This Particular Darkness.

“I got a hundred years of down home running through my blood.”
-Alabama

Let’s pretend, for a second, that every type/genre of music can be reduced to a question about life, the universe and intentionality. For the moment, we’ll just treat this as a game, an exercise. I think rap music could be paraphrased as “How do we emerge from hardship?” You see a lot of songs about enduring and surviving (Talib Kweli’s Gotta Get By, Eminem’s Lose Yourself), a lot of songs about conflict, and then an explosion of songs about having made it. Maybe it’s more complicated than a single question, but certainly the culture of rap music could be well described in a few short questions: “how do we deal with hardship?”, “how do we overcome hardship?”, “what will we do with our power, once we gain it?” These questions are ultra-prevalent in rap, but to try to ground the body of pop music, or indie rock, in them would be a difficult exercise.

Ask me four years ago what I listened to, and I would have answered: punk. I might have then added “ska and indie rock”, but my answer was that I was a firm proponent of punk. Let’s give the unifying-question treatment to punk. “Are you willing to fight back?” “Who is to blame?” “How should we die?” Correct me if I’m wrong.

I’ve recently rejected the importance of those questions. I don’t see fighting a system as the best way to affect a system, and I don’t see confrontation as the best means for deep-rooted change. Thus, “Are you willing to fight back?” is like asking “Are you willing to break the hammer on the screw?” for me. I don’t see blame as a necessary or useful component of problem solving or conflict resolution, so “Who is to blame?” is problematic and unhelpful to me. And finally, I’ve moved away from the hometown I despised, and in doing so abandoned a lot of the fatalism that I carried with me, leaving the “How should we die?” question one that could only be answered prematurely and rashly.

Punk’s burning questions are no longer burning. They sit as nice signposts to remind me of my adolescence, but my mind has turned to new ones: “Where do we find beauty?” “How shall we live?” “Where do we go from here?” “What can we learn from the past as we explore new ground?”

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How To Resolve Intense, Interpersonal Situations in Ribbon Drive

Graham Walmsley recently hosted a game of Ribbon Drive and his group encountered an interesting situation – two characters were locked in intense struggle, and the players didn’t know how to resolve this tense situation. To really zoom in on the issue, although either of them could have just decided what happened, they wanted the game to support them by providing some kind of structure (whether concrete resolution, flags, choices or else). A game should indeed do this for its players. Ribbon Drive gives you those tools, but they aren’t very obvious. This how to post will explain what those tools are and how to use them, in the context of resolving intense, interpersonal situations between characters.

Specifically, Steve posted the following situation:
I played Rashid. My character’s futures were “I hope I find someone” and “I’m never going back”. Rashid was on the run from the gang from whom he’d stolen drugs. Basically he was an asshole, causing Jenni to clip a jackknifed lorry.

In the scene with the crash, Rashid pinned Jenni’s foot on the gas pedal. It was a good moment of tension but it didn’t have any clear method of resolution.

I think part of the problem might have been that there wasn’t any clear way of resolving issues between the travellers. They didn’t seem like obstacles. I mean, could I have made Jenni not leave the band by using my drugs trait to keep her happy? That didn’t seem right either.

The first thing to keep in mind is that Ribbon Drive differs from many games that you’ve played, in that it is not a game that cares very much about what happens. That sounds like a big statement, and indeed it is. What do I mean by it? Well, this: the system doesn’t offer “conflict resolution” tools, because even in the midst of the conflict, it has different priorities. Two of those priorities are music and Futures, and I’m going to unpack how to turn to them in such a situation:

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How To Be Quiet Together

So, in the middle of July, I published Ribbon Drive. It’s a game wherein you create stories about road movies.  If you didn’t already know that, click on the “Ribbon Drive” page of this site.

This is the first of a few very specific “how to” posts I’m going to make to support the game. The game is complete as written – these aren’t errata or updates, they’re just further exploration that I invite you to share with me. They’re the fireside conversations with the designer.

Ribbon Drive opens with a difficult task: as a group, listen to a song in silence, while thinking about it. To the uninitiated, that might sound really easy. It’s actually not. I’ve talked about the first reason why in earlier posts: being silent together is a difficult and sometimes uncomfortable thing to do. Many of us aren’t as accustomed to it as we say we are. The second reason why this task is hard is because we’re asked to pull something concrete (an image, a story, a premise for a road trip) out of something abstract. This kind of open-ended interpretation is common in therapy, and poetry, and some literature… but in general we demand concrete and immediately knowable media (simple movies, linear narratives, three-act structure, background information, etc). To ask a group of players to start in the abstract and move to the concrete is actually a big step away from the norm. Finally, it’s difficult because we don’t know if we’re doing it right. The idea is to share and discuss after the song, but to do all of your interpretting and immersing during. There’s a legitimate fear that you’ll misunderstand the song, or that you’ll fail to share what others understood from it.

