Hunting Rabbits (Shh…)

I’m currently working on a story game called Ribbon Drive. It’s taken my heart by storm, and I’m really excited about its upcoming release. Ribbon Drive is a game where you tell a story about a road trip, and all the meaning and contemplation that pours out of it. It’s a game about letting go on the open road. The game uses mix CDs as a driving force to shape play.

One of the most successful parts of play, I’ve found, is the opening. We shuffle the mix CDs. We draw one at random, put it in the machine, and press play. We listen to to the first song in silence. Afterwards, we pause the CD and interpret how that first song lends to a road trip premise. We use it as a foundation point for our story. Why has this stage been successful? Well, all we’re asking is that you listen to a song (which had an equal opportunity of being your song, and might well be) and think about it. Participation seems to require very little.

But here’s what I’ve noticed: being both present and silent is very hard for some people, myself included. There’ve been games of Ribbon Drive where I’ve put down the lyrics to the song while it played; people who felt most comfortable tracking the words would do so. In games where I didn’t offer this thing to do, where your options were to either close your eyes or look around the room, the vibe I got was significantly different. It was a bit anxious, in that people seemed a little less comfortable in their own skin. There was reservation about sharing their opinions afterwards.

Being both present and silent is hard. Experiment: try to meet and hold someone’s gaze for fifteen seconds, without either of you saying anything. You can repeat this experiment as many times a day as you like. See how many people break this gaze. See how often you break this gaze. Does it feel comfortable and natural? My answers are, pretty invariably: almost everyone; almost every time someone else doesn’t; no.

Silence, as a form of communication, is underexplored, because it is difficult and often misread. I’m not talking about shutting up, nor am I talking about the silent treatment(ie, using silence to communicate how you are unengaged), but rather silence as a tool for active, engaged participation. Before I get farther into why this might be difficult for us, let’s look at how silence could be used as a tool.

Silence Can Demonstrate Agreement. Silence can demonstrate the absence of objections, the support of the speaker. It can demonstrate your belief that their argument is without necessary additions or revisions. Danger: this silence can also be a sign that a communicator lacks confidence that they and their concerns will be met fairly.

Silence Can Demonstrate Engaged Listening. Silence can demonstrate that one is focused on listening and appreciating. If the speaker has paused or stopped, and the listener is still silent, this could be seen as a signal that the listener is interested in hearing more. Danger: this silence could also be seen as non-participatory listening, and might be used when the listener is incapable of meaningful engagement.

Silence Can Demonstrate Ongoing Consideration. Silence can demonstrate that one is taking time to mull over the idea and consider its applications before challenging it or moving on. Silence could signify that one is interested in this idea to the extent that they would prefer to stay with it, rather than keep advancing the conversation. Danger: this silence could also mean that the ideas aren’t worth engaging, or that the silent party is unsure how to engage a response.

Silence Can Demonstrate Your Priorities. Silence can carry the very powerful message that you care more about hearing another’s ideas than sharing your own. This is a form of permission-granting similar to Silence Can Demonstrate Agreement, but coupled with a statement of preference. Danger: this silence can also demonstrate that you feel your priorities are invalid, or that you won’t be given due spotlight (and so are resigned to another’s communicative priorities).

In my opinion, silence can be used as a powerful tool. The list above is by no means comprehensive of its possibilities (and I’d urge readers to suggest additional ways that it can be used as a tool, in the comments section). Why isn’t it used more often, explored in a wider variety of contexts? The reason that feels most true to my experience is that silence is both difficult and often misread. It’s difficult because it is less direct than voiced communication, meaning that we have to work to be as clear and as expressive as we would normally be. It’s often misread because, again, it is less direct, and also less explicit. We run the possibility of expressing the very opposite of our intent (see how closely linked the dangers are to the possibilities). It is also difficult because it requires a lot of trust to work effectively.

Its strengths? It is non-intrusive communication. Many people can communicate silently at once, without disrupting each other. On top of being non-intrusive, non-disruptive and simultaneous, silence can be used in tandem with voiced communication, meaning that it also offers us contrast. So, considering the dangerous pitfalls of silence (appearing unconfident, unengaged, uncertain or unempowered; being unclear and misread), how do we utilize its strengths? Certainly it offers too many possibilities to discard as being unsafe.

The dual keys to using silence effectively seem to be establishing both trust and some meta-definitions about what silence means in a given social space. Establishing trust is a difficult and tenuous thing when we’re talking about silence, because the ultimate concern is that you might be mistreated by a more powerful, more intrusive, more obvious medium (namely, talking). Establishing meta-definitions about silence means having a clear understanding in a given group about what silence means in that context, and how it can be used, and what signals seperate engaged silence from disengaged silence.

The opening to Ribbon Drive, it works because it establishes trust through shared silence (thus eliminating the threat, in that moment, of being overruled/stomped on by voiced communication) and clear meta-definition (you are being silent in order to consider this song). It also introduces into the social space the notion that silence is something that we’re going to be handling directly. Throughout play, silence is given a different definition, through the Obstacles rule: if you are the last person to join/speak in a scene, you have the option to (at any point during the scene), introduce an Obstacle. This gives an assurance (similar to trust) of being heard (in a unique role, this time). Its handling of definition is a bit more open (you might be silent in order to gain a certain narrative advantage, or, you might be appreciative and prioritizing someone else’s spotlight over your own). This rule has the really nice feature of giving new space to players who are naturally quiet (but have good ideas to share), as well as educating loud, yippy players (like myself) about the weight that your words can gain if you simply stop using so many of them.

If you manage to build trust around and definitions for silence within a group, you can begin to use it as an additional layer and mode of communication. It’s quite a powerful thing, when you know what it means.

Note: I’m preparing a Skills Workshop on effectively using silence in story games. Ask me about it at Go Play NW.