going to lead. As a writer, there is a certain air of divine providence you possess in the creation and destruction of worlds. Instead of dictating where that character’s life leads, you are there in the driver’s seat with them. Sure, I can go so far as to decide what actions Priest might take in a given scenario, but what happens next is entirely contingent on that next roll of the dice; up to chance, much like in life. Even the Game Master (GM) can’t predict where my character will go or what they will do next. It’s a joint effort, that all goes on the line as soon as the dice are rolled.
After that game, I wanted to learn more about Dungeons & Dragons. I started watching Critical Role, an online web series where a bunch of voice actors play a continuous campaign, with earnest regularity. I had no idea what was happening, what a “saving throw” was or an “Insight check,” but I watched, I googled, and the more I watched it play out, the more the rules started to make sense. And the more invested I became in the story, which I experienced along with the cast, the more I became privy to a peculiar bonding experience I’d never known to be possible before.
Matt Mercer, the show’s Dungeon Master (DM) and master storyteller, is remarkable to me in the way that he can skillfully weave a story together almost entirely improvised. It’s reminded me what is possible for storytellers; even if the pieces aren’t directly in front of you, if the passion is there, if the will to tell a story is there, then the story will come. His dedication to telling the story that the characters deserve, that the audience absorbs like a sponge, is far out of my league to be sure, but it’s possible. And it’s motivated me to get back in the ring, to tell the stories I want to tell, and to surround myself with stories that motivate me, inspire me, and drive me forward.
And so here I am, on the eve of my first ever full fledged Dungeons & Dragons campaign. My Paladin, a humanoid lion with a flaming sword named Elsen Brightmane, is alive to me, and his future is so full of possibility, mystery, adventure, and excitement. I have no way to know where his story will go or how it ends, but that’s not the point. The point is to enjoy the journey, to help him pave the way, and to be ready for whatever adversary we face when the next die is cast.
Have you learned the tragedies and triumphs of a TTRPG? Journeyed to strange new realms of adventure recently? Let us know in the comments!
