tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81211004339996638652024-03-13T09:47:43.867-07:00The Failing Forward BlogAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.comBlogger275125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-24853716319255537742018-01-29T05:42:00.001-08:002018-01-29T05:42:52.042-08:00My Own Loser Path"If you're a Sym main, please exit the stream," was the description yesterday of one of the <i>Overwatch </i>Twitch streams I follow. Well, used to follow. The struggle is real, Dear Reader. She is the most hated character, and, because she is my favorite, by default this makes me an outsider in the competitive ranked community.<br />
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If one were to examine my career profile in OW, they'd say that I wasn't a Symmetra main. They'd look at all my hours on Lucio and Zenyatta and optimistically inform me that I'm not actually a Sym main, by hours played. The very fact I play other heroes would be my salvation. What they wouldn't know is, I only play those other heroes typically when I'm tired of eating shit for playing Sym. And I eat shit so often as Sym I end up spending majority time on non-Sym heroes. All so I can be good at this fucking videogame. How crazy is that?<br />
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"Play what you want, play what's fun to you, play what you're good at." These are the typical lines of reassurance. And in a non-competitive game, that would be the end of it. But in ranked competitive play, there are different factors at work. In ranked, <i>winning </i>is supposed to be what you want to do. <i>Winning </i>is supposed to be what's fun. <i>Winning </i>is supposed to be what you're good at. And if the team needs you to play a certain class of hero to win, then that's what you're supposed to play. Not what's fun; what's <i>necessary. </i><br />
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This is a problem I consistently run into in competitive games. In a lot of ways, I consider competitive gaming a creatively-bankrupt activity. You find what works, you do it; no room for anything unusual or different, no strategies that haven't already been used a thousand times before by players better than I; no room for style. You win the way the meta has learned is most effective, or you lose and are mocked for being different. It's the worst parts of society, condensed into game form. When I say the entire human experience can be seen in a 10-minute <i>Overwatch </i>match, this is part of it. Not necessarily a part I like, but, hey, I don't like all parts of society, either.<br />
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And so once again, I find myself in a position where I often have to choose between, say, being the team's only healer or being Symmetra. That's not my problem, of course...unless I want to <i>win. </i>If I don't choose a healer, when we get shredded by the enemy team, it'll be "Why do we have a Symmetra when we need a healer?" And in that moment, I have three options: switch, tell him to go fuck himself, or turn off comms. If you've been reading for a minute, you probably know which I choose. And that certainly spares my feelings, but it ignores the overall issue. And, unfortunately, that asshole is probably right.<br />
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Where I've finally come to on the issue is, quite simply, I'd rather play as Sym and lose than as non-Sym and win. That's not always the case...particularly when I'm on a long losing streak...but it's usually true. This more or less directly conflicts with the Path to Git Gud. I'm no longer interested in being good (if I ever was); I'm interested in playing the game the way I want to play it. And if that means losing, then I guess I'm a loser, and if that means never being pro, then I shall be ever the amateur.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-17348054147147071712018-01-19T05:20:00.001-08:002018-01-22T06:58:53.102-08:00Origin StorySeveral months ago, I fell in love with a woman. We pledged our hearts to each other. But she lives across the country, and has her own life. She must slowly, thoughtfully, and carefully prepare her life for my arrival. And when the time is right, she will call, and I will come, and we will be together, and life will be <i>great. </i><br />
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In the meantime, I wait. A few months ago, when I realized I must be patient and wait for my love, I knew I needed something to keep me distracted...something that will consume all my attention and focus and keep me from pining and aching and worrying about her. I needed something to obsess over.<br />
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That is the point of <i>Overwatch</i>. It's not about OWL. It's not about the Path to Git Gud. It's just a distraction until I can begin my <i>real </i>life, with my lady love.<br />
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<i>Overwatch </i>has done such a great job of filling that role that I occasionally forget that that is what it's job is. I get so caught up in wanting to be a great <i>Overwatch </i>player, in wanting to be a part of that community, that I forget that as soon as she calls, my life will change, and none of this is going to mean even half as much as it currently does.<br />
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Last night was a wake-up call. As I watched the same teams use the same compositions to beat the same opponents in the same matches, I despaired for the "top tier meta," how stifling it is to creativity, and how despite <i>Overwatch's </i>claims, the top level of competitive play doesn't look all that much different than any of the various <i>Call of Duty </i>or <i>Halo </i>or <i>League of Legends </i>Leagues or any of those inferior games. As I watched the mini-documentaries of OWL players and their lives in the league, I looked at the apartments they lived in and the hours of practice and I was instantly transported back to the Army, and I thought "Shit, that looks like a fucking <i>job." </i>I'm sure those kids are having the times of their lives there, but to me, it looks like summer camp with extra bullshit. In other words, <i>I'm too old for that shit. </i><br />
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The mechanical end of <i>Overwatch </i>was never a thing that bothered me. I've always believed that if I keep trying, work hard, and apply myself, I would have the skills to go wherever I wanted to in <i>Overwatch. </i>I still believe that. However, last night I saw what was at the end of the rainbow...and I was left feeling disappointed. I reserved judgement on OWL last week, but now as I watch Week 2, I realize that this league, in its current form, is not something I want to be a part of.<br />
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I'm not quitting <i>Overwatch</i>, not at all. In fact, I'm not even done with OWL. I will continue to watch it as a fan, and I might still be interested in being in it...just not as an active player on the roster. Maybe as a commentator. Or a blogger.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-66291384476293615412018-01-18T07:29:00.000-08:002018-01-18T07:29:30.294-08:00Get Off My LawnI've written about a few of the obstacles in my path to Git Gud at <i>Overwatch. </i>Another obstacle....perhaps the biggest one I face so far....is that I hate people.<br />
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I don't <i>hate </i>people, of course, not in an aggressive, hate-crime way. I don't mean anyone harm, and I don't really want to see anyone suffer. I just don't like talking to strangers, or seeing them, or hearing them speak, or being around them. I've always been like this...but in my older age, this tendency in me has become more and more insistent, now to the point where it shapes my personal decisions. I spend days upon days by myself. I like being alone. That's not to say I don't get lonely every once and awhile; just that when alone, I'm more often happy than not.<br />
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So how did I find myself obsessed with a multiplayer competitive shooter? I often joke that the worst part about <i>Overwatch </i>are the other people playing it. I've mentioned before that I often play with all comms muted. It's because of the gameplay. I love <i>Overwatch </i>because I think it is the closest thing I've ever played to a perfect game. Part of what makes it perfect is the chaos, the spontaneity, the unpredictability brought on by playing other humans, instead of AI. Every game of <i>Overwatch </i>is a raging storm of chaos, contained within a simple 10(ish) minute match. In that storm, the other players are helpful and harmful to me in my quest to stay on the heckin' payload and win the match. That's how I like it: looking at the other players not as human beings, but as sentient, self-aware allies and foes in my own, personal goal: to contribute meaningfully to a win (or a valiant effort in a loss).<br />
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This, I think, is another reason why I like Symmetra so much. Being the least-essential hero on the roster also makes her the easiest to ignore....which I like both as a person because I want to be left the hell alone, and as a player, as punishing those who ignore you is what Sym is all about.<br />
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I'm not sure how I feel about any of this. You see, I don't mind being a misanthrope. I kind of like it, in fact. It's like I'm owning my truth or whatever. But at the same time, it seems clear to me that the Path to Get Gud shall require a certain amount of not-hating people. I'm not sure if I'm ready to commit to that.<br />
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I'm writing about this because last night, as I watched the first matches of OWL, Week 2, I don't really see myself having any admiration or affection for anyone who's a part of it, currently. All of the players just seem like stereotypical hardcore videogame nerds. The commentators' analysis, to me, often just seems like an esports equivalent of seeing shapes in the clouds. I have <i>respect </i>for everyone up there; I'm not saying I don't. I'm just saying I'm not sure if I <i>care </i>about what anyone is doing, aside from actually playing <i>Overwatch. </i><br />
