In case you haven't heard, there's another chance for gamers to get a great deal and do some good: the Pakistan Flood Relief Bundle. A $25 contribution gets you more than $700 worth of goodness.[1]
I'm happy to have picked mine up, both for the good cause and for the truly excellent games contained therein. Here are the ones I was most excited to get my hands on.
Exalted Second Edition (Hard to go wrong here)
Spycraft 2.0 Rulebook (Similarly - totally worth it)
Unsung: Deluxe Download
Contenders
Don't Rest Your Head
Fear Itself
Sufficiently Advanced
Covenant
Hot War
Starblazer Adventures
HarnMaster Third Edition
Dragon Warriors RPG
Wild Talents 2nd Edition
Kingdom Builder Generator Pack (I have no idea what this is, but a name like that totally grabs my interest)
Time & Temp: Paperless Office Edition (been meaning to pick this one up for a while)
Open Game Table: The Anthology of Roleplaying Game Blogs, Vol. 2
So, those are the ones that have grabbed my eye, but they're only a portion of the total list. What have I overlooked? What else is worth a looksee?
1 - And for the curious, there's not much overlap between this and the previous Haiti relief bundle.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Rich Dice Extravaganza
This is shaping up to be a really good week for people interested in rich dice. For the unfamiliar, "rich dice" is a term used in RPGs when a die roll reveals more than one piece of information. For example, in the One Roll Engine, when you roll a set, the highest number in the set determines how quickly you act, but the size of the set (pair, trio, etc) determines how well you act. Similarly, in Don't Rest Your Head, the dice determine who wins a roll, but the color of a highest die rolled determines which factor "dominates" the outcome.
This is a really robust technology. In addition to allowing more meaningful rolls, it also allows interesting mechanical hooks, such as how Dragon Age handles criticals. This is good stuff. And the unending font of creativity which id Daniel Solis has put forward a very interesting design, Split Decision. Go read it for more detail, but in short, you roll 4d6 of 2 colors, and build a roll out of any two dice. Normally you'd just keep the two highest, but which colors you use also has a mechanical impact, so sometimes you might want to build a less optimal number to get an optimal color combination.
Now, the model used in split decision is usable in a lot of other ways. Any time someone is rolling multiple dice (either to total up or to count successes) you can introduce new colors or dice types to introduce more mechanics or meaning.[1]
The trick that I think is most powerful (and which not all Rich Rolling system supports) is the addition of player choice. If you can create meaningful tradeoffs then you can really give individual dice rolls a lot of potency. Structurally, this is very simple (as split decision demonstrates) - more difficult is figuring out how to implement it in a way which is both meaningful and plays well.
That last can be trickier than you might think. Linneus has a great piece on his four principles of dice games that it's worth thinking about in terms of RPGs, an done point he hits is especially relevant - don't waste a lot of time. You want a meaningful decision, but not one that the player is going to agonize over. You might make an exception if it's the only roll, but even then I'd hesitate - if the decision draws things too far out of the game then it can really move things too far away from play.
That may seem like I kind of abstract consideration, but it actually leads to some very concrete guidelines if looked at the right way. Consider D&D - in a given fight, it is rare that any one thing tips the battle by itself. Usually it's a slow depletion of luck and resources - you don't begrudge a particular hit, you just take it and move on. This is because D&D is nicely structured to spread the big decision (who wins the fight) over lots of little decisions (individual actions). That defines a lot of what makes it playable, and that same logic is worth considering when you think about player choice. A big decision that's either morally very difficult or deeply impactful is going to have a lot more impact than one whose ultimate impact is part of the bigger picture.
Even so, decision paralysis can be a real danger. If I say "Take 5 hit points of damage to get +2 to hit and damage on an attack" then some players will take their time calculating cost-benefit, others will swear and remember they could have done it after they roll, and others will just forget about the option. That's a different sort of choice than the kind you want to be thinking about with rich rolls - specifically, with a rich roll you want a choice to be absolutely necessary. If the character is rolling 5 dice either way, the player needs to decide how many are white and how many are black. Notice the difference - they must make the decision. At worse, they may come up with a default decision (like always going 3w, 2b). Choices that are built directly into the process, rather than layered on top of it (as is the case with, say, "which spell should I cast") tend to be a little bit easier to handle.
All that said, the other factor is where to hook the choice in mechanically. There are some good examples on the Split Decision page of using the decision to fill in a counter that has a mechanical effect when it reaches 10. In the case of Split Decision, this is a solid pacing mechanic, since at 10, some sort of endgame gets triggered, and it's easy to bring that model across to other systems where there are setting-sized decisions to make, such as associating yourself witht he light or the dark side.
The one drawback of this is that you need to make sure the die rolling proceeds narration if you really want things to make sense, and not everyone enjoys that. See, if the dice chosen reflect behavior and that behavior is not reflected in the narration then you can end up with situations where the fiction has you saving kittens bu the dice say you're showing a callous disregard for all life. If making the choice in the dice means making a choice in the fiction, then the fiction needs time to reflect it.[2]
Still, that's not the only path - these choices can have immediate consequences too. This can be a s simple as having the colors of your dice split between offense and defense. To take the split decision model, let's say red is damage and blue is defense. Each red die used in your attack translates into extra damage, Each blue die translates into an increase in your defense value. When the big numbers come up red, do you take the risk and expose yourself to land the big hit?
When you want to design a system like this, it's worth listing the range of outcomes that your secondary information can generate. In the case of split decision, it's something like:
2 red
high red, low blue
tied red & blue
low red, high blue
2 blue
Five apparent outcomes, but that number is not quite as concrete as you might think. There are often ways to compress the list down if there's some other number you're going for. Ties are easy to ignore - you can just say they're player choice, and beyond that you can try to build sets. In this case it's easy to break this down to a list of 4 or three as follows:
2 red
high red, low blue
low red, high blue
2 blue
or
2 red
Mixed
2 blue
In this way you can often find the system can end up dovetailing with some specific set of outcomes you're looking to accomplish.
With that in mind, I suggest anyone thinking about these things take a look at Paul Tevis's post on "but" and look at those outcomes and consider how they might map.
1 - If you have the budget to create custom dice, you can do what Warhammer 3rd does, and have things like reckless and cautious dice, where one generates stronger outcomes, but with a greater chance of hurting yourself. Curiously, though, since that decision is made *before* dice are rolled, it's not really rich rolling (though the fact that the WHFRP3E dice track 3 different outcomes is).
2 - It's because of this that this system excels at a meta-level, where the decisions are not necessarily obvious in the outcome. That is to say, in things like magic systems, where there is no external indicator of which Elohim you are now deeper indebted to through that show of power.
This is a really robust technology. In addition to allowing more meaningful rolls, it also allows interesting mechanical hooks, such as how Dragon Age handles criticals. This is good stuff. And the unending font of creativity which id Daniel Solis has put forward a very interesting design, Split Decision. Go read it for more detail, but in short, you roll 4d6 of 2 colors, and build a roll out of any two dice. Normally you'd just keep the two highest, but which colors you use also has a mechanical impact, so sometimes you might want to build a less optimal number to get an optimal color combination.
