This leads me to an even greater concern: I get accepted for poetry. You see, I never considered myself a poet. The poems I write tend to be for me. I write them purely as an exercise and that is all they were ever meant to be. I got stuck, though. My senior year is almost here and I wanted into the writing program. Since I came in as a junior, I was well behind. I needed a creative writing class for Spring and the fiction class I had signed up for wasn’t applicable. This left me scrambling. Poetry was available so I jumped for it. I like poetry. I enjoy the structure and the lack of structure. I love playing with words and poetry does translate nicely into the New Media space where I plan to make my professional home.

The poetry workshops are driving me insane, though. Only one of the students, an older student like myself, has fun with their work. Everyone else is so deadly serious and deadly boring. I worked with two poets at Kirkwood and they were fantastic. They were both gifted writers and professors and I felt lucky to have them. So far, my poetry experience at the U of I has been lackluster to say the least.

I don’t know. I have an advisor for the fall for my Honors Thesis. I want it to be a creative piece which means I need in to this program. Poetry or prose, I’ll let the fates and a committee of strangers decide.

On the way home, I began to think about how one goes about building a successful creative team. After all, everyone who attended this party was certainly creative and either successful or well on their way to being successful in one form or another. I am incredibly lucky to have such a strong group of creative friends. We had in fact tried several times to actively pull together as a team with varying degrees of success. It frustrated me that none of it was working.

Of course, I see the same problem in my professional life and in my academic life. Corporate teams rarely work effectively. The only truly effective technical team I worked with was run by Othgood and management shut that team down because, to put it simply, it threatened the existing power structure too much for their comfort. Most corporate teams are filled with individuals working to survive. They dodge layoffs and watch coworkers drop like flies without batting an eye. There is no sense of loyalty, connectivity, or shared value. The same is true in the academic world. I am watching my project stall because I can’t effectively manage people who only have a cursory interest in its success. I may actually go outside of class to complete it which may be the only way to get it done. Students, like workers, are only interested in the grade. The product is secondary. A paper needs an A. It doesn’t matter the voice or the content as long as it guarantees them a good grade. In that sense grades are currency, unfortunately, art driven by currency alone tends to be devoid of any real life.

What’s the fix. then? As usual, it is deceptively easy to understand and incredibly hard to implement. It is all about vision. You need people passionate about the work and the idea. I have creative and talented friends, but they all have their own focus and passion. We don’t have a shared vision and I don’t really think we ever will. Without a shared vision, you end up with people working in a hundred different directions. I admit its frustrating. I would love nothing better than to take them and merge them into a solid and effective creative team that could focus on each others visions, but you can’t force a team. You can only develop it with willing members. People who are willing to do the work and to follow through all the way. People who help keep you accountable because they value the project as much as you do.

Of course, this is an unlikely thing to find beyond a single project. I suppose that is why there are so many individual artists, it is hard to find a shared vision. It would sure be nice, though.

I am beginning to think the reason I returned to college was good conversation and to rediscover my motivation.

Let’s be honest. I could have done everything I have done so far without incurring the costs associated with pursuing a degree. I have plenty of people to workshop with and I am pretty good at finding more. I could have easily stepped up and accessed the on-line artist communities and learned about off-line resources as well. I read a lot before and a lot of the material we cover and analysis provided are available on-line and, nowadays, a lot of lectures and classes are also available for free. In other words, I am not in college for an education.

I lost something, though. I know I lost something because that whole long list of things I could have done without pursuing a degree, I didn’t do. Instead, I sat. I lost my motivation. I lost it in part out of fear and in part out of a real sense of inertia. My fear was easy. These things I create, I care about. If I invest time and effort to create something that means that I care about it. To have it attacked or called not good is painful. Although, as I have learned, it’s not as painful as I expected. The workshop I am currently in has its flaws but it is teaching me to take criticism as it is meant and with a serious grain of salt.

Inertia, though. That’s a tough one. As much as I don’t like my current situation, I am comfortable in it. To use a trite, but apt, comparison I am currently living the high life inside the Matrix. Why would I leave when the real world is all gray and nasty? My motivation is dulled, and the one thing I really took home from last night was the fact that if you lack motivation, so will your audience.