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That alone didn't trigger all of this, however. This morning, not feeling like jumping into it right away, I instead went to Twitch and followed a few pro streamers playing <i>Overwatch</i>. To my surprise (or not, perhaps), I found myself feeling the same way: I love watching the matches, but literally everything else around them had me sneering in disgust. The stupid comments in chat. The stupid quips from the streamers. The stupid suggestions from the streamers' teammates in chat. I thought of myself as a streamer, and how I would handle all of that. I'm not sure I'd last five minutes. And who would want to watch someone just silently playing a videogame?<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-57930097630694146732018-01-16T09:35:00.000-08:002018-01-16T09:35:04.067-08:00Tuesday Morning Pity PartyMy matches are going about the same as they always do...roughly 50/50. Win some, lose some. Some are close; others are not.<br />
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The grind in the ol' Win Factory is getting to me, today. It's getting to me on several levels. On one level, I am <i>So. Fucking. Tired. </i>Of getting on teams where clearly only me and one, maybe two other players are actually trying, and the rest of the team is either actively throwing or just plain terrible. I told a Hanzo to go fuck himself this morning after I discovered, at the end of the first round, that as a healer I had Silver (second highest) in eliminations on a team with four killers and a single tank. We won that match, but only because the other team somehow proved to be even more inept than us.<br />
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On another level, I'm also really tired of my own attitude. I told another human being to go fuck himself because he was having a bad round in a videogame I was playing. Every loss makes me salty about something; every win has me looking at the reasons we almost didn't win. I write whole blog entries navel-gazing at my salty tears when I go on a losing streak. I've often wondered if I'm obsessed with <i>Overwatch. </i>I'm not. I'm obsessed with failure.<br />
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I try to make myself care about winning, but my instinct is to merely care about not losing. I'd much rather be the worst member of a winning team than the MVP of a losing one. I think a lot of people may say that, but I mean it on an emotional level almost beyond my comprehension. It makes my brain (and my heart) ache, when I crawl so deep into that space in my head after a stinging loss, to try and work with the wires that are powering the signals <i>everything sucks, you suck, you should quit, this isn't worth it. </i>I want to rewire those signals to say <i>who cares? Re-up! </i>I do get there, eventually, but that impulse is a strong one. And the depression that follows is constant and highly effective.<br />
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I have several obstacles in my path to Git Gud. But the biggest one, by far, is depression. I'm not sure how athletes/professional competitors manage depression. I'm not sure if depression is a condition one can compete with. I have no natural talent or other advantages to aid me in this journey; just my love of Overwatch, which has been steadily waning over the past two weeks, in light of recent losing streaks and my tepid feelings about OWL.<br />
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Anyone in my own life that I'd bring these thoughts to would probably tell me it's time for a break from <i>Overwatch. </i>But I don't trust that reasoning at face value. As I wrote about in the last pity party, what if this is an obstacle that <i>all </i>competitors face? What if self-doubt is a part of the journey? What if I'm just trying to convince myself to quit and move onto something else, like I've done my entire life with nearly everything I like and try to get good at?<br />
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The other side of the coin, however, is "what if I'm just destined for failure?" That sounds like pathetic loser talk, but here's the thing: I've got a good life. I've got great family, people to love, freedom. The whole nine. What do I stand to gain out of playing <i>Overwatch </i>so competitively? Where am I looking to go with this? Do I have to obsess over and eventually turn my back on everything? Can't I just enjoy a thing and not let it consume me?<br />
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I don't know the answer to any of these questions. I trust virtually no one's advice on this topic, either. It is a lonely path.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-45062328551255349552018-01-15T07:20:00.001-08:002018-01-15T07:20:48.346-08:00Sausage FactoryOverwatch League (OWL) began its inaugural season last Wednesday. I watched every match. The potential is exciting...an entire league devoted to <i>Overwatch</i>, organized like the NBA or NFL. If my meager skills are ever up to the task, this is where I want to end up.<div>
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However, OWL still has a ways to go before it hits the mainstream appeal of most physical sports. I'll talk about some of the other issues I'm noticing with OWL later. This entry is about the main problem I have with OWL right now: <i>where are the women???</i></div>
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I don't understand why an esport has to be all-male. Physical discrepancies or whatever reasons we don't let women and men tackle each other on a field do not apply to Overwatch. This lack of diversity also applies to the presentation: of the five or six commentators, only one is female. I'm aware that there are probably far more male professional cyber athletes than female, but I'm sure there are at least a few out there. I watched all 12 teams last week...nearly 150 different players...and I saw not one woman take the stage.</div>
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This is unacceptable. <i>Overwatch</i> is one of the most inclusive and diverse videogames ever created. OWL is a chance for esports to seriously compete for attention alongside traditional sports by exploiting advantages those sports don't have...like being able to let women compete alongside men. In a league that is trying to bring spectator sports to a new level, the lack of women in OWL's ranks is a serious anachronism. How is anyone supposed to take the league seriously when only half of the world's population is represented? OWL does not have the benefits of tradition and history, like conventional sports, so "where are the women?" is not a question it can afford to laugh off, like the NFL does. </div>
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If there truly is a drought of female cyber athletes, to the point where not even one can be found for a starting spot on an OWL team roster, then I think it's extremely important for Blizzard to initiate some kind of program or policy initiative to cultivate more female professional gamers. Again, this doesn't have to be some social justice thing (not that there'd be anything wrong with that); it's just plain pragmatic that a videogame with its sights set on global recognition have representation by all genders. And if it means having to watch a slightly-less overall level of skill in the league itself, I still am all for it. "We only take the best, and the best happen to be all male" is an inexcusable rationale that just continues to prop up the patriarchy. Of <i>course </i>the best are all male; they're the only ones who are ever looked at. And if there is one videogame and game company on the planet who can change that mindset, it's Blizzard, with <i>Overwatch.</i></div>
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It is clear to me now, in my older age, that a thing is at its best when its seen from as many different points of view as possible. A female point of view is a valid "different" point of view. To not have any women looking at a thing is to deny that point of view. And that is the issue we run into with OWL...we don't <i>really </i>know if we're seeing world-class Overwatch, because not <i>everyone </i>in the world is actually being represented. </div>
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Now, for a disclaimer: I believe in Blizzard. I'm sure they're probably working on this as we speak, and were well-aware of the issue long before I wrote this. I'm sure, in the end, they decided to move forward in the current paradigm rather than wait several more years to have a sufficient female player base. I'm quite certain, as well, that Blizzard employs dozens, if not hundreds, of women, and it's probably as much an issue of simple staffing/logistics that so few of them were on screen for OWL's starting week. I do <i>not </i>think Blizzard is sexist. With millions of dollars on the line, I'm sure they literally just couldn't afford to draw that line in the sand. </div>
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Fine. Whatever. Those are all valid reasons...but they're also excuses. I know Blizzard is probably working on this issue...and I expect to see results from that work very soon, if OWL is ever to really have a chance to fulfill its true potential. As it stands right now, every female fan in the stands is a gift Blizzard doesn't currently deserve. I'm not ready for Overwatch League, yet; however, I now question whether the league is ready for me.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-71429748066737669332018-01-11T23:04:00.000-08:002018-01-19T05:34:43.306-08:00Thursday Night Pity PartyI'm on a <i>devastating </i>losing streak right now. I've lost hundreds of SR. Hundreds of hours of climbing is in danger of being completely laughed away.<br />
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This is not the first time things have looked this bleak. It will not be the last. But it sucks. It's a lonely, painful experience. You win with your team, but you lose alone. And as the losses add up, the insecurities follow. It gets harder and harder to logic your way out of the simple fact that <i>you suck. </i><br />
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Eventually, the streak will end. If nothing else, the Matchmaking Gods will eventually stop picking on you and put you on the <i>other </i>team. And the spiritual nourishment of a good win will erase the lonely, soul-sucking experience you just went through, and you'll all too eagerly re-queue. Thus another shift begins at the Win Factory.<br />
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The Matchmaking Gods of Overwatch are mighty, and real, though some would say otherwise. The Matchmaking Gods know the secret Number of Fun. That number is 50/50. The best games in the world have 50:50 odds of winning, if all other factors are balanced. When you queue up for an Overwatch match, whether ranked or unranked, The Matchmaking Gods look at your skills as a player, and matches you with other players of skills averaging out so that any six of the eleven other players you matched with will have a 50 percent chance to win the match.<br />