Now, the model used in split decision is usable in a lot of other ways. Any time someone is rolling multiple dice (either to total up or to count successes) you can introduce new colors or dice types to introduce more mechanics or meaning.[1]
The trick that I think is most powerful (and which not all Rich Rolling system supports) is the addition of player choice. If you can create meaningful tradeoffs then you can really give individual dice rolls a lot of potency. Structurally, this is very simple (as split decision demonstrates) - more difficult is figuring out how to implement it in a way which is both meaningful and plays well.
That last can be trickier than you might think. Linneus has a great piece on his four principles of dice games that it's worth thinking about in terms of RPGs, an done point he hits is especially relevant - don't waste a lot of time. You want a meaningful decision, but not one that the player is going to agonize over. You might make an exception if it's the only roll, but even then I'd hesitate - if the decision draws things too far out of the game then it can really move things too far away from play.
That may seem like I kind of abstract consideration, but it actually leads to some very concrete guidelines if looked at the right way. Consider D&D - in a given fight, it is rare that any one thing tips the battle by itself. Usually it's a slow depletion of luck and resources - you don't begrudge a particular hit, you just take it and move on. This is because D&D is nicely structured to spread the big decision (who wins the fight) over lots of little decisions (individual actions). That defines a lot of what makes it playable, and that same logic is worth considering when you think about player choice. A big decision that's either morally very difficult or deeply impactful is going to have a lot more impact than one whose ultimate impact is part of the bigger picture.
Even so, decision paralysis can be a real danger. If I say "Take 5 hit points of damage to get +2 to hit and damage on an attack" then some players will take their time calculating cost-benefit, others will swear and remember they could have done it after they roll, and others will just forget about the option. That's a different sort of choice than the kind you want to be thinking about with rich rolls - specifically, with a rich roll you want a choice to be absolutely necessary. If the character is rolling 5 dice either way, the player needs to decide how many are white and how many are black. Notice the difference - they must make the decision. At worse, they may come up with a default decision (like always going 3w, 2b). Choices that are built directly into the process, rather than layered on top of it (as is the case with, say, "which spell should I cast") tend to be a little bit easier to handle.
All that said, the other factor is where to hook the choice in mechanically. There are some good examples on the Split Decision page of using the decision to fill in a counter that has a mechanical effect when it reaches 10. In the case of Split Decision, this is a solid pacing mechanic, since at 10, some sort of endgame gets triggered, and it's easy to bring that model across to other systems where there are setting-sized decisions to make, such as associating yourself witht he light or the dark side.
The one drawback of this is that you need to make sure the die rolling proceeds narration if you really want things to make sense, and not everyone enjoys that. See, if the dice chosen reflect behavior and that behavior is not reflected in the narration then you can end up with situations where the fiction has you saving kittens bu the dice say you're showing a callous disregard for all life. If making the choice in the dice means making a choice in the fiction, then the fiction needs time to reflect it.[2]
Still, that's not the only path - these choices can have immediate consequences too. This can be a s simple as having the colors of your dice split between offense and defense. To take the split decision model, let's say red is damage and blue is defense. Each red die used in your attack translates into extra damage, Each blue die translates into an increase in your defense value. When the big numbers come up red, do you take the risk and expose yourself to land the big hit?
When you want to design a system like this, it's worth listing the range of outcomes that your secondary information can generate. In the case of split decision, it's something like:
2 red
high red, low blue
tied red & blue
low red, high blue
2 blue
Five apparent outcomes, but that number is not quite as concrete as you might think. There are often ways to compress the list down if there's some other number you're going for. Ties are easy to ignore - you can just say they're player choice, and beyond that you can try to build sets. In this case it's easy to break this down to a list of 4 or three as follows:
2 red
high red, low blue
low red, high blue
2 blue
or
2 red
Mixed
2 blue
In this way you can often find the system can end up dovetailing with some specific set of outcomes you're looking to accomplish.
With that in mind, I suggest anyone thinking about these things take a look at Paul Tevis's post on "but" and look at those outcomes and consider how they might map.
1 - If you have the budget to create custom dice, you can do what Warhammer 3rd does, and have things like reckless and cautious dice, where one generates stronger outcomes, but with a greater chance of hurting yourself. Curiously, though, since that decision is made *before* dice are rolled, it's not really rich rolling (though the fact that the WHFRP3E dice track 3 different outcomes is).
2 - It's because of this that this system excels at a meta-level, where the decisions are not necessarily obvious in the outcome. That is to say, in things like magic systems, where there is no external indicator of which Elohim you are now deeper indebted to through that show of power.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
When the GM Rolls
I should be working on something else, but a question came up in conversation that my brain has been worrying like a bone: When should the GM roll dice?[1]
For a little bit of context, it's important to be aware that there are several game designs in which the GM never rolls. The most famous example is probably the SAGA system, though Apocalypse World has also brought the practice to mind for many. For players unfamiliar with these games, this may seem counterintuitive at first, but it's fairly easy to imagine. Most systems are fairly symmetrical, so the average outcome of die roll + modifier is roughly in line with difficulty, which means that changing which side is active (rolling) and which is reactive (using a passive value) doesn't actually change the outcome.
To illustrate more concretely, let's suppose your opponents has an attack modifier of +5 and is rolling d20 to try to hit your armor class of 16. He needs to roll a 11 or better to succeed, straight up 50/50 change. However, suppose instead of an attack modifier of +5, he had an attack _value_ of 16? Rather than roll any dice, he would just act as if his attack roll had totaled 16. Similarly, rather than an armor class of 16, you had a defense value of +6. When he attacks, you have to roll d20 and add that 6, trying to beat his 16.
It's a weird shift, but it doesn't actually change much of anything about the system.[2] Modifiers still get applied without changing the math at all. This also works for skills too: Trying to sneak? Stealth vs. a fixed difficulty. Trying to spot someone sneaking? Perceptions versus a fixed difficulty. Easy peasy. In short: EVERYTHING is a target number.
Of course, this is not the only model. Apocalypse world's system isn't symmetrical (it's not attack vs defense), it's based on rolling for outcomes, and all the "tables" you'd roll on (the moves) are purely for players. There's no question of the GM rolling because there's no place where she _would_ roll.
Bottom line, this is a design option, but it's a curious one, and also a bit contentious. Some GM's love it, viewing that it gives them less to do during a game so they can focus on other priorities (those priorities varying from GM to GM). Other GMs find it off-putting, usually because the techniques of die rolling are part of their kit, important to their sense of drama or communication.[3]
Personally, I have a great intellectual appreciation for the GM not rolling. It keeps the players proactive, even in otherwise reactive situations, and I'm a lazy enough guy to appreciate the release. However, in practice. it falls short for me when I go cold turkey. It's something that's very hard for me to put my finger on, but I feel that I am not suitably engaging the game, and that my decisions and rulings have too few limitations. I enjoy the bounds that dice put on things, and I use them for oracular purposes (LINK: http://rdonoghue.blogspot.com/2010/03/arbiters-and-oracles.html) as often as I do as arbiters, perhaps even more often. In retrospect, one of my stumbling points with Apocalypse World was that I was not comfortable raining more-or-less unchecked fire down on the players when the dice turned against them. It felt like cheating.