This is true, but it goes well beyond audience in terms of art or story. This strikes at the core of everything I do. Without motivation, without that spark, nothing else happens. Anything that is done will always be second rate. I can write an essay or a story with little to no motivation. I can even get an A. That doesn’t make the work good and it doesn’t mean that anyone will read it beyond the instructor and myself. The same is true professionally. If I am not motivated, I can still meet my goals. Without a true love for what I do, though, I am just treading water.

My audience isn’t just those who read my work. It is my family, my friends, and my colleagues. I need to bring that same level of drive and determination to everything I do. Otherwise, it’s just not worth doing.

I should add that, as far as television goes, the Internet sucks. It’s nothing more than a huge reality show put on by ourselves and the people around us. Essentially, we’ve all been turned into actors in the world’s largest “Truman Show” and that is a sad, sad thing. I know, I know! There are a lot of people who love what’s it’s become but to me it’s nothing less than the AOLer’s revenge. All those things that I valued about the Internet so long ago seemed to have disappeared into the inane ramblings of a populace more interested in consuming than creating.

So there I was, pining for the good old days and bitching about today. It was easy. After all, there is so much to bitch about. That’s is the nasty thing about nostalgia. It’s addictive and it’s easy. It’s also complete bullshit. Nothing has changed as much as it seems. Sites like Make and Instructables are thriving. There is a growing and vibrant DIY community that is filled with incredible people who are, daily, pushing the limits of our understanding. The same is true for any aspect of the arts. Those creators are still out there and – shockingly enough – they’re actually growing in number. The only thing that has truly changed is the scope and size of the Internet. It’s become a much bigger place now and those odd creative-types are a bit harder to find than they used to be. After all, it’s a lot easier to get lost amongst the Facebooks and Hulus of todays corporate-mediated media. The actual talent is still around, though, and that gives me hope. I accept that the mainstream world may never fully embrace those who wander on the edge but as long as the edge is there and it is accessible by anyone then I am happy. When we write, when we create, and when we build, we continue the tradition that marks our evolution as a species. I hope that I, even in some limited way, can help add to that.

“Everything must be in its place,” the teacher replied, “and every piece must fit as it should. You know how they fit. Now do it right. Don’t make me call your mother, again.”

The girl paused, tears still welling in her eyes. When they first called her mother she was glad they did. Her mother had always been there for her and she expected her teacher and principal would soon get a very stern talking to like she did when she made her sand castles in the living room using up the last of her mothers potting soil. Things were different, though. This school was different. “You’re there to learn, Abigail,” her mother was angry with her but there was tremor in her voice as well. Abigail didn’t know that parents could be afraid or else she may recognized it. “Stop playing foolish games and do the work. If you want to be anything you have to follow instructions.” She had tried to argue. She tried to tell her mother that the pictures in her head were so much more beautiful and that she could make things, real things that shimmered like butterflies and moved and danced. Her mother wouldn’t listen, though. “Please, Abby, enough with this foolishness. Just do what Mrs. Anders tells you.”

And there Mrs. Anders was, glaring down at the girl daring her to break the rules. Abigail turned the pieces over and slid them together until a soft click was heard. The class cheered and Mrs. Anders actually smiled. “See my dear, you could do it. I knew you could. You get a gold star. I am sure your mother will be quite proud.”

Abigail smiled happily and took her gold star from Mrs. Anders. She placed carefully in the square on her chart and took her seat.

Today was going to be a good day.

It isn’t for any real artistic vision. It’s more a reminder of the past. It is a time capsule of a moment. In this sense it is like a journal but, unlike a personal journal, it is shaped by both the author and those who comment. In this sense it acts as a capture of the entire moment and not just one perspective.

Now, blogging has its embarrassments. I have been terribly wrong about some of the things I have said. I’ve been stupid, emotional, and sometimes just silly. I’m okay with that. I’m human. Sometimes, I post some really dumb stuff.

Of course, I also realized what interesting friendships I have had along the line. I get a moment to miss people. Every one of the people who commented on Greyrealm are are gone now. I may still be in contact with a few of them but the person who made the comment has long since passed away. Time changes us. It alters and shifts us in ways we don’t always expect. I tend to be remain rather steadfast in who I am but even I cannot deny the changes that have occurred.

