The Gaming Outpost

  The more I consider this idea, the stranger it seems.  It is not an idea I would have used, had I not seen how well it worked.  It was not my idea at all; I must credit E. R. Jones (although I do not know whether he learned it elsewhere).

  I saw him do this in games, and didn’t realize it for quite some time.  I just assumed that I didn’t know what he was doing.  Eventually, though, he explained it to me; and I think I thought it one of those crazy things that he did because he had an incredible ability to blend total control of the events of his game world with unfettered improvisation.  I didn’t think it would work for anyone else, and I didn’t dare try it.

  But when I was writing Verse Three, Chapter One, the first Multiverser novel, I did the same thing; and I was overwhelmed by the results.  Consequently I am incorporating it into my games henceforth, and offering it to you–if I can figure out how to explain it in a way that makes sense.  Perhaps I’ll use the example from the book.

  Without going into too much detail (it is not necessary, and would only spoil the book), it was necessary to my story line that a character just entering would give to one of my lead characters a sack containing a magical coin.  The coin was to play a significant part in the events ahead.  But it was also important that the coin not be the only object in the bag, because I did not wish to call too much attention to it.  I needed several magic items, small, interesting, potentially useful, and I had no ideas.  Above all else, they could not be things culled from other games or stories.  Yet I also needed to move forward with the writing (it’s one of those creative things–you’ve got to keep moving when you can, so you don’t forget the parts you haven’t written yet).  So I remembered what he always did, and I did it.

  What I did was pick four other rather ordinary objects and throw them in the bag.  They happen to have been a paper clip, a cat’s eye marble, an acorn, and a six-sided die.  They were, in a sense, all things I might have found in my pocket, rather ordinary things (although it has been several decades since I’ve had an acorn in my pocket).  But as I named each of them, I thought to myself, I can do something with that; I don’t know what yet, but it will be useful.

  That is the trick.  The idea is to create details you can use, imbue them with significance that has no content, and look for an opportunity to fill in the gaps with something that will turn it into a great idea.

  I knew what the coin was; I quickly enabled my character to identify it and use it in the unfolding story.  But that left me with the other four items.  These rolled around in the back of my mind as I sought answers, because I knew my character would not rest until she had unraveled the mystery behind each.

  The next thing that happened was that I found ideas for three of the objects.  It’s a bit difficult to explain, but what I found was three clues that were enough related to each other that together they would sound like a riddle, but which would point the character to ideas and ultimately reveal what three of the objects did.  But the final object I still had no idea what it was.  I threw in another clue, a brief word from the giver that suggested there was some tremendous power in it, but I had no idea what that was.

  Yet as I started to write the sequel, I realized that that last object was quite inadvertently the piece to a puzzle that would tie three books into a grand story and play a pivotal role in the climactic moments of the third book; all I had to do was lay a few more clues in the second book that would suggest what it was, and it would explode upon the stage when I needed it.

  The beauty of it is that those who do not read this article will think that I had that climax in mind from the moment I put those five objects in the sack.  They will think me brilliant.

  Perhaps I am brilliant; but it’s not because I foresaw how I could use those objects in the future.  Of the five items, one was used and left behind, one has found use several times, one mostly lies dormant waiting for the revelation of its purpose–and the other two have been mostly useless bits of interesting junk the character still carries.  I’ll probably use them eventually, but I haven’t thought of how or when.  The brilliance, if such exists, lies in creating interesting details that might be useful later, and then exploiting them when the opportunity arises.  Every time my players ask me to describe a room, or the surface of a counter, or the contents of a parcel, I invent details.  I have no idea what they are or where they will lead, and probably most of them are promptly forgotten and lead nowhere.

  But one of my players stole the engraved silver goblets I abruptly tossed on the mantelpiece before he rushed off to face the demons, and when he succeeded in rescuing the princesses and wound up married to one and she found the goblets in his luggage, he had to do a lot of explaining.

  The trick is to improvise the details, but in doing so to improvise pragmatically.  If you can say to yourself, I can do something with this, not knowing what, whether it’s a magic object or a valuable collectible or a bit of set dressing, you’ve got a good bit.  Note it, and when you come back to it and there’s a reason to use it, think of what it does.  If you threw a candlestick on the dresser, does it open a secret door, or summon a magic dog, or contain the missing diamond, or release the sleeping gas into the air?  You don’t have to know what it does, or even if it does anything, when you put it there.  You can answer that question when it becomes useful; until then, it remains a mystery.

  Next week, something different.

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M. Joseph Young is co-author of Multiverser and Vice President for Development at Valdron Inc.  His many contributions to online literature are indexed for convenience, and he looks forward to discussing these things by e-mail or on our Gaming Outpost forums.