Anyway, all that was a big prelude to come around to the question: When should the GM roll dice?
Obviously, different systems have specific answers to this, but that's not quite what I'm getting at. It's not something I've thought about generally speaking when kicking around design.
The big answer seems to be "When there's an outcome the GM doesn't know" but that's deceptively simple. It begs the question of why the GM doesn't know. Most often, is it because uncertainty is desirable for the same reasons uncertainty is useful for players, and perhaps unsurprisingly, those are the kinds of rolls that can most easily be passed from the GM to the player.
Other reasons for uncertainty really revolve around what the GM _should_ know, and that's kind of interesting, because that's a pretty profound design decision - it has a lot of implications for the GM's role and authority. Consider something very old school - reaction tables. Games like AD&D used tables to determine the reactions of NPCs. Now, whether this is an assertion that the GM shouldn't make these decisions or a tool to save him the decision-making (much the same way a random table for encounters save the headaches of filling in blank areas on the map) is not as important as the fact that it could be either.
Still, while that speaks to certain issues, I'm not sure it does so informatively. Turning it on its ear, maybe the question is what the GM rolling the dice signals.
Curiously, what it doesn't signal is that something interesting is about to happen. That's a key one, because one might expect that to be the case, but the reality is that when something interesting is about to happen, the GM usually calls for a *player* to roll dice. There are a few tension-building techniques that look like the the GM is rolling to make things happen, like rolling for no apparent reason to make players nervous, but they're not actually mechanically relevant.
What it does signal, at least to my mind, is that the GM is now subjecting himself to the rules. By rolling the dice, he is making an announcement that the decision which follows is going to be subject to the outcome of the dice. This is, I think, why dice fudging can be such a visceral issue for people, far beyond it's theoretical impact. It takes something the GM is communicating very explicitly and makes a lie of it.[4]
Does it signal anything else? That something is happening, sure, but that's usually already quite clear. Sometimes it communicates details about what's happening, but that only applies in systems where the number or type of dice use signifies something. That is, a double handful of d10s is a meaningful way to communicate to Exalted players that their enemy is a scary badass, but in D&D, all d20s are pretty much the same (though you can do some stunts with pulling out the REALLY big d20).
At the end here, I don't feel like I'm any closer to an actual insight. Lots of things that work part of the time, or offer limited insight. I feel like there's something here, but I can't quite see to the heart of it. Still, I feel like I'm closer to sense of how to use the point at which the GM rolls as something to get purchase on in a design.
1 - Here's an important note - I don't have an answer to this, and I don't swear I will have one by the time this is over. If I had an answer, the question would not be nearly as compelling, so this is mostly me airing out my thought process.
2 - Ok, that's a small lie. You need to decide on defaults, so in the case of d20, you create attack value by assuming the NPCs always roll 10s or 11s. Either is about right (stupid averages) but it's an important decision. I tend to vote 11, and players win ties, which is mathematically closer to 10.5.
3 - There's also a concrete mechanical impact on systems that involve competitive die rolls (attack vs. defense) that is best illustrated by the Fudge dice used by Fate. The usual 4df roll generates a curved result from -4 to +4, but because each die is neutral, your odds are never going to get any better by changing the number of dice. This is important because when the GM rolls 4df as well, it's the same as if the GM had rolled nothing and the player had rolled 8df, for a result from -8 to +8, but with no better odds of success. In situations like this (or in any game where there is rolling on both sides of a contest), there may not be a change in overall odds, but the range of possibilities broadens. That may or may not have any mechanical impact, depending on the system, but it's somthing to keep in mind.
4 - While I don't think this reflects on the broader issue of whether or not GMs should fudge dice rolls, it definitely suggests a reason it's such a hot button topic.
For a little bit of context, it's important to be aware that there are several game designs in which the GM never rolls. The most famous example is probably the SAGA system, though Apocalypse World has also brought the practice to mind for many. For players unfamiliar with these games, this may seem counterintuitive at first, but it's fairly easy to imagine. Most systems are fairly symmetrical, so the average outcome of die roll + modifier is roughly in line with difficulty, which means that changing which side is active (rolling) and which is reactive (using a passive value) doesn't actually change the outcome.
To illustrate more concretely, let's suppose your opponents has an attack modifier of +5 and is rolling d20 to try to hit your armor class of 16. He needs to roll a 11 or better to succeed, straight up 50/50 change. However, suppose instead of an attack modifier of +5, he had an attack _value_ of 16? Rather than roll any dice, he would just act as if his attack roll had totaled 16. Similarly, rather than an armor class of 16, you had a defense value of +6. When he attacks, you have to roll d20 and add that 6, trying to beat his 16.
It's a weird shift, but it doesn't actually change much of anything about the system.[2] Modifiers still get applied without changing the math at all. This also works for skills too: Trying to sneak? Stealth vs. a fixed difficulty. Trying to spot someone sneaking? Perceptions versus a fixed difficulty. Easy peasy. In short: EVERYTHING is a target number.
Of course, this is not the only model. Apocalypse world's system isn't symmetrical (it's not attack vs defense), it's based on rolling for outcomes, and all the "tables" you'd roll on (the moves) are purely for players. There's no question of the GM rolling because there's no place where she _would_ roll.
Bottom line, this is a design option, but it's a curious one, and also a bit contentious. Some GM's love it, viewing that it gives them less to do during a game so they can focus on other priorities (those priorities varying from GM to GM). Other GMs find it off-putting, usually because the techniques of die rolling are part of their kit, important to their sense of drama or communication.[3]
Personally, I have a great intellectual appreciation for the GM not rolling. It keeps the players proactive, even in otherwise reactive situations, and I'm a lazy enough guy to appreciate the release. However, in practice. it falls short for me when I go cold turkey. It's something that's very hard for me to put my finger on, but I feel that I am not suitably engaging the game, and that my decisions and rulings have too few limitations. I enjoy the bounds that dice put on things, and I use them for oracular purposes (LINK: http://rdonoghue.blogspot.com/2010/03/arbiters-and-oracles.html) as often as I do as arbiters, perhaps even more often. In retrospect, one of my stumbling points with Apocalypse World was that I was not comfortable raining more-or-less unchecked fire down on the players when the dice turned against them. It felt like cheating.
Anyway, all that was a big prelude to come around to the question: When should the GM roll dice?
Obviously, different systems have specific answers to this, but that's not quite what I'm getting at. It's not something I've thought about generally speaking when kicking around design.
The big answer seems to be "When there's an outcome the GM doesn't know" but that's deceptively simple. It begs the question of why the GM doesn't know. Most often, is it because uncertainty is desirable for the same reasons uncertainty is useful for players, and perhaps unsurprisingly, those are the kinds of rolls that can most easily be passed from the GM to the player.