If I know this is a difficult task, why does the game open with it? First of all,  because it seems like an easy task, and it doesn’t require any immediate sharing or creative production. The buy-in is easy, though the task itself is as big as you can handle it being. Second of all, it sets up some pretty clear expectations of what the game looks for: listening to music, being thoughtful, adapting to the flow. Finally, because it’s interesting to see what we do with already beloved art, and I want to put that at the forefront of the game.

So, how do you make the most of this tricky task? First, keep in mind:

1.) We’re intentionally de-contextualizing something. We’re not going to have Chris Clavin on the road trip with us, so the context that he wrote the song in doesn’t need to matter to us. We can let it matter, but only if we want to. In other words, we have no obligation to interpret what the song was trying to tell us. We can go our own direction with it.

2.) Difference in interpretation is good. If three of us envision a trip through murky Ohio backroads, but one of us sees showgirls livin’ the high life… Suddenly we have a range to choose from. We can play either of those points, or an intermediary. We can combine those things, too: what about a bunch of showgirls, booked for “the tour of their lives”, only to find that it runs through murky backroad Ohio? Or, what about a bunch of rural Ohio girls, deciding to move to Vegas and become showgirls?

3.) Difference in depth is good. Some players are going to read deeper into a song than others – they’ll unpack the imagery, get what it’s really about, tap into the creative gusto behind it. Some won’t. This difference in depth of opinion is good! The deeper interpretations might provide a strong thematic or contextual element, while the simpler interpretations will give us tangible facts about the trip. If someone says, “It’s clearly a song about child abuse and working through your issues”, you shouldn’t be disheartened that all you got was “I think it’s set in Canada,” or “they mention green in the song, so maybe our van is green!” Different depths of interpretation give us different things that  compliment each other.

4.) Every answer is right. As a culmination of the other three: every answer is correct. Simple answers, deep answers… incomplete answers and comprehensive ones. If you hear a song and envision lemon orchards, voice that. If you hear a song and all you come up with is the word “musky”, voice that. In the absolute worst case (ie, your idea gets shot down), it’ll still provide definition through contrast.

So, what are some techniques for sharing this focused silence?

1.) Find a comfortable space. There’s nothing to stop you from laying on the floor, closing your eyes, nodding along, standing up and leaning against the wall… If you aren’t at your utmost comfort in your chair, step out of it. It’ll put you in a deeper state of relaxation and leave you better prepared to take in the song.

2.) Explore images. If a particular line grabs you, try to envision that line in your head. Invent both a narrative and a visual track for the song as it plays out. Don’t force imagery if it’s not coming (be quick to move on), but definitely invite the opportunity.

3.) Use the printed lyrics as a grounding point, but nothing more. If you’re following the rule that says “bring printed lyrics for the first two songs,” then you’ve got a page in front of you which can be helpful in decoding the meaning of the song. Don’t focus on it to the detriment of focusing on the actual song. When first playing this game, I kept my eyes glued to the lyrics, and as a result missed the main activity: open visioning and engaged listening. Use the lyrics to clarify a line, find out where you are in the general structure of the song, or follow along for a few seconds in order to feel “grounded”. Don’t rely on them beyond that. They’ll always be there when the song ends, if need be.

4.) Use everything at your disposal. While this exercise is focused on the song playing, there’s no reason that you can’t look around you for additional inspiration. Watch people’s faces and note their reactions to the song. Look at how the sunlight streams through the blinds, and think about how this image interacts with the song. Note how the song fills the space you’re in – do they clash? do the compliment one another? does it feel like a natural pairing? Feel free to look around you and think about what’s going on in the space you’re in, especially if you’re thinking about how these things interact with the song.

5.) Ground the song in something you know. What does this song remind you of? If this song were to soundtrack a moment of your life, or a larger experience, what would it be? Ground the song in memory and situation, because this will give both the song and your game of Ribbon Drive more traction.

Ribbon Drive opens with a simple yet difficult task. It asks you to open up your mind, work with the abstract, work with already existing art that at least someone at the table loves, and create something meaningful as a result. And, it asks you to start this process in silence. Hopefully this post gives you a bit of an idea what to do with that silence, if you were stuck.