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In theory, this is a perfect system, and it does work well, often. But when the system is working, that means <i>someone's </i>gotta be in that losing 50 percent. And the Matchmaking Gods do not care who is in that bottom 50. They don't care if you keep ending up on the wrong side of that coin. It's all 50/50. The chances of your own personal hell happening to you are just as equal as they are to anyone else.<br />
The problem is internal: Winning streaks feel like I'm getting away with something, but losing streaks? Losing streaks feel <i>personal</i>. Even when they're anything but.<br />
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(Side note: this is why the ten placement matches at the beginning of every season are so vital. With the Matchmaking Gods trying to keep games 50/50 at all times, movement from one league to the next can be very difficult, once you've been placed.)<br />
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The losing streak isn't all at the feet of the Matchmaking Gods, of course. I am stoned. I am tired. It is late. I've been playing some heroes I don't normally play, in desperate attempts to cover down on missing team components. It's times like this that I wish the answers were obvious. Like if the Matchmaking Gods were actually real, and whispered in my ear "Dude, we're not picking on you; you're just tired. Play something else for awhile." And then I'd go do that.<br />
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But what if that's not it? What if I've just been on the wrong side of a few plays, and the <i>real </i>answer is to play through it? Burn off the cold streak? I mean, as long as I'm having <i>fun, </i>right? I feel like this is one of those competitor's instincts that are left un-honed in me, weak from light use over the past 30 years or so I've been gaming. Knowing when to push, and when to back off. It's a vital skill in <i>Overwatch </i>matches, too...one that I could probably use some work on.<br />
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I've mentioned this before, but I'll mention again that unranked play is seldom an option. I'd rather just play something else. The majority of the fun for me in <i>Overwatch </i>is the skin in the game. This losing drought I go through right now...and all the shit it brings with it...is, fundamentally, a choice I have made for myself. That doesn't make it suck much less, but I do get a little stability from the realization that I am in ultimate control of my feelings.<br />
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<i><br /></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-44198766539040138662018-01-11T11:52:00.000-08:002018-01-11T11:52:42.275-08:00Know Your PlaceOf the many faults, flaws, and issues I may have in my continuing journey down the path of Gettin' Gud, perhaps the deepest and darkest fault of them all is this: <i>I am a Symmetra main.</i><br />
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Symmetra is, perhaps, the <i>most </i>hated character on the roster. Even now, nearly two years into Overwatch's release, people still react with such vitriol towards her that I'm literally worried about writing this very blog entry, for fear that the pros or whatever will find out. I've had people accuse me of throwing games just for picking her. After a hard-fought win, I'll tune into the voice channel to congratulate my team, and you'd think we'd actually lost, so bitter and angry my "teammates" are for daring to choose her, even as my Play of the Game rolls across the screen and I receive a post-game card for eliminations.<br />
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The reasons Symmetra is hated are varied. The biggest, perhaps, is that she is the only Support hero on the roster who cannot actively heal other teammates. A lot of players think support equals heals. Symmetra, however, supports by inflicting damage in a variety of ways. She has miniature laser turrets that zap and cripple opponents. Her primary weapon is an auto-locking beam that ramps up in damage the longer it is active. And she has these chargeable power spheres that, when fully charged, moved slowly across the map and do devastating damage to anyone who doesn't get out of its path. So she can do point defense; she can do area of effect damage; and she can do intensive single target damage. Though there are several heroes on the roster who can do a couple of those, Symmetra is the only hero in the game who can effectively do all three.<br />
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But that's just on the offensive end. Defensively, Symmetra can project a photon barrier that slowly moves forward, absorbing all damage along the way. This photon barrier is the strongest shield in the game, stronger than Orisa's barrier or Reinhardt's shield, though, again, it automatically floats forward, and it's on a 10-second cooldown. Additionally, half of Symmetra's health is in shields, meaning she can regenerate more of her health than most heroes, and does not need to rely so much on healers or healthpacks on the map.<br />
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And then, there's her ultimate ability. Unlike every other hero in the game, Symmetra has <i>two </i>different ults. One is a teleporter that, when stepped through, brings a hero directly from the spawn room where the game starts to wherever the teleporter is placed. There are six charges for the teleporter; when it's out, it's destroyed, and Sym has to place another one. The other ultimate is a shield generator, which provides 75 points of shields to every hero in a wide radius around it.<br />
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All of this adds up to a hero that is super-versatile and a lot of fun to play. Specifically, what's fun about her to me is how playing the map and countering your opponent's plans is a huge part of what playing Symmetra is. Playing a straightforward attacker like Soldier: 76, for example, is oftentimes about sharp reflexes and good aim. Good Symmetra play is all about knowing <i>where </i>that Soldier is going to be and <i>what </i>he's going to do before he does it. It is one of the most gratifying experiences in Overwatch, to me, when I see a Tracer or Reaper flanking, I quickly put down some turrets around the hallways where I know they're going, and then melt them with my lasers as they run by. I've blasted <i>entire </i>teams like that. It's super-fun, and I'm pretty damn good at it.<br />
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Paradoxically, even though she has so many tools, it is the tools she <i>doesn't </i>have that catches her so much flack. As stated above, her lack of healing means a support slot on a team roster is going to a damage-dealing character. This shatters the brains of many players who swear by the "2/2/2" comp I mentioned earlier. Sym also has a hard time at long range; in a metagame where snipers like Widowmaker and Hanzo are among the most-chosen heroes, Sym is often perceived as a liability. Players unfamiliar with the vastness of Sym's arsenal sometimes hate her because they look at her most obvious tools, her deployable turrets, as her main tool, and so shun her in situations when turrets aren't useful, like Payload maps.<br />
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This all leads into one of Overwatch's most existential of considerations: the idea of the main. I recognize that Sym, like all heroes, isn't perfect for every scenario, and there are plenty of scenarios where, say, my average skills as a tank would be more useful than the additional damage I'm throwing around as her. If I'm playing to win, the most basic of questions to ask is: am I willing to play the hero who needs to be played to win the round? The answer, if you were to ask the designers of <i>Overwatch, </i>is to play whoever you have the most fun with. But the reality, the metagame, is quite different. Players are expecting other players to play certain positions, and if those positions aren't played, their own play will suffer. So if I care about winning, and I'm in a ranked competitive game, and the group wants a second healer and I've locked in Symmetra, do I change? Do I risk staying with my main at the cost of possibly tilting my team into a loss? Do I even want that?<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-80399085678789550252018-01-02T08:36:00.001-08:002018-01-03T15:16:36.805-08:00Eddie's Guide to OverwatchFor those of you who are reading this but aren't entirely clear on what <i>Overwatch </i>is, following is a brief synopsis. I'll expand this entry over time to include more details pertinent to my continuing journey to Git Gud. Bear in mind that this is a work in progress.<br />
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<b>What is <i>Overwatch?</i></b><br />
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<i>Overwatch </i>is a competitive multiplayer team-based shooter; specifically, it's a 6-on-6 game, either consisting of strangers across the internet (known as "solo queue") or with a group of your friends working together (known as "pre-mades"). In an average <i>Overwatch </i>match, each team is running around a large area, shooting each other while they either protect or defend an objective.<br />
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There are three kinds of maps. On some maps, the matches are broken into two rounds, where each team takes a turn attacking and then defending the objective; whichever team does better wins. On other maps, there is no defending; the objective is in neutral space, and whichever team can hold it the longest wins. On the third kind of maps, the objective is a vehicle that only moves when the attacking team is near it. The vehicular objective (called a payload) moves down a path on the map, and if the attacking team gets it all the way to the end, they've completed the attack round. There is also a fourth kind of map that is a hybrid of the first and third; the objective is an open space, but once the attacking team takes it and holds it for a few seconds, a payload is released that then needs to be escorted across the map.<br />
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My favorite maps are the payload ones, because they are, in my opinion, the easiest to focus on. It's easy to get caught up in firefights and other distractions on the other kinds of maps, but the payload maps are simple: <i>stay on the heckin' payload!</i><br />