Other reasons for uncertainty really revolve around what the GM _should_ know, and that's kind of interesting, because that's a pretty profound design decision - it has a lot of implications for the GM's role and authority. Consider something very old school - reaction tables. Games like AD&D used tables to determine the reactions of NPCs. Now, whether this is an assertion that the GM shouldn't make these decisions or a tool to save him the decision-making (much the same way a random table for encounters save the headaches of filling in blank areas on the map) is not as important as the fact that it could be either.
Still, while that speaks to certain issues, I'm not sure it does so informatively. Turning it on its ear, maybe the question is what the GM rolling the dice signals.
Curiously, what it doesn't signal is that something interesting is about to happen. That's a key one, because one might expect that to be the case, but the reality is that when something interesting is about to happen, the GM usually calls for a *player* to roll dice. There are a few tension-building techniques that look like the the GM is rolling to make things happen, like rolling for no apparent reason to make players nervous, but they're not actually mechanically relevant.
What it does signal, at least to my mind, is that the GM is now subjecting himself to the rules. By rolling the dice, he is making an announcement that the decision which follows is going to be subject to the outcome of the dice. This is, I think, why dice fudging can be such a visceral issue for people, far beyond it's theoretical impact. It takes something the GM is communicating very explicitly and makes a lie of it.[4]
Does it signal anything else? That something is happening, sure, but that's usually already quite clear. Sometimes it communicates details about what's happening, but that only applies in systems where the number or type of dice use signifies something. That is, a double handful of d10s is a meaningful way to communicate to Exalted players that their enemy is a scary badass, but in D&D, all d20s are pretty much the same (though you can do some stunts with pulling out the REALLY big d20).
At the end here, I don't feel like I'm any closer to an actual insight. Lots of things that work part of the time, or offer limited insight. I feel like there's something here, but I can't quite see to the heart of it. Still, I feel like I'm closer to sense of how to use the point at which the GM rolls as something to get purchase on in a design.
1 - Here's an important note - I don't have an answer to this, and I don't swear I will have one by the time this is over. If I had an answer, the question would not be nearly as compelling, so this is mostly me airing out my thought process.
2 - Ok, that's a small lie. You need to decide on defaults, so in the case of d20, you create attack value by assuming the NPCs always roll 10s or 11s. Either is about right (stupid averages) but it's an important decision. I tend to vote 11, and players win ties, which is mathematically closer to 10.5.
3 - There's also a concrete mechanical impact on systems that involve competitive die rolls (attack vs. defense) that is best illustrated by the Fudge dice used by Fate. The usual 4df roll generates a curved result from -4 to +4, but because each die is neutral, your odds are never going to get any better by changing the number of dice. This is important because when the GM rolls 4df as well, it's the same as if the GM had rolled nothing and the player had rolled 8df, for a result from -8 to +8, but with no better odds of success. In situations like this (or in any game where there is rolling on both sides of a contest), there may not be a change in overall odds, but the range of possibilities broadens. That may or may not have any mechanical impact, depending on the system, but it's somthing to keep in mind.
4 - While I don't think this reflects on the broader issue of whether or not GMs should fudge dice rolls, it definitely suggests a reason it's such a hot button topic.
Monday, October 18, 2010
A Cool Thing on Monday: Rollabind
I am a bit of a notebook nerd. I mean, yes, I'm a nerd of many stripes, but office supplies are one of my great weaknesses. I can cheerfully compare the virtues of a Moleskine vs. Miquelrius vs. Rhodia vs. Picadilly far beyond the interest of most folks. This is occasionally a problem (specifically a storage problem) but it dovetails well with a lot of my other interests.
One thing I've been using for over a decade is the Rollabind system, and it's so incredibly useful that I keep coming back to it. It's a binding system that makes for a nice alternative to three-hole punch. It uses a series of rings along the binding that makes it easy to add and remove pages, but also allows the whole document to open and close easily like a notebook without the weird angles that comes from putting things in a binder.
It's a little difficult to visualize, but an illustration should clarify it. the paper is punched like so:
You then put a plastic ring in each groove, and the whole thing is bound up like so:
From the side, it closes up to look like this.
Bottom line, you get repositionable pages, like you have with a three ring binder, but with the slimmer, more utilitarian profile of a notebook. Plus, once you have a punch you can easily make notebooks of any size. I'm partial to punching stacks of index cards to bind them on one edge or the other, making little notebooks of them.
The benefits for RPGs are obvious. You can make quick notebooks for character sheets or for game sets. The ability to take notes up up front then move them to the back makes it easy to make for an all-purpose toolbox.
I realize this is a pretty unrestrained endorsement of rollabind, but as noted, I've been using these since the late nineties, and you have no idea how happy I am to not have to deal with shelving three ring binders.
Anyway, you can get this stuff via Rollabind on their website, though if you want to get it in stores, Staples carries it too. If you want the somewhat more swank version then you can get them via Levenger as the Circa System.[1] I should note that a lot of my enthusiasm is because I invested in a binding kit back in the day, which I probably would not have done if I hadn't seen the notebooks first-hand (Waldenbooks had some as day planners) so if you're curious, I would strongly suggest checking out a notebooks at Staples (or sometimes Target) and seeing how useful it looks to you.
1 - Myndology has a similar disc bound system but it's much more expensive and offers no real benefits, but I mention out of a desire to be thorough.
One thing I've been using for over a decade is the Rollabind system, and it's so incredibly useful that I keep coming back to it. It's a binding system that makes for a nice alternative to three-hole punch. It uses a series of rings along the binding that makes it easy to add and remove pages, but also allows the whole document to open and close easily like a notebook without the weird angles that comes from putting things in a binder.
It's a little difficult to visualize, but an illustration should clarify it. the paper is punched like so:
You then put a plastic ring in each groove, and the whole thing is bound up like so:
From the side, it closes up to look like this.
Bottom line, you get repositionable pages, like you have with a three ring binder, but with the slimmer, more utilitarian profile of a notebook. Plus, once you have a punch you can easily make notebooks of any size. I'm partial to punching stacks of index cards to bind them on one edge or the other, making little notebooks of them.
The benefits for RPGs are obvious. You can make quick notebooks for character sheets or for game sets. The ability to take notes up up front then move them to the back makes it easy to make for an all-purpose toolbox.
I realize this is a pretty unrestrained endorsement of rollabind, but as noted, I've been using these since the late nineties, and you have no idea how happy I am to not have to deal with shelving three ring binders.
Anyway, you can get this stuff via Rollabind on their website, though if you want to get it in stores, Staples carries it too. If you want the somewhat more swank version then you can get them via Levenger as the Circa System.[1] I should note that a lot of my enthusiasm is because I invested in a binding kit back in the day, which I probably would not have done if I hadn't seen the notebooks first-hand (Waldenbooks had some as day planners) so if you're curious, I would strongly suggest checking out a notebooks at Staples (or sometimes Target) and seeing how useful it looks to you.