No.

There’s a common adage in the world of story games, introduced through the text of Vincent Baker’s Dogs in the Vineyard: Say yes or roll the dice. Follow the link to read his words on the subject, and then meet me back here.

Vincent’s writing assumes two things: that conflict produces meaningful story, and that saying no gets in the way of producing meaningful story. It’s the second of these two assumptions that I want to draw into question for a moment. Does saying no to a player or a character block meaningful story?

It definitely does some of the time. Let’s say that we’re telling a story about a pistol-wielding archeologist adventurer, and I say that he leaps from the cliff and lands in front of a cluster of evil henchmen, ready for a fight. I’ve got a great idea for where to take this scene, and it’s pregnant with action and struggle. And you say, “well, let’s discuss whether you’d actually be able to survive that kind of fall.” That’s blocking (what my example self considers to be) exciting conflict and meaningful story. It doesn’t add anything to the story, it doesn’t prompt my character to make decisions under duress and it doesn’t change our options. It limits, and it replaces a zinger of a story conflict (will I be able to fight down these sinister henchmen?) with what is at best a crappy story conflict (will I get the chance to face off against these henchmen, like I want to?) and at worst a crappy social conflict (why won’t you just let me do this cool thing?).

So, I’m going to agree that saying no can be detrimental to creating meaningful stories. That’s nearing on unarguable. However, is there also space for blocking/denying/saying no/delaying to be a useful tool in stories? I would say yes. I’m going to reverse my argument before making it, though. There are ways to hear no which are useful to producing good stories, regardless of whether saying it was a good idea. I’m going to walk through a few of the ways I’ve heard “no” surface in story games, and how to make use of them.

Hearing no at a player level

“I don’t see it.”

Willem Larsen introduced me to this phrase. It’s something he uses in group character creation, so that you can have an entire group participating in the creation of a character, but still allow that character’s owner agency and control. This phrase says “I can’t envision what you said plausibly and organically building upon what has already been said / my vision”. It’s elegant in that the speaker assumes responsibility for the disconnect, and it doesn’t necessarily end communication. Try to hear this as “No, but… show me what you’re envisioning.”

The two things that you can do in the face of “I don’t see it” are to acknowledge that there is a gap in the shared imagined space, and work to bridge that gap. The bridging might take the place of differently articulating your contributions (if the gap is one of undestanding), or retreating a narration that breaks someone else’s immersion/belief/investment/plausibility (if the gap is one of expectation).

“No. That’s dumb.”

This phrase doesn’t need much unpacking. Sometimes an idea is not a good idea, and it’s not about a failure of vision. I’ve heard this kind of no over several of my ideas in the past: having the teen gang ride hover-bikes, having my character attempt to assassinate another character in the first scene. I’ve watched people shoot down ideas in the stage before play (the planning/prep stage) several times. Sometimes, this shuts a player down. Sometimes, it forces a player to take a step back, re-evaluate where the group is at, and try to match up their own expectations. Try to hear this as ”No, and… you should take a moment and check your expectations.”

Ultimately, this is someone attempting to protect the artistic integrity of something they’re involved in, and that’s important. The way they’re going about it is problematic, in that they might damage the social integrity, but there are still ways to take this feedback and use it. Hear this as a concern about the final product. They are saying that they don’t want to have to build upon a suggestion they don’t like, and as artists, that is their perogative.

In a sustained, real-time, improvised artistic medium like story gaming, it is assumed that some of the things we introduce will sound dumb. This is natural, realistic and totally fine. To an extent, we must work with the contributions of others even when they aren’t radiant and brilliant, but to an extent we also have the right to exert our standards. If someone deems a contribution subpar, accept that maybe it is. And accept that as being natural, realistic and totally fine. Kill your darling. Listen to the group, hear that there is a difference in expectation, try to find the page that others are on and occupy it, and see if you can infer preference from the block you’ve just received.

“That crosses a line.” or “I’m not comfortable with that.”

There are times when no communicates a comfort differential. Sometimes a member of the group won’t have the established tust necessary to take the story in a certain direction. Sometimes they worry that a certain direction would be triggering, upsetting or too similar to their real lives. No can communicate that someone is not comfortable with I Will Not Abandon You play. Check with yourself about whether this is because the person feels unsafe with the group (something to work on) or unsafe with the subject (something to respect).

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