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<b>How does competitive <i>Overwatch </i>work?</b><br />
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The competitive mode of the game works like this: Once you've played enough rounds in the exhibition modes, you play ten <i>placement matches. </i>These are regular <i>Overwatch </i>games, but your wins and losses, as well as your own personal performance, are recorded. At the end of the ten games, you are given a <i>Skill Rating </i>(SR). After your receive your SR, whenever you play a ranked competitive game, your SR will go up with a win and down with a loss. How much your SR goes up or down depends on many factors, but the two biggest ones are your own personal performance in the game, and the gap in average SR between your team and your opponents'.<br />
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In addition to SR, <i>Overwatch </i>divides its competitive players into leagues: Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Diamond, Master, and Grandmaster. Which league you're in depends on your SR. You only play competitive matches with people in your league; though if you're on the high or low end of the SR range for your league, you may see players of the next league in your matches.<br />
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The ten placement matches I listed earlier is the very first gatekeeper of competitive play. For an amateur solo queuer like myself, it is the equivalent of the playoffs. Many players <i>only </i>play the placement matches, because they're afraid of losing SR on losses and, once assigned, climbing can be a long, arduous path, especially if you're doing it alone and must rely on the competence of strangers to succeed.<br />
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When talking about SR and league placement, typically players only talk about their career best. For me, that's an SR of around 2100, putting me in Gold League. However, on average, I play more in the 1900 range, a lowly Silver League Scrub. Though there is no minimum required rating to be in Overwatch League, I doubt most scouts would even give the time of day to anyone less than Platinum, maybe even Diamond. So I've got some climbing to do.<br />
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<b>How do you play <i>Overwatch?</i></b><br />
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When a match begins, you choose a hero to play as, from a roster of over two dozen. The heroes are broken into four classes: <i>Attackers, </i>who specialize in killing on the move (OW uses the less-violent term "eliminate;" in chat, the more general pro-gamer lingo is "pick," as in "picking someone off"); <i>Defenders, </i>who specialize in killing in place, either from a distance like the sniper Widowmaker, or by locking down an area, like the grenade-shooting Junkrat; <i>Tanks, </i>tough, high-profile heroes meant to take a beating and draw enemy fire; and <i>Supports</i>, heroes whose specialty is helping other heroes, mostly through healing, but also with some firepower, as well. You can change heroes at any time during a match. Little helper tips like "not enough damage" will show up if a team looks like it might be missing something necessary for victory.<br />
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The heroes are hands-down the best part of <i>Overwatch. </i>Whole books could be written on each individual member of the roster. Some OW players "insta-lock" their favorite hero immediately and refuse to play anything else; others try to be a jack of all trades, being whatever the team needs. The general strategy favored by pros is to specialize in all the heroes of one class, and maybe have a secondary class, as well. In Overwatch League, players on a team are identified by the class they primarily play in-game, the same way basketball players are identified by their position.<br />
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I primarily play the support heroes, specifically Zenyatta, Lucio, and Symmetra, though I also play a lot of Mercy and Moira. I don't care much for Ana, because her ult requires too much teamwork for a solo queuer like myself.<br />
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An ult, short for "ultimate," is a hero's superpower, their most powerful ability. Each hero's ult is unique, and all of them have the power to tip a game from defeat to victory, when played at the right time. Each hero builds up towards their ult; once their ult-meter is at 100%, they're ready to go. Ult use is as much art as it is science; most of those books I mentioned two paragraphs ago would be devoted to the whens and ifs of ult usage for that hero.<br />
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The composition, or <i>comp</i>, of a team is the foundation of that team's strategy and can often determine winning or losing before the game even begins. For example, one of the most basic, fundamental comps is referred to as a "2/2/2," meaning the team consists of two attackers or defenders, two tanks, and two supports. Team composition is easy to geek out about, but in reality, it's primarily a concern for high-level play. At the shooting-around-in-the-driveway level, the primary concern should be on playing what you're comfortable with and enjoy playing as, even if that means, for example, the team doesn't have a healer (that's what the health packs located throughout the levels are for).<br />
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Comp is important because certain heroes, by their nature, can counter other heroes. Widowmaker, the sniper I mentioned earlier, doesn't have much in her toolkit to deal with direct, close range threats, which gives her a hard time against the shotgun-wielding, teleporting Reaper. Part of what makes OW play so much fun...and keeps it fair...is that the variables between the heroes involved in a conflict, and the personal skill of the players playing those heroes, can lead to wild results. The world's best Widowmaker can get taken down by an average Reaper, if that Reaper plays smart, works with his team, and knows how to use his abilities.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-30480595483009187232017-12-29T07:24:00.001-08:002018-01-19T05:29:29.893-08:00Discipline Daddy<i>Overwatch </i>ranked play is broken into seasons that are several weeks long. There's a short (about two days) off season between. Season 7 just ended yesterday. Season 8 begins in two days. In the meantime, I'm playing Overwatch unranked.<br />
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It's interesting to me how the secret sauce that makes Overwatch so compelling to me is the competition. It's clear to me when I play the game unranked. I enjoy it, still, but my passion for it downgrades from quasi-obsession to normal "playing a fun videogame" status. I think it goes to what I said in yesterday's entry, about how a game is at its best when all players are trying their best to win. That is not the case in most unranked games; in any given game, I'd say at least half the players are "non-comps," players who enjoy the gameplay but aren't trying to be competitive, either because they don't want the pressure, or they lack the dedication or skill. </div>
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I don't blame people for not wanting the pressure. That's where I normally am, too. We are always so quick to talk about the glory of victory, but we don't talk much about how dark a loss can get. It can be quite the opposite of reaffirming when you enter a match, play your damndest, and still come up short. This is especially crushing when you suspect/know your teammates don't share your dedication. </div>
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I can follow the depression in me when a loss looms. I can feel how it can originate from the game, and I can feel it spreading to other parts of my brain. "Why can't someone shoot down that Pharah?" turns into "Why are my teammates idiots?" to "Society is garbage," to "I just want to go back to bed." I think this is natural in all people, competitors or not, but I think it's especially pronounced in those who suffer from depression, like myself. Those dark thoughts are more potent, easier to reproduce, and spread faster, I believe, than someone who isn't depressed.</div>
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It's taken me years, and I'm not 100% at it, but the most effective tool I've learned at dealing with this is to <i>focus</i><i>. </i>I've never been one to espouse the virtues of discipline, but I absolutely see its worth now. When the thoughts start spiraling out of control, when "I hate Junkrat" turns into "I don't think I have what it takes to be a pro Overwatch player," I try to rally that discipline within me. There is no Junkrat, I'll tell myself. There is no pro Overwatch. There is only the situation right in front of you. Focus on the situation right in front of you. </div>
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The tricky part is doing it when I'm distracted in a <i>good</i> way. Coming off of a decisive victory, feeling every bit the champion gladiator I want to be. On top of the world. Then, I gotta bring the discipline in. After I let myself linger in that glow for just a minute, daddy discipline has to talk me down. There is no victory, it'll tell me. There is no dominance. There is only the next match, the next moment, the next firefight. Letting the good shit stain my brain will lead to hubris, which will make the inevitable loss all the more devastating, making it that much easier for the depression to bite back.</div>
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This is yet another reason why I love <i>Overwatch. </i>In the contemplations of win versus loss, I learn new things about myself. Develop new skills to use in the arena, which I can bring with me for the rest of my life. That's how I know doing this, even if I come up short and never play in the League, will still be a worthy endeavor for me.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-38625610478662179852017-12-28T06:00:00.001-08:002018-01-19T05:27:19.627-08:00The Art of SilenceThe Path to Git Gud is a silent one. For now, at least.<br />
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In <i>Overwatch, </i>an online competitive team game played in real time, voice chat is a big deal. My fellow Try Hards are all over the comms, reporting all kinds of information, call-outs, etc. "Move, shoot, communicate" is the old Army adage. My colleagues are nuts for this shit. I am not. Here is why:</div>