1 - Myndology has a similar disc bound system but it's much more expensive and offers no real benefits, but I mention out of a desire to be thorough.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Railroads and Polestars
Anyone who has ever had to run a project of any size knows that a plan is both incredibly useful, but also a bit of fiction. Anything that has a large number of moving parts and deep dependencies is pretty much guaranteed to go off the rails almost immediately. You can build giant gantt charts and hold many meetings to try to pretend that this isn't the case, but the reality is that every time something comes up, you need to redo the entire plan from that point forward, and that's a giant pain in the ass.
Some people take this as an argument to not plan at all, but a more successful strategy is to change the approach. This takes a lot of different forms with a lot of different names from "mission statement" to "commander's intent" to "polestar" but they share a key idea; have a plan, but make sure that part of a plan is a clearly stated (and understood) outcome, then orient on that outcome rather than the plan.
I like the "polestar" nomenclature because navigation provides one of the clearest illustrations of this principle. If you're flying a plane or sailing a ship towards some destination, 90% of the time you're off course. Maybe not by a lot, but if you were to continue on your current heading, you'd miss your ultimate destination. But because you know where you're going, you can easily introduce a course correction, even if things have gone drastically off course. Whatever route you take, you still get where you're going in the end.
As useful as this is in business, it's somewhat interesting to look at it through the lens of RPGs. Yesterday, Doyce Testerman put up an interesting post about Mass Effect 2[1] and Railroads which got me thinking.
Railroading[2] gets a bad rap for a good reason - it turns the players into passive observers of play rather than active participants, and that's pretty crappy. However, it has a second bad rap that is for a totally different reason, and that is that most railroad adventures, especially published ones, are stinkers. And yes, I include many classics in that regard. Some groups make them work, but the reality is that railroading is a writer's trick to allow you to ignore the composition and characteristics of the characters who are actually playing in the adventure. Making the characters irrelevant means you can use it with any group of players! Score!
Except, of course, that's pretty lame. I am aware that the desire to have adventures that engage the specific characters the players have made is not universal, but I think it penetrates pretty deep. Even GMs who would never consider changing the story of their world or adventure to reflect their table may still be comfortable using the character's specific hooks to try to draw them into the generic adventure.
Anyway, one way or another, Railroading is strongly associated with the GM having a story to tell, and that story being the driving force of the game.
The thing is, as much as I get (and make) the arguments against that approach, there is a hard slap of reality to consider - some magnificent games have come from this. Not from the techniques (because squashing player choice is crap, however you cut it) but from that idea of the GM having a vision and making it real through the game. Ideally the GM shares this idea with his players, folds their ideas into it, and makes it something that everyone has a stake in, but the heart of it is born from the GM's inspiration and talent.
The idea of the GM's vision has taken a lot of hits over the years, in large part because it allows for a lot of bad things. Abusive play. Blocking players. Railroading. Entire generations of games have been born out of frustrations with past GM abuses and try to bake limitations into the rules system.[3] What's more, it's one of the earliest models, and as such was treated as the default for a long time. That meant that there were times when it was an uphill struggle to suggest that it wasn't the only way. Now, I feel this has been a pretty successful struggle, and for evidence I point to the changes in D&D over the years, but not everyone agrees. But even so, I am not comfortable with the idea of framing a position solely based on its position in a very fringey social conflict.
That's where I find myself pondering the GM's authority (and vision) as technique rather than philosophy. I have too much evidence that good, even great, games can come out of a traditional GM arrangement to discard the model as inherently toxic. To do so in the face of real fun would be dogmatic. So I open the door and wonder, if it's a technique, how can it be well done versus poorly done.
And this is where I come back to railroading and polestars. Railroading is, to my mind, a bad implementation of technique. It is an attempt to answer the question of how to keep events moving towards something interesting, and it's most useful educational role is as a cautionary example. This is where the polestar model is perhaps a little more useful. The GM may have some things in mind, with varying levels of concreteness but if he concentrates on the points he's navigating towards rather than the route being taken, then suddenly there is leeway for players to make meaningful choices. They may change things drastically while still allowing the GM to draw things back towards the goal. Obviously, the GM needs to be flexible and responsive, and sometimes he might have to discard or change stars if his players take things too far off course, but a good GM will recognize that change of direction as a signal that perhaps he should consider a set of stars the players want to navigate towards.
The reality is, this is a technique that GMs have used for decades under a variety of names.[4] For every dofus who insists on sticking to the rails there are dozens of GMs who roll with the punches, engage the players, but also keep their own agenda in mind. They are the GMs who treat their job as more than a purely technical one, and who would not be comfortable serving as a mere smart rendering engine nor as a glorified referee.
With all that said, I want to highlight the utility of treating this as a technique, not an article of faith. Techniques are not universally applicable. As a technique, this is something that would be terribly received at many tables, and those tables would be best served by not doing it. This should be no more of a value judgment than one might get for rolling perception checks in advance, doing initiative by seating order or enforcing strict inventory tracking. It's simply another way of doing things.
There is, I admit, a bit of a danger in looking at techniques for an empowered GMs. By its nature, the role means that the GM can choose to ignore good techniques and best practices, and in the abstract, I agree that's a problem, but I think the reality is more nuanced. Discussing these techniques, treating them with respect rather than disdain, and working to make them better should hopefully have the effect of making the whole community more aware of what is acceptable or not in a GM. If all GM authority is treated as equally bad, players who are comfortable with the model but suffering under bad techniques have been robbed of useful ways to talk about it.
I also kind of savor the challenge of this because the acknowledgment of the GM's role as a creative one makes it much harder to simply come up with a few canned rules to make for a great game. Much like writing or other creative acts, there are rules to learn and things you can do to improve, but if you try to do things purely by the rules, the product is going to be flat. There's a necessary element of human inspiration. I think, in ignoring that, we've been grabbing for the low-hanging fruit of RPG design, and that's part of the reason that rules have thrived, but more explicitly creative elements (like setting and adventure design) have received far less attention.
I don't know that this will change, but for now, I will hope.
1 - Yes, this hinges on the idea that the story in mass effect 2 was compelling. The reality is that, like any example, there are people for whom it doesn't hold true, and that's fine. Just accept that there is an audience out there who really enjoyed it, or Dragon Age or whatever other game comes to mind.
2 - Which I'll define here as a game where the player's choice have no meaningful impact on events. There are lots of associated definitions, like watching the action and reading boxed text, but that's the heart of it for me.
3- This is a generally unspoken reason why the idea of Rule Zero (the GM owns the rules) is anathema in some quarters. If the rules are there to curtail the GM, then giving (or acknowledging, depending how you see it) the GM the right to change them undercuts that entirely.
4 - At which point I mention that the I-word is not a welcome addition to this conversation. It is toxic jargon, and there are better ways to say what you intend to say. If you don't know what I mean, then be glad.
Some people take this as an argument to not plan at all, but a more successful strategy is to change the approach. This takes a lot of different forms with a lot of different names from "mission statement" to "commander's intent" to "polestar" but they share a key idea; have a plan, but make sure that part of a plan is a clearly stated (and understood) outcome, then orient on that outcome rather than the plan.