In 2010, I have the unenviable task of creating connections and developing new friendships. I haven’t done that in almost a decade. It should be an interesting experience to say the least. I am sure in another few years (heck, maybe just months), I will look back on these posts and laugh. Of course, that is part of the fun!

“Why?”

I would have told him the answer, too, if I had any clue as to what it was. Instead, I remained silent. After all, what could I say that hadn’t already been said? The floor, all tile and linoleum, was icy cold and unswept. Small specks of sand and dirt clung to Sam’s feet as he walked toward the old bathroom. There was a gun on the nightstand. It was empty but the metal barrel still flickered ominously in the dawn’s light. Somewhere, I heard a wracking, hacking, cough that seemed to echo from every part of the old motel in which we were staying.

Why, indeed?

The water from the shower kicked on and Sam let it run for a full minute before the rusty red from the pipes finally cleared away. At least it was hot. Small bits of steam rose and obscured the bathroom. Everything became wet and the cold of the floor quickly spread to faucet handles and walls. The steam warmed the air, though, and Sam breathed it in with slow, steady, breaths. This was meditation

..and preparation.

We all know the reason why a game structure exists. It exists because there needs to be a way to resolve conflict and disagreements that arise in all stories (most of you know this as the “I shot you” “No, you didn’t” issue). Game structure acts as a method of adjudicating these conflicts in order to keep the story going.

This was all fine and good until people started to realize that by focusing on the game structure they could, essentially, make their character capable of never being hit. In this sense, the rules actually act to make the “I hit you!” “No, you didn’t!” problem worse. Now each player is concentrated on making sure their character is optimally built to hit and not be hit and modern games (I’m looking at you 4th Ed) emphasize this to no end.

That is why the term “game balance” exists. The enemies are slotted to match up with characters of a certain level who have spent their points in a game appropriate manner. The idea of story is all but dead, there is only the stat and the counter-stat.

Of course, people realized this and a whole myriad of systems rose up trying to find a way around the issue. Honestly, I have not found one that has succeeded. There have been a lot of attempts. Diceless systems such as the Amber system were less than successful primarily because they removed the chance element but kept the conflict-challenge element. This is the worst of all possible worlds in my mind. The dice pools and story concepts of White Wolf systems were solid and the removal of levels was a great thing. Unfortunately, the same issues rose in combining certain skills, powers, and traits. People sought out the best combination and forgot about story. Beyond this, White Wolf micromanaged their world concept to such an extent that players and Storytellers had little choice but to exist solely inside the World of Darkness. There were very few people out there who were creating new worlds with the White Wolf system. WoTC has pretty much failed from day one. The OGL was genius, but they’ve already blown any credit they deserve there. They made a card game and they should have stuck to that. When I go looking for a solid story, I don’t look to HASBRO. Sorcerer was an excellent game, but the system was so tied to a single concept that it made for good play but offered little in the way of creative flexibility when it came to the worlds. I’ve looked at the aspect system that FATE has which really sounds like a modification of the FUDGE rules to fit other systems. The flexibility of FUDGE and True20 are the main reason I tend to use them as systems now, but even they fall short. I’m not going to cover every game system I have played simply because this paragraph is already overly long. Suffice it to say that no system has yet found a way to hold to the narrative angle without the GM enforcing strictly.

So what do you do? If you remove the game structure entirely, you end up with a bunch of people trying to tell a story that falls apart. Players lose that care about their characters and the story suffers. If you include a game structure, you end up with players doing whatever they can to make their characters “succeed” even if that involves the manipulation of meta-content. There is no easy way out, but I’ll offer a few ideas.

The first option is called the “get good players and a GM option.” This was my standard argument for many years. If you have great players and a great GM this is a pointless article. If you like the narrative/collaborative style, you’re all playing it already. The system isn’t an issue in this regard because most you already ignore anything that conflicts with the story at large. This is a great option for experienced and established players, but how do you add new players? Narrative roleplay is a niche within a niche and both niches are growing smaller. GM’s need to reach out to bring in new players if only to help keep this concept of storytelling alive. The first option just doesn’t work here.