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<i>1. Voice Chat is distracting. </i>More often than not, in my experience, voice chat is usually at least 50% non-game-related. I count "Oh My God I'm DYING!" as non-game-related, because, well, it ain't related to my game. Any tactical advantage I get from voice comms is nullified by the distractions caused by voice comms. </div>
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<i>2. Voice Chat is triggering. </i>When someone makes a bad play when I'm all muted, I can write it off as "mistakes happen." But when that same someone makes a bad play and then tries to say something pithy to cover it up, or, worse, straight-up deny it, then it becomes a distraction. I may get angry, I may want to argue with them, etc. Because the truth of the matter is, bad plays just happen, and often the blame isn't even completely yours. I don't need any color commentary on it, and if you try and offer some and your commentary sucks, now TWO mistakes have been made. </div>
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<i>3. Many players are idiots. </i>As part of my budding Overwatch Honor Code, I'm trying to call my fellow players names less often. But, let's face it, some of them are just complete <i>morons! </i>And perhaps something almost as bad as when morons aren't trying, is when morons are Trying Hard. They'll insist, for example, on a particular comp without having any insight into the enemy team or the map. Or they'll try to get the whole team to stack into that narrow second floor room on Numbani, just so the enemy team's Junkrat can nuke all of us without even looking. I've mentioned before that <i>Overwatch </i>at its best to me feels like playing Capture the Flag and 4-Square as a kid. Remember when the stupid kids used to ruin those games, too?</div>
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<i>4. Voice chat is redundant, usually. </i>Virtually every event in Overwatch has some kind of clear audio or visual queue. Enemy footsteps are louder than your team's, so you can hear when enemies are trying to flank you. Heroes in game will say things like "behind you!" if someone's trying to flank. Every hero has separate voice lines for when they're on your team and use their ult, or on the opposing team and use their ult. You can clearly see the health bars above the heads of any heroes you've hit, so you'll have a general idea of your enemy team's health. Hell; the heroes even BANTER on their own, so you don't even have to miss the charming wit of your fellow humans. So some kid's crackly voice screaming "PHARAH LOW! PHARAH LOW!" into my ear does NOT really help me.</div>
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Now, don't get me wrong: I DO think voice chat is important. At a <i>certain point. </i>But not where I'm at, not at my level. I'm at horsing around in the driveway level; effective voice comms is NCAA/NBA level shit. And that is my typical line of attack on any who would argue with me: 9 times out 10, the people doing the most chat, from my experience, need to focus on fundamentals instead of trying to act like they're in the pros. And that cuts both ways, too: I don't see anything effective I can add to the channel until I'm strong enough to at least partially carry a team. Otherwise, I'm just another voice in the void, saying what I think is the right move but not actually knowing. </div>
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That last point, in general, is one of the greatest challenges I face when I play competitive <i>Overwatch. </i>I have never done anything even remotely close to this in my life before. I never played on any organized teams in school. I have very little practical experience in competitive sports, or playing on a team. I'm not sure if I'm "doing this right," and I don't trust virtually any of my fellow players for advice, or even sympathy. </div>
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Ironically, this makes my Path to Git Gud both silent and lonely. I'm not against making friends in-game and having a crew to play ranked with; however, finding people who can match my frequency is extremely difficult, made moreso by the fact that communicating with me in game is virtually impossible, if you weren't already my friend going in.</div>
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But, as I said before, I don't think I'm there yet, anyway. I'll worry about calling plays once I can hit a free throw.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-88893841847062525972017-12-27T09:00:00.000-08:002017-12-28T06:25:34.948-08:00Failing Forward II: Try Hard - Eddie Gibbs and the Endless Quest to Git GudIt's been over a year since my last entry. Here we go again.<br />
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Things are different now. I am pseudo-retired from tabletop gaming, partially because I moved to Denver, Colorado and have few local friends; partially because my misanthropy has gone to new levels and, by and large, I'd MUCH rather be alone than with people, these days. There are exceptions. They know who they are.<br />
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My gaming world has mostly gone inward, to the digital realm. And within that digital realm, one game stands head and shoulders above all the others. It is My Game. It is precious to me. That game is <i>Overwatch. </i>At this point, I have probably played Overwatch more than any other game at any other point in my life. My infatuation with this game has reached obsession levels; I see it in my sleep. I make inside jokes with myself. I have deep, personal feelings on certain heroes within the game.<br />
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The dream, I will freely admit, is a spot on a roster with an Overwatch League team. I want to go pro. I want to play Overwatch for a living. The path will be long, and ardous, and chock-full of doubt (it has been already). I may not make it. But I do it with a powerful resource: love. I want to go pro, but even if there wasn't such a thing as Overwatch League, I'd still play this game as much as I could, whenever I could, forever.<br />
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The many reasons I love <i>Overwatch </i>will be elaborated upon throughout the subsequent entries here. In this particular entry, I want to talk about just one of those reasons: my desire to explore my own competitive spirit.<br />
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I have never been a competitor. When I was six years old, I played a game of checkers with my dad. I thought I had him. He was smug the entire time, knowing I was falling into a trap. I fell into the trap and promptly lost. My dad mouthed "sorry" to me when he saw the look on my face as I ran to the bathroom to collapse on the floor in a bundle of childish, immature tears. Since then, I've spent most of my life actively avoiding competitive situations. I am a sore loser, and I let losses make unfair leaps to judgement in my mind, about my competence, about my <i>worth! </i> Been doing it since I was a child, in fact. I think ego is a fragile thing for almost all of us, and I think that fragility can inform the way we look at and love things. I have been a cooperative, chill-ass gamer my whole life, because I have always been a terrible competitor.<br />
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I tried, once before, to become a competitor. The game then was <i>Magic: The Gathering. </i>That was back around 2002, I believe. I attended tournaments and shit. Lost constantly. My strategy that time was to just steel myself; to ignore all the losing and just keep playing, keep pushing, keep trying to win. I don't think it worked, in the end, because of the missing ingredient: love. I don't love Magic. I never did. I think it's a great game and all, but I had no passion for it. I only wanted to play it because I thought I had what it took to win. My experiment failed shortly after it began. I haven't seriously played Magic since.<br />
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<i>Overwatch</i>, however, is different. That missing ingredient is there. I love Overwatch. As I said before, I'd be playing it even if there was no chance of a future in it for me. If God himself came down and said "This ain't in the cards for you, Ed," I'd be like "Well, you're God; DEAL ME ANOTHER FUCKING HAND!"<br />
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It's that irrational, crazy love that has fostered this new curiosity about my competitive spirit. Can I actually <i>be </i>a competitor? Do I have what it takes? Is it possible to hack my own personality, to go through decades of habits and learned lessons and acquired behaviors and change the emphasis just slightly enough to be a contender?<br />
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It's actually another game that provoked all those questions: the legendary two-player board game <i>Twilight Struggle. </i>In years past, I had thrown out TS as a game automatically because of the two-player thing. A competitive game that's JUST me and my opponent, with no zany politics or interpersonal shit to blame for a loss? Fuck THAT!<br />
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However, <i>Twilight Struggle </i>is a phenomenal game. And its at its absolute best when your opponent is trying as hard as you are to win; it's what turns the game into the Cold War showdown that the box advertises. Win or lose, it's an epic struggle. So whenever I sit down to play TS, I play to win, not because I actually care about winning, but because that's how TS is at it's most fun.<br />
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But as good as TS is, I don't love it. I LOVE Overwatch. And Overwatch is another competitive game, like Twilight Struggle, where the game is at its best when all 12 players are trying to win. So combine my love for Overwatch with the rekindled spirit of competition from Twilight Struggle, and there's the beginning of the Endless Quest to Git Gud.<br />
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Why be competitive? Why even try? There are several reasons. As a gamer, however, I cling to this one: <i>the best games are competitive. </i>It's absolutely true. There are very, very few games that are non-competitive that offer the level of pure joy that a competitive game with a worthy competitor can provide. This is absolutely true; a fact so easily lost on non-competitive gamers like myself it's ridiculous. You can throw exceptions to the rule out there: <i>Skyrim </i>immediately comes to mind. Most Mario games are fundamentally single-player experiences, as are most Zeldas. But those games are just that: exceptions to the rule. They're special <i>because </i>they defy the common logic. And the common logic is this: all games are at their best when everyone is trying their hardest. The easiest way to assure that is if the game is competitive, so that effort meets effort and motivates more effort. Like two soldiers leaning on each other to sleep in a trench in World War I.<br />