I like the "polestar" nomenclature because navigation provides one of the clearest illustrations of this principle. If you're flying a plane or sailing a ship towards some destination, 90% of the time you're off course. Maybe not by a lot, but if you were to continue on your current heading, you'd miss your ultimate destination. But because you know where you're going, you can easily introduce a course correction, even if things have gone drastically off course. Whatever route you take, you still get where you're going in the end.
As useful as this is in business, it's somewhat interesting to look at it through the lens of RPGs. Yesterday, Doyce Testerman put up an interesting post about Mass Effect 2[1] and Railroads which got me thinking.
Railroading[2] gets a bad rap for a good reason - it turns the players into passive observers of play rather than active participants, and that's pretty crappy. However, it has a second bad rap that is for a totally different reason, and that is that most railroad adventures, especially published ones, are stinkers. And yes, I include many classics in that regard. Some groups make them work, but the reality is that railroading is a writer's trick to allow you to ignore the composition and characteristics of the characters who are actually playing in the adventure. Making the characters irrelevant means you can use it with any group of players! Score!
Except, of course, that's pretty lame. I am aware that the desire to have adventures that engage the specific characters the players have made is not universal, but I think it penetrates pretty deep. Even GMs who would never consider changing the story of their world or adventure to reflect their table may still be comfortable using the character's specific hooks to try to draw them into the generic adventure.
Anyway, one way or another, Railroading is strongly associated with the GM having a story to tell, and that story being the driving force of the game.
The thing is, as much as I get (and make) the arguments against that approach, there is a hard slap of reality to consider - some magnificent games have come from this. Not from the techniques (because squashing player choice is crap, however you cut it) but from that idea of the GM having a vision and making it real through the game. Ideally the GM shares this idea with his players, folds their ideas into it, and makes it something that everyone has a stake in, but the heart of it is born from the GM's inspiration and talent.
The idea of the GM's vision has taken a lot of hits over the years, in large part because it allows for a lot of bad things. Abusive play. Blocking players. Railroading. Entire generations of games have been born out of frustrations with past GM abuses and try to bake limitations into the rules system.[3] What's more, it's one of the earliest models, and as such was treated as the default for a long time. That meant that there were times when it was an uphill struggle to suggest that it wasn't the only way. Now, I feel this has been a pretty successful struggle, and for evidence I point to the changes in D&D over the years, but not everyone agrees. But even so, I am not comfortable with the idea of framing a position solely based on its position in a very fringey social conflict.
That's where I find myself pondering the GM's authority (and vision) as technique rather than philosophy. I have too much evidence that good, even great, games can come out of a traditional GM arrangement to discard the model as inherently toxic. To do so in the face of real fun would be dogmatic. So I open the door and wonder, if it's a technique, how can it be well done versus poorly done.
And this is where I come back to railroading and polestars. Railroading is, to my mind, a bad implementation of technique. It is an attempt to answer the question of how to keep events moving towards something interesting, and it's most useful educational role is as a cautionary example. This is where the polestar model is perhaps a little more useful. The GM may have some things in mind, with varying levels of concreteness but if he concentrates on the points he's navigating towards rather than the route being taken, then suddenly there is leeway for players to make meaningful choices. They may change things drastically while still allowing the GM to draw things back towards the goal. Obviously, the GM needs to be flexible and responsive, and sometimes he might have to discard or change stars if his players take things too far off course, but a good GM will recognize that change of direction as a signal that perhaps he should consider a set of stars the players want to navigate towards.
The reality is, this is a technique that GMs have used for decades under a variety of names.[4] For every dofus who insists on sticking to the rails there are dozens of GMs who roll with the punches, engage the players, but also keep their own agenda in mind. They are the GMs who treat their job as more than a purely technical one, and who would not be comfortable serving as a mere smart rendering engine nor as a glorified referee.
With all that said, I want to highlight the utility of treating this as a technique, not an article of faith. Techniques are not universally applicable. As a technique, this is something that would be terribly received at many tables, and those tables would be best served by not doing it. This should be no more of a value judgment than one might get for rolling perception checks in advance, doing initiative by seating order or enforcing strict inventory tracking. It's simply another way of doing things.
There is, I admit, a bit of a danger in looking at techniques for an empowered GMs. By its nature, the role means that the GM can choose to ignore good techniques and best practices, and in the abstract, I agree that's a problem, but I think the reality is more nuanced. Discussing these techniques, treating them with respect rather than disdain, and working to make them better should hopefully have the effect of making the whole community more aware of what is acceptable or not in a GM. If all GM authority is treated as equally bad, players who are comfortable with the model but suffering under bad techniques have been robbed of useful ways to talk about it.
I also kind of savor the challenge of this because the acknowledgment of the GM's role as a creative one makes it much harder to simply come up with a few canned rules to make for a great game. Much like writing or other creative acts, there are rules to learn and things you can do to improve, but if you try to do things purely by the rules, the product is going to be flat. There's a necessary element of human inspiration. I think, in ignoring that, we've been grabbing for the low-hanging fruit of RPG design, and that's part of the reason that rules have thrived, but more explicitly creative elements (like setting and adventure design) have received far less attention.
I don't know that this will change, but for now, I will hope.
1 - Yes, this hinges on the idea that the story in mass effect 2 was compelling. The reality is that, like any example, there are people for whom it doesn't hold true, and that's fine. Just accept that there is an audience out there who really enjoyed it, or Dragon Age or whatever other game comes to mind.
2 - Which I'll define here as a game where the player's choice have no meaningful impact on events. There are lots of associated definitions, like watching the action and reading boxed text, but that's the heart of it for me.
3- This is a generally unspoken reason why the idea of Rule Zero (the GM owns the rules) is anathema in some quarters. If the rules are there to curtail the GM, then giving (or acknowledging, depending how you see it) the GM the right to change them undercuts that entirely.
4 - At which point I mention that the I-word is not a welcome addition to this conversation. It is toxic jargon, and there are better ways to say what you intend to say. If you don't know what I mean, then be glad.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
The Allure of 2d6
I ran another session of the Cold War game on Monday. Slightly weird session, bringing a few things to violent culmination, and also introducing the first real point of departure from real history. Previous disastrous events had happened in the shadow of real world disasters, allowing for a bit of sleight of hand that allowed things to keep from divergence. I'm pondering what impact that's going to have on things - on one hand I could probably smooth things over and keep to traditional history. On the other hand, I could embrace the divergence. It would be a bit of a weight off my shoulders and allow me to start bringing in the weirdness a little more hot and heavy. Tough call.
I also took a bit of a mechanical departure and switched to a 2d6 model for the session (added together, not d6-d6, as is sometimes a substitute for fudge dice). Blame it on the combination of Apocalypse World and the loveliness of the d6s that came out with the endgame celebration.
This is not the first time I've been bit by this particular bug. Endgame's previous dice were beautiful as well, and other games and celebrations that have offered commemorative dice have inspired me to think "Man, I need to do something with these very cool dice." The problem is that 2d6 is a harsh mistress.