The next option is to try to make a system work. Shoehorn in rules and stretch rule concepts to such a degree that the narrative can work. Of course, this will only work in your specific story and conflicts will still arise. A GM can manage this dissonance to some degree but after awhile the system becomes a greater and greater hindrance to the story. Ultimately, if the game survives, you will descend into a freeform style which is right back where we started.

The last option is too look seriously at creating a structure that works to manage the story. This is not simply a character creation issue. This must be a whole new look at the idea of storytelling in general. I mean this both from a tabletop perspective and from a networked perspective. Honestly, I am talking about the re-emergence of storytelling in general.

This will be part of my project for next year. I will be looking at storytelling concepts both from the traditional gaming community and from a more general perspective. How do we tell stories? Why? How do we add to stories and what new opportunities in storytelling are out there? I really believe that we have just started to scratch the surface of this topic. Hopefully, what I discover will be of value to myself and everyone else who reads this.

In Doryn, in the far northern wastes, a young boy felt a great rumbling and watched as the earth before him seemed to split apart. He might have screamed but no sound was heard save the scraping of ice and the thundering of stone. His life could have ended there. In this moment he could have fallen into the depths of the earth and disappeared from the life and the world forever. His existence would have been nothing but a speck of momentary text on a site that no one reads.

When the earth stopped shaking and everything fell silent once again, the boy was still there, though. His name is Devid Kindas and as he is no longer afraid. He has stared into the face of the abyss and he is ready. He in not more than nine years of age, but he is ready.

Now I ask….ready for what? Who is Devid? I can tell you. I will tell you eventually. I will explain how his life melds into the lives of others and how it may come to shape the Northern Lands. This is story. I can’t tell you stats, he is bright, articulate, distant, and exceptionally aware. He is still a child, though. He loves to play tag or to be dragged on the ice by his father or their dogs.

Last year, the older boys in his village captured a live arctic fen (think a large reindeer-esque type of creature) and Devid is still proud that he was the only one brave enough to ride the sled they tied to it. It actually pulled him for several hundred feet before turning on him and trying to trample him. Here, again, he barely survived and he’ll always carry a curved scar on his left should where the fen’s hooves caught him.

This is part of Devid’s story. In a few more minutes, I could give you his father, his mother (in a panic right now), and a younger sibling.

This is story. We write stories. We share stories. We do not create games that can be won or object that are worth value. There is no gear, no item worth it, we create characters and worlds and that is more than enough.

Most of the stories I write are interactive stories. I create the world. I fill it characters, create a series of plots and subplots that are constantly occurring and evolving and then drop other creative people into the midst of it all. They interact with my world. They push at it, tug at it, scream at it, rip at it, and out of it they create their own stories, their own narratives. I am, in essence, the meta-narrator. It is a job that I love. If only I could find a way to make it pay.

Not that it matters, mind you, I create worlds in my head every day. Some are pleasant, cheerful places, others are dark and terrifying. This is their nature because it is my nature. I put the work in because I must, I do it because it is who I am. Even if all the other people went away, I would still be here creating worlds. We don’t do this to play a game. If we do, then the time is wasted. We do this to create a circle of storytellers, to bring together people to create new narratives and new adventures.

For most of 2009, I found myself trapped in a loop. I was creating stories that weren’t new. They were simple, and nothing more than a sad rehash of other stories. I can’t do that. I realize that now. I need to create stories that move and flow and evolve. Stories that are unique in some form. I’m back doing that now. Even during this protracted illness my mind has been fluttering around my True20 system adaptation of the both The Sixth and another, unnamed, project. Now, I am also looking seriously at maybe writing for Pathfinder as well.

This is what the work gives you even when it doesn’t come to fruition. It gives you stories, it fills your arsenal of tropes, tricks, and hooks. It keeps you creating even when there is no one to share it with and even that is sometimes enough.

Most of the people who remain in this medium are not like me. Most of them simply want to play a game and then go about their way. My belief is that their time in this medium is limited. There are better options out there for them. I am looking to a different niche entirely and I really believe that is where the future lies.

The narrative is key.