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And so, here I am, trying SUPER hard, at the beginning of a long path, a quest to Git Gud.<br />
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<i><br /></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-42988535692438405342016-10-13T09:35:00.000-07:002016-10-13T09:35:29.409-07:00The Ramp-Up PhaseMy gaming life moves in phases. So far, the predominant phase has gone something like this:<br />
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<li>"The One Shot Phase." Where I host numerous one-shots for various systems throughout the year.</li>
<li>"The Ramp-Up Phase." I eventually get tired of rotating casts and learning new systems, so I try to get a steady group together with an epic, long-term campaign.</li>
<li>"The Failure Phase." The campaign starts, but usually stops soon after. Reasons are numerous, but it almost always comes back to me. I no longer like the system; the group falls apart and I can't put it back together; something happens in my personal/professional life and I no longer have enough time or the proper mindset to run. Whatever; it all falls apart.</li>
<li>"The Regroup Phase." I usually leave RPGs for a couple of weeks/months, moving to board games or video games. The lack of human contact slowly creates a depressive front in me. I respond to this by returning to RPGs, even if it's just "one-shots so I can socialize." Then we start over again at "The One Shot Phase."</li>
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This has been the pattern of my gaming life for at least the past three years. Just looking back at all the entries in this blog, that pattern is crystal clear to me now. I want to change it, but I don't know how. I don't even know if I can.</div>
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Right now, I'm deep into The Ramp-Up Phase. I'm emailing and hosting meetups, scouting for people to get together for a couple of possible campaigns I'd like to run. I really, really want it to work this time. Of course, I said that last time. But I <i>mean</i> it this time! Of course, I meant it last time, too...</div>
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But sometimes it's the struggle and not the victory (or defeat) that matters. So I will keep trying to break out of my pattern, to skip The Failure Phase and go to the Regroup Phase only when the campaign I start is complete, and I inevitably want a break before doing it again. So for this year, here are some of my new strategies:</div>
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<li><i>I want to play a proven, established game. </i>Typically, I get googley-eyed over whatever RPG has enthralled me at the moment, and I run with it, and only discover just a couple of weeks later that I'm no longer interested. This time, I'm only considering games that have been around for a long time, stuff that I've played, run, or read for several years now, so that even if "I'm not feeling the system anymore," I can at least rote my way through sessions.</li>
<li><i>I'd like the campaign to be largely improvisational.</i> I constantly talk about the importance of prep, and the reliance on improv only when necessary. I still believe that, but as it applies to me and this Ramp-Up Phase, I want a game/campaign where little to no prep is part of the game, so any prep I do end up doing is a bonus, rather than a necessity. Even in the case of running published adventures/campaigns, I'd like to be familiar enough with the game and my players that I can freestyle when I want to, then tie it back into the published material later.</li>
<li><i>I want to play with my friends. </i>The vast majority of my games are in public, and typically feature at least a few new faces every session. I love this, but for a long-term campaign, I want dedicated, motivated players who are as interested in seeing where the campaign goes as I am. I'll need their energy to keep motivated, myself.</li>
<li>This is going to be the hardest one, but <i>I want the campaign to be weekly. </i>It's too easy to lose track of things in a biweekly campaign, too easy to lose momentum. By contrast, with a weekly game, a missed session here and there isn't that big of a deal. I know a lot of players...players I'd love to have at my table...cannot commit to that. I understand, and that pains me, but I need this to work, and this, I feel, is how it will work. It doesn't have to be the same time or the same place every week. It doesn't even need to be during the weekend. But it's gotta be weekly. </li>
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So here's to hoping I'll avoid The Failure Phase this year!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-65842171785196272952016-10-11T10:22:00.001-07:002016-10-11T10:22:44.959-07:00Thoughts on AnarchyLast week, I wrote a review of <i>Shadowrun: Anarchy</i>, publisher Catalyst's new "alternate ruleset" for <i>Shadowrun. </i>This is a blog addendum to that review based on my first playthough with the game, this last Sunday. My review of <i>Anarchy </i>can be found <a href="http://www.drivethrurpg.com/product/194759/Shadowrun-Anarchy?hot60=0&src=hnum?affiliate_id=449829" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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For Sunday's game, I had four players. All four used the pregens: one was a shaman, one was a decker, one was a street samurai, the fourth was an "action archaeologist." The pregens for <i>Anarchy </i>are awesome, and do a really good job of both being playable and approachable while also providing precious hints about the world of Shadowrun, and material for player narrations. I highly recommend using pre-gens for one-shots in <i>Anarchy</i>, despite how straight-forward the character creation rules seem.<br />
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The run itself was more or less made up on the fly, by me. Inspired by one player's choice of the action archaeologist, I tasked him with creating an artifact to be the target of this session's run. Once he had something, I asked the decker player, an avid Shadowrun fan, to give me a megacorp that would conceivably be holding the artifact. We ended up with the legendary fragment of a wall in China being held by Aztechnology on display in a corporate museum. Coping the contract brief structure as presented in the corebook, I created three scenes, jotted down a quick list of tags, bookmarked the NPC entries for security guards and a couple of drones, and went to work.<br />
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I really appreciated how fast and easy run design was for <i>Anarchy. </i>To be fair, Shadowrun is a fairly easy game to make adventures for, anyway...a couple of rolls on the random tables in the back of the corebook, some bookmarks for relevant NPCs, and you're good to go...but the devil is always in the details, and many a Shadowrun adventure that I've ran (or attempted to run), have fallen apart under the many and varied systems and sub-systems that comprise SR's fifth edition rules. <i>Anarchy </i>had my back from the start, with a straight-forward, narrative-based system that empowered me to just keep the game moving rather than sweating the small stuff. That endorsement alone may be enough to convince any fence-sitters to take the plunge into <i>Anarchy. </i><br />
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Coming from a more-traditional RPG background, I was openly skeptical of <i>Anarchy's </i>shared narrative, the so-called "Cue System," but I did see potential. In practice, my assessment was spot-on. The player-run scenes were often awkward and sketchy, but when it worked, it worked really well. My main focus for the next time I run <i>Anarchy </i>will be to help direct the shared narratives better. For this session, I pretty much cut the players loose after describing the scene. Next time, I may make the players fully aware of a scene's tags, perhaps have some suggested ideas for narrations built on those tags, and maybe have some consequences (good and bad) ready to deploy, based on the player's narrations and their failures/successes on the dice. Like many "story-based" RPGs such as <i>Fate Core, </i>the cohesiveness of the narrative and the overall strength of the game lies in the players' hands as much as it does the GM (perhaps more so). This can be great if your group is up to the task, but if there are players at your table who'd rather BE in a story than TELL one, that can lead to problems. Nothing a good group can't overcome, mind you, but problems, nevertheless.<br />
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I have more thoughts on this, but I'm going to leave it here, for now. I look forward to my next game of <i>Shadowrun: Anarchy</i>!<br />
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<i><br /></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-12246020369322474692016-09-21T14:59:00.000-07:002016-09-21T14:59:22.229-07:00What's YOUR Domain?As I get older and write more, I notice that certain genres and sub-genres speak to me. I call this gravitational pull "my Domain." The further away a story/game takes me from my Domain, the harder a time I have telling stories/playing games there. The closer they are to my Domain, the more natural and comfortable I feel.<br />
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So here's my Domain:<br />
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<li>Suspense/Psychological thrillers, with or without supernatural/paranormal horror</li>
<li>The 90's</li>
<li>Investigative scenarios, with infrequent combat</li>
<li>Non-hero protagonists (i.e. no super-powers, advanced technology, or special training)</li>
<li>Fictional settings (not using real-life cities/locations)</li>
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I don't believe my Domain necessarily has anything to do with my personal preferences. The majority of movies I watch these days are sci-fi/fantasy/superhero films, yet none of the elements of those genres are anywhere near my Domain.<br />