Part of the problem is that in limiting myself to two dice I lose one of the better mechanical sliders for additive dice games - bonus and penalty dice. That removes PDQ from the table and leaves me with what is, frankly, a not terribly satisfying curve. But Apocalypse World does a pretty good job within that curve (up to 6 is failure, 7-9 is limited success, 10+ is a clear success) and I figured I'd give it a shot. The Cold War ladder is different than normal fate - it's just three tiers at +2, +4, and +6. The one +6 pretty much overwhelms the roll, but that's in keeping with expectations - the characters are pretty much James Bond with a focus on whatever that +6 is in. The +2 and +4 are a bit better than AW characters (who cap out at +3) but that's fine - I was skewing towards a little bit more success.
That was all well and good in theory, but it fell a little too flat in practice. It might have been a result of the specific dice that night, but things skewed even higher than I expected. That was inconvenient, but what it really did was highlight the thing that a 2d6 curve needed was the explicit outcomes of Apocalypse World. In their absence, it makes for a fairly uninteresting distribution of outcomes, especially partial successes. The detailed outcomes of AW (and the way they are explicitly designed to push play) are what make it sing. Which is to say, the dice and the outcomes are a much more atomic unit than I originally thought.
Now, it wasn't a total loss. It still worked, but if i do it again I'm more likely to go to a 3d6 based model. That's a bit more of a fun spread, and allows more tricks. It does mean leaving the 2d6 by the wayside again, but I'm sure I'll be back again.
I also took a bit of a mechanical departure and switched to a 2d6 model for the session (added together, not d6-d6, as is sometimes a substitute for fudge dice). Blame it on the combination of Apocalypse World and the loveliness of the d6s that came out with the endgame celebration.
This is not the first time I've been bit by this particular bug. Endgame's previous dice were beautiful as well, and other games and celebrations that have offered commemorative dice have inspired me to think "Man, I need to do something with these very cool dice." The problem is that 2d6 is a harsh mistress.
Part of the problem is that in limiting myself to two dice I lose one of the better mechanical sliders for additive dice games - bonus and penalty dice. That removes PDQ from the table and leaves me with what is, frankly, a not terribly satisfying curve. But Apocalypse World does a pretty good job within that curve (up to 6 is failure, 7-9 is limited success, 10+ is a clear success) and I figured I'd give it a shot. The Cold War ladder is different than normal fate - it's just three tiers at +2, +4, and +6. The one +6 pretty much overwhelms the roll, but that's in keeping with expectations - the characters are pretty much James Bond with a focus on whatever that +6 is in. The +2 and +4 are a bit better than AW characters (who cap out at +3) but that's fine - I was skewing towards a little bit more success.
That was all well and good in theory, but it fell a little too flat in practice. It might have been a result of the specific dice that night, but things skewed even higher than I expected. That was inconvenient, but what it really did was highlight the thing that a 2d6 curve needed was the explicit outcomes of Apocalypse World. In their absence, it makes for a fairly uninteresting distribution of outcomes, especially partial successes. The detailed outcomes of AW (and the way they are explicitly designed to push play) are what make it sing. Which is to say, the dice and the outcomes are a much more atomic unit than I originally thought.
Now, it wasn't a total loss. It still worked, but if i do it again I'm more likely to go to a 3d6 based model. That's a bit more of a fun spread, and allows more tricks. It does mean leaving the 2d6 by the wayside again, but I'm sure I'll be back again.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
The Critical Audience
Much of what I think of as tactics come out of pushing little plastic and metal figures across a series of squares, where it's all about the relative position of things. After some excellent conversation on twitter, it struck me that the same could be applied to criticism.
Now, I do not pretend to speak to big C Criticism, where there are decades, even centuries of academic tradition, schools of thought and Deep, Meaningful Understanding. Instead, I'm talking about one fellow getting on the Internet and talking about a game he liked or didn't like, and how that's received.
This is on my mind of late because I've been bombarded by examples of how badly our hobby handles thoughtful but negative criticism. This is frustrating to me because well thought out criticism from someone unhappy with a product is incredibly valuable and useful in my eyes. It is a terrible shame that the expectation is that such a review is basically an invitation for an internet ass-whuppin.
So as I got to thinking about this, it struck me that there's a large potential for disconnect when you consider the audience. Put simply, is the criticism written for the artist, or for the audience for his work?[1] It's not a hard question, and either answer suggests some specific things, that are easy to address. If the review is clearly directed at the artist, it is not unreasonable for the artist to respond in a personal fashion, perhaps even taking umbrage (because the reviewer has opened the door to dialog - more on that in a bit), but if the artist takes a similar response to a review that is very clearly for the public, then it's the artist who is picking a fight.
And there's the rub - if the answer is not clear, then right out the door you have an invitation for disaster as appropriate responses on one end become inappropriate responses on the other.
Now, it would be easy to suggest that the answer is to just assume all reviews are public facing, and consider communications directed to the artist to be directed to her. Sadly, things rarely work that way (especially on forums), and there is a natural bias for the artist to think they're being addressed directly, even if that is not the intent.
This leads to a lot of seeds of unproductive discourse, so I want to talk about each kind of criticism and its role.
Criticism directed at the artist has its place, and is in fact a critical part of many creative processes. These critics carry other names, like editors, alpha readers or trusted friends, but their job is that of the critic, to speak to the work. However, it is critical to note that most of these contributors speak to the artist before the work is finished, and most of them would not presume to continue the criticism after completion. Once the art is completed, the number of people who the author is willing to listen to directly is limited by the bounds of her trust. Whatever element of the work goes out into the world, there is always some part of it that exists only between the artist and her work. To presume on that is to invite a strongly negative emotional response.
Yet that is exactly what a critic does when addressing his criticism to the artist rather than the audience. Even assuming the best of intentions - that he wants to help the artist's next work be better and that he's looking to foster a dialog - it is a vast presumption. The author is not obliged to enter into a dialog with a critic any more than the critic is obliged to think well of her work.
Now, this is not an incomprehensible instinct on the critic's part. He wants to help and he wants to make a connection. Both of these are normal, human instincts. But he's doing so in a manner comparable to the man who wishes to ingratiate himself by telling you about your mate's flaws on the presumption that you do not know them and that clearly you're looking to upgrade.
If, in contrast, criticism is directed to the audience, then there is no presumption. The critic is speaking to the subject at hand and, assuming good faith on the part of all parties[2], he's on solid footing to do so. The artist's personal relationship with her work is not being challenges, and the artist is free to take the criticism or leave it, as best suits her own judgment or taste. This criticism might ultimately be useful to the artist, but only if the artist chooses to make it so.
All of which is to say, there's a lot to be gained from making it clear who you're speaking to when you want to talk about someone's game.
Now, I've put a lot on the critic's head here, but there's another side of the equation. If the critic is taking steps to keep the criticism from being personal, the artist needs to not take it as such. Yes, they may hate the thing you love, but that does not change it (or you), and you need to decide if striking them down with thunderous fury is worth everything you lose in squelching discussion.
But it's not that simple is it? Most artists I know develop thick enough skins to handle the criticism, or have other ways to deal with it. They know that a critic who thoughtfully hates their work is still a thousand times more invested in it than someone who's never heard of it and doesn't care. But it's not just about the artists, it's about the people who love them.