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I actually think my Domain has more to do with my personal growth. I was in my teens during the 90s. Like most people, I was probably at my most emotionally intense in my teens, and all the connections I made at that time have stuck more persistently than anything before or since. Psych-thrillers were big back in the 90s: The Hand That Rocks the Cradle. Single White Female. The Silence of the Lambs. I loved <i>all </i>of those films back then!<br />
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When I apply that preference to RPGs, I come up with the Palladium games (Rifts, Ninjas & Superspies), AD&D 2nd edition, the "Old" World of Darkness, and the 5th edition of Call of Cthulhu. I've been threatening to run a Palladium game for ages now, and the appeal is still there, despite how antiquated and down-right embarrassing that system is compared to the games of today!<br />
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I wonder if I'm alone here...not with my specific Domain, but with the very idea of Domains and their dominance over the storyteller. Stephen King is virtually inseparable from his Domain...supernatural horror, the 60s, coming of age tales, a little splash of survival stories...but what about other storytellers? Particularly GMs of role-playing games. Does every GM have a Domain they inevitably wander back to?<br />
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Or, perhaps more interestingly, has anyone successfully changed their Domain? I have tried repeatedly to integrate sci-fi and superheroes into my games, and the success has been minimal-to-non-existent. I'm finally just starting to accept that my Domain is my Domain. That doesn't mean I don't try and test myself every once and awhile, to try and push and challenge the borders of my Domain, but I haven't moved the needle much, as it were.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-86931765784384499562016-09-15T08:11:00.003-07:002016-09-15T12:10:44.990-07:00Nothin' To It But To Do ItOne of the reasons I got tired of writing in this blog the first time around was that I got caught up in a very common problem, not just in RPGs but in all hobbies: I started talking more about and around games than actually playing them. This is an especially difficult problem in role-playing gaming because it's so easy to do...at least, in theory.<br />
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You can't play sports all the time, so you talk about it. But all you need for a role-playing game are people. Thanks to the magic of the internet, finding at least three people to play an RPG with you is relatively easy. Any game you want to play, any time you want to play it. Live in a big, nerdy city like me (Washington D.C.), and your options increase exponentially. I run a game every Sunday. I post the game on Meetup.com on Monday, and usually have at least three players on board by Wednesday.<br />
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I get the appeal in talking over playing, though. Because even though playing an RPG seems easy, it's actually quite difficult, when you dig a little deeper. Running a game is taxing work. Either you're like me, and you spend entire weeks writing and prepping an adventure; or you wing it, requiring vast amounts of mental energy to improv a whole session on the spot. Some people seem to think that's easier. For them, maybe it is; me, not so much. Improving, for me, is like kung fu: I only use it when absolutely necessary. I'm not bad at it...I'm told I'm pretty good at it...but if I am indeed any good at it, it's <i>because </i>I don't do it unless I have to. Ironically, I feel like improvisational play is a little like multi-tasking, in the sense that you stay good at it by <i>not </i>doing it, so that when you <i>do </i>end up doing it, you give it the same thought and attention you would if it were prepared, rather than forming bad habits focused on making improv easier, rather than making the game better.<br />
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And then there's the whole social aspect. It can be tough, sometimes, putting on that game face and interacting with (sometimes) total strangers. I haven't always liked every person who's sat at my table. More often than not, they're not inherently bad people; I just don't click with them, or I'm not into what they're into. That's a prickly situation, and sure enough, I've rescheduled or even cancelled games when the "wrong" people RSVP. I'm not proud of that. But, as my mantra goes, Story First, and if the player isn't a good fit for the story, then I gotta do what I gotta do.<br />
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So for all these reasons, I get why so many RPG players like to just get on their chosen social media outlet and talk all this talk about games they <i>want </i>to run, or ideas they'd <i>like </i>to write up.<br />
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Unfortunately for us all, there is only one way to play a role-playing game, and that's to play a role-playing game. So whenever I find myself wanting to rant on someone's G+ post or write a new blog about some great idea I just had, I try and refocus that energy on working on adventures and getting groups together. Role-playing games as a hobby aren't just about pretending to be magical elves or exploring worlds that only exist in our minds. They're also about doing the work. Meeting the people. Putting it all together. <i>That's</i> the hobby.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-74974616797175596672016-09-14T15:15:00.002-07:002016-09-14T15:15:36.263-07:00Liquid MetalHere's how I run a role-playing game: I have a defined, set story, with a beginning, middle, and end. The players are the protagonists. I start telling the story. The players don't do anything I expect them to do. I throw out the story and wing it the rest of the session.<div>
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That, more or less, is how I do it, every single time. No complaints yet. Everyone's happy. This is how I've done it for the past 20 years.</div>
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If you don't do it that way, that's fine. You do whatever works for you and your players. This is what works for me. The reason it works for me is, mainly, because it plays to my strengths. I am a storyteller, so I'm at my best when I'm, you know, <i>telling stories. </i>That doesn't mean "railroading." At least, not the way I do it. Railroading is when you invalidate the players' actions in order to tell your defined, set story. I don't do that. I meld the players' actions <i>into </i>the story, when possible. When not, I follow the players' lead, see where it takes them, and look for opportunities to meld their actions into the story. This isn't really the popular way of doing things these days. But it works for me, and it works for my players.</div>
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Of course, when I'm at my very best, my story isn't completely defined. It's got points A, B, and C, but I let the players draw the lines connecting them. One of my favorite adventures, one that I've run multiple times over the years, is a scenario I call "One Night in Innsmouth." In this adventure (I've run it on three different RPGs), the players choose one of four different reasons why they're going to Innsmouth. Then, after a few scenes of poking around, the sun goes down, the town starts crawling with Deep Ones, and the players are fighting for their lives to escape the town or make it to sunrise before they all go away. (I frame this adventure as an "unofficial sequel" to Lovecraft's classic story "The Shadow Over Innsmouth.") Those four different reasons, they each have their own particular details, but really the most important part of the process is this: which reason they chose determines where in Innsmouth they are when the Deep Ones come. That's it. The story is really just whatever happens while the players are trying not to get sacrificed to Cthulhu. So the story has a definite beginning (players arrive at Innsmouth for a reason), middle (sun goes down, Deep Ones everywhere, players trying to survive), and end (the players escape...or all die). But what happens exactly within the beginning, middle, and end of "One Night in Innsmouth" is all on the players.</div>
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Here's another one. I did an adventure for the Firefly RPG once that started, in TV show fashion, at the end. Each player's character was in a loaded, action-packed situation and they didn't know why: one character was dangling out of their ship while it flew through a canyon; another was in a crate full of peaches; another was holding the ship's pilot at gunpoint and forcing him to fly. I then played the Firefly TV show's theme, and after the theme, the adventure began with "earlier that day..." The rest of the adventure was just setting up events for the climax I "cold opened" with. Again: structured story, built around the players' actions. </div>
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I call this approach to adventure design "liquid metal." Sturdy and tough, yet flexible and fluid. Like the T-1000 in Terminator 2. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-11016629760173629842016-09-13T12:19:00.001-07:002016-09-13T12:45:29.917-07:00Darmok and Jalad at TonagraWhen I was a little kid, one of my earliest memories was of my brother telling me stories as I went to bed. My older brother is a sick bastard, and would tell me stories about his two favorite things at the time: demonic possessions and Vietnam. But I didn't mind. I liked hearing the stories.<br />
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Even before role-playing games, I did quite a bit of oral storytelling as a kid. I remember my friend's brother (also named Ed), he wasn't allowed to watch the Friday the 13th movies. So I'd recite them to him, telling each one of them as if I were one of the survivors from the film. When I was around 10 years old, I created my own spin on the Smurfs...called the Busy Bodies...and came up with several episodes' worth of stories to tell my sister. And throughout middle school, a favorite at sleep overs was "The Girl Game," where my friend would tell me who they had a crush on, and I'd run a little impromptu RPG-ish adventure about that friend overcoming various obstacles to eventually be able to date that girl.<br />