And that's the hard thing. You see someone says bad things about a book you love and who's creator you consider a friend - the instinct is to kick someone's ass. Even if the creator is chill about it all, her self-appointed defenders are quick to step up.
Yes, some very cynical folks exploit this phenomena, allowing them to keep their hands clean while their supporters run around like angry vikings, but I think they're in the minority. In most cases the artist might not agree with the actions taken, but also appreciate the underlying sentiment, and thus won't rein it in. Not that they really could.
The thing is that the friends and defenders need to realize that criticism, even negative criticism, is valuable to the artist. Squelching bad reviews is a Nile perch solution. It looks like it helps in the short term, but in the long run it makes things worse for the artist as fewer and fewer readers are willing to start the kinds of conversations that really bring a game to life.
If you want to do the best thing you can for your friends, then use these reviews as the basis for interesting discussion. Speaking as a creator, praise is nice, criticism is useful, but nothing is quite as amazing as knowing your ideas have helped push people to find other awesome ideas. Being criticized is far, far, far less important than being talked about.
Anyway, that's just my take on it - obviously there's no one true way to review or respond, but as someone who wants the world to be as full of as much robust discussion of the things I love as possible, I present my perspective.
1 - As an aside, it is kind of fascinating to me that this question can be asked at all. Before the internet, you had to be in a very particular time and place if you wished to direct your criticism to the artist directly. Nowadays, if both the artist and the critic are on the internet, anything goes.
2 - And no, you can't always assume good faith, but if the problem is that the critic's being a jerk, that is usually self evident. If it not so clear that as to be irrefutable, they're probably just being snarky and it's equally likely you're just being oversensitive.
Now, I do not pretend to speak to big C Criticism, where there are decades, even centuries of academic tradition, schools of thought and Deep, Meaningful Understanding. Instead, I'm talking about one fellow getting on the Internet and talking about a game he liked or didn't like, and how that's received.
This is on my mind of late because I've been bombarded by examples of how badly our hobby handles thoughtful but negative criticism. This is frustrating to me because well thought out criticism from someone unhappy with a product is incredibly valuable and useful in my eyes. It is a terrible shame that the expectation is that such a review is basically an invitation for an internet ass-whuppin.
So as I got to thinking about this, it struck me that there's a large potential for disconnect when you consider the audience. Put simply, is the criticism written for the artist, or for the audience for his work?[1] It's not a hard question, and either answer suggests some specific things, that are easy to address. If the review is clearly directed at the artist, it is not unreasonable for the artist to respond in a personal fashion, perhaps even taking umbrage (because the reviewer has opened the door to dialog - more on that in a bit), but if the artist takes a similar response to a review that is very clearly for the public, then it's the artist who is picking a fight.
And there's the rub - if the answer is not clear, then right out the door you have an invitation for disaster as appropriate responses on one end become inappropriate responses on the other.
Now, it would be easy to suggest that the answer is to just assume all reviews are public facing, and consider communications directed to the artist to be directed to her. Sadly, things rarely work that way (especially on forums), and there is a natural bias for the artist to think they're being addressed directly, even if that is not the intent.
This leads to a lot of seeds of unproductive discourse, so I want to talk about each kind of criticism and its role.
Criticism directed at the artist has its place, and is in fact a critical part of many creative processes. These critics carry other names, like editors, alpha readers or trusted friends, but their job is that of the critic, to speak to the work. However, it is critical to note that most of these contributors speak to the artist before the work is finished, and most of them would not presume to continue the criticism after completion. Once the art is completed, the number of people who the author is willing to listen to directly is limited by the bounds of her trust. Whatever element of the work goes out into the world, there is always some part of it that exists only between the artist and her work. To presume on that is to invite a strongly negative emotional response.
Yet that is exactly what a critic does when addressing his criticism to the artist rather than the audience. Even assuming the best of intentions - that he wants to help the artist's next work be better and that he's looking to foster a dialog - it is a vast presumption. The author is not obliged to enter into a dialog with a critic any more than the critic is obliged to think well of her work.
Now, this is not an incomprehensible instinct on the critic's part. He wants to help and he wants to make a connection. Both of these are normal, human instincts. But he's doing so in a manner comparable to the man who wishes to ingratiate himself by telling you about your mate's flaws on the presumption that you do not know them and that clearly you're looking to upgrade.
If, in contrast, criticism is directed to the audience, then there is no presumption. The critic is speaking to the subject at hand and, assuming good faith on the part of all parties[2], he's on solid footing to do so. The artist's personal relationship with her work is not being challenges, and the artist is free to take the criticism or leave it, as best suits her own judgment or taste. This criticism might ultimately be useful to the artist, but only if the artist chooses to make it so.
All of which is to say, there's a lot to be gained from making it clear who you're speaking to when you want to talk about someone's game.
Now, I've put a lot on the critic's head here, but there's another side of the equation. If the critic is taking steps to keep the criticism from being personal, the artist needs to not take it as such. Yes, they may hate the thing you love, but that does not change it (or you), and you need to decide if striking them down with thunderous fury is worth everything you lose in squelching discussion.
But it's not that simple is it? Most artists I know develop thick enough skins to handle the criticism, or have other ways to deal with it. They know that a critic who thoughtfully hates their work is still a thousand times more invested in it than someone who's never heard of it and doesn't care. But it's not just about the artists, it's about the people who love them.
And that's the hard thing. You see someone says bad things about a book you love and who's creator you consider a friend - the instinct is to kick someone's ass. Even if the creator is chill about it all, her self-appointed defenders are quick to step up.
Yes, some very cynical folks exploit this phenomena, allowing them to keep their hands clean while their supporters run around like angry vikings, but I think they're in the minority. In most cases the artist might not agree with the actions taken, but also appreciate the underlying sentiment, and thus won't rein it in. Not that they really could.
The thing is that the friends and defenders need to realize that criticism, even negative criticism, is valuable to the artist. Squelching bad reviews is a Nile perch solution. It looks like it helps in the short term, but in the long run it makes things worse for the artist as fewer and fewer readers are willing to start the kinds of conversations that really bring a game to life.
If you want to do the best thing you can for your friends, then use these reviews as the basis for interesting discussion. Speaking as a creator, praise is nice, criticism is useful, but nothing is quite as amazing as knowing your ideas have helped push people to find other awesome ideas. Being criticized is far, far, far less important than being talked about.
Anyway, that's just my take on it - obviously there's no one true way to review or respond, but as someone who wants the world to be as full of as much robust discussion of the things I love as possible, I present my perspective.
1 - As an aside, it is kind of fascinating to me that this question can be asked at all. Before the internet, you had to be in a very particular time and place if you wished to direct your criticism to the artist directly. Nowadays, if both the artist and the critic are on the internet, anything goes.
2 - And no, you can't always assume good faith, but if the problem is that the critic's being a jerk, that is usually self evident. If it not so clear that as to be irrefutable, they're probably just being snarky and it's equally likely you're just being oversensitive.
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