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When I look back, I realize now that oral storytelling has since become one of the longest-running activities of my life. It hasn't been until recently that I've taken ownership over it. All my life, I've been trying to parlay my passion for oral storytelling into writing, to varying levels of success. But the truth is, I like oral storytelling more than any other form of storytelling. Mainly, because it's interactive. Even if you're not playing a role-playing game, reciting a story in person, directly to another person or group of people, is an intimate activity. It connects you to the listener. It allows you to infuse a story with your own personality. The emotional payoff, to me, is more valuable than any amount of acclaim or compensation, monetary or otherwise. Indeed, I'd even say storytelling is my main form of communication with my fellow human beings. I'm like one of those aliens in that episode of Star Trek (that's where the title of this entry is from).<br />
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So looked at in this light, I think it's obvious what my draw to role-playing games is. It's just unfortunate that more people don't do it. But then again, you do it everyday, right? You talk to someone, you tell them a story about your day, the person listening says "here's what I would have done...." <i>That </i>is<i> </i>a role-playing game. You likely do it every single day of your life. So the next time I announce a public meetup for a role-playing game, <i>sign up!</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-71427006128998974422016-09-12T08:55:00.000-07:002016-09-12T08:55:43.203-07:00My Thing with MysteriesIn the role-playing/story gaming hobby, the predominant genre is fantasy. This is mainly because of Dungeons & Dragons' influence, but the fantasy genre also has a number of characteristics desirable for role-playing: being able to hand-wave anything you don't understand as "magic", for example, or the genre's long distance from reality, which carries a lot of appeal to the escapist.<br />
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I, however, more often than not lean towards contemporary mystery/horror with my games. Why is that? There are a number of reasons:<br />
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1. Mysteries cater more to my playstyle. My games are very narrative-driven, based heavily on the ongoing back-and-forth between myself and my players. This can be a little difficult with more action-oriented genres. There's only so many ways you can say "I attack the orc with my axe."<br />
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2. Using a contemporary genre saves time for me to focus on the story. I don't need to go into detail on what a castle or abandoned tower or something looks like. If I say "you're in an abandoned building," every player at the table can conceive of their own abandoned building, and chances are it'll fit the ongoing narrative just fine. In a more action-oriented genre, the particulars become important because (presumably) there'll be some fighting going on, and the layout of the terrain can become a tactical consideration.<br />
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3. Mysteries and horror, more often than not, are stories of survival, which are very easy to "gamify." In the fantasy genre (again, mostly because of D&D), the players' characters are heroes, with expectations of becoming more hero-like, more powerful, and more prosperous as time goes on. Contrast to an ongoing Call of Cthulhu game, where the players are just happy to be alive after so many sessions. There are indeed fantasy games with a shift towards survival; however, the classic idea of the fantasy genre still tends to be about gaining power rather than merely staying alive. This may make for fun games, but from my experience it can make fairly boring stories.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-67805236516638276312016-09-09T08:27:00.000-07:002016-09-09T08:49:56.253-07:00Different: A Storygame of Alien HorrorI mentioned before that if I can't find a game that can help me tell the story I want to tell, then I'll make my own. <i>Different </i>is the latest example of that.<br />
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The story of <i>Different </i>is this: you are a high school student, and you're noticing someone acting a little, well, different. From this setup, you find yourself hip-deep in an alien abduction conspiracy. The particular details of <i>Different </i>change with each telling. Last session, the game took place in the 80's; next session will be in the 90's. In the previous session, the aliens were survivors of a crash landing and were looking to manipulate humans to help them repair their ship. That...won't be the case this time.<br />
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One thing I struggled with in making this game was in how "high schooley" I wanted it to be. Everyone is familiar with the tropes and stereotypes of a high school story, and I didn't know how much of that I wanted in this story. The answer I came to: not that much. The story is not so much about being a high school student, as it is about being a powerless person in the face of an unknown terror. This is a horror story, not a coming of age tale or a romantic comedy. So while the rules of my game were designed from the ground up for players to play as high school students, the whole high school bit is fairly transparent. On the upside, this makes the system a little easier to adapt for any future stories I want to tell...<br />
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The game I've developed to tell this story is very basic. As I mentioned in my entry yesterday, the sole purpose of rules in any game I run is to help shape the story in unpredictable ways.I'm not looking to simulate reality; I'm not even looking to simulate storytelling. I'm looking to actually tell a story, with the players' participation. The rules are there to keep us both on our toes, creatively. If you want to see what I came up with, the link to the 4-page game I wrote is right <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1duW0qClctd6sulzIHZZ4i2SoXr2xt9opc1FaIb5kxAU/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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That line about "simulating storytelling" is a subtle, love/hate jab at most of the storytelling games that are out today. In looking for games to write this story, I took long, hard looks at the hottest storygames out right now: Apocalypse Engine, Gumshoe, Fate Core. Those are all great games, but even those rules-light, narrative driven games can trip on themselves a bit. Determining what is or isn't an aspect, tasking players with co-running the narrative, figuring out what moves each player is doing or not doing....I've struggled with all of that, on occasion, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. I wanted a game that was light and breezy, but that still more or less followed the age-old traditional method of role-playing games: you are your character. I am everything else. I have a story, complete with a beginning, middle, and end, and your character is the protagonist of that story. Your actions and your decisions will shape that story, and ultimately, the conclusion of it.<br />
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If you have any questions or comments about <i>Different</i>, please share below!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-63859686179809936812016-09-08T08:02:00.002-07:002016-09-08T08:02:18.744-07:00Moving/Judgement DaySome time back, a friend of mine told me a story about her disastrous encounter with a moving company. I was SO mad for her! Is there ANYTHING worse on God's green earth than moving? It's hell, pure and simple, regardless of where you're going, why you're going there, or how much help you have. And so anything that makes it more aggravating or stressful is just salt in the wound. And this friend of mine, she got a whole load of salt from this moving company.<br />
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I channeled that frustration into a <i>Shadowrun </i>adventure. The client, Mr. Johnson, just recently moved from Seattle to Hong Kong for a new job with his megacorp. The moving company, a Triad front, had recklessly damaged and stolen several things from Mr. Johnson when they transported his stuff. Mr. Johnson had money and could easily replace most of those things, but he was so angry at the moving company for their incompetence and the blase manner in which they regarded him, he hires the shadowrunners for revenge. Their mission: raise hell at the moving company's office, any which way they could. Bonus if they could get any of the client's missing stuff back.</div>
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As I sat down to play this adventure, once the concept was made clear, my friend, who is...ahem...<i>really </i>into Shadowrun....he immediately points out all the problems with this setup. Something about how the megacorps should have oversaw the whole move or something. At first I was frustrated with him....you know, suspension of disbelief, all that shit....but then I realized he wasn't the problem. I was. In my zealousness to tell this story, I ignored all the story bits that Shadowrun provides for you. It is the intent of the game to use all that stuff. Sure, you <i>can </i>ignore it, but why are you playing Shadowrun, then? I wasn't really interested in telling a <i>Shadowrun </i>story. I was interested in telling a story about a corrupt moving company getting its comeuppance. I can tell that story with Shadowrun, but if I do, then I am obligated to use Shadowrun's stuff for it. And that's perfectly fine...there's some <i>great </i>stuff in Shadowrun...but I don't want to <i>read </i>a role-playing game. I want to <i>play </i>one. </div>
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If I were to try and play that mission again, I'd change it so the corp in question is small (not a megacorp) and thus the Johnson had to fend for himself for the relocation. Then I'd make the moving company have some Triad ties to that very not-mega corp, to establish why such a shitty moving company was even contacted in the first place. The moving company and the corp alike would be counting on Mr. Johnson being more worried about the new job in a new city to worry that his shit got busted going across the Pacific Ocean, and that he was getting paid enough to start anew. What they weren't counting on was Mr. Johnson being so attached to that shit that he'd hire shadowrunners to extract a little payback...and, in the process, they would (presumably) discover the link between them, and the ensuing scandal would actually destroy both the moving company <i>and </i>the corp. Mr. Johnson would be ruining his own future by not being able to let go of what would've been, in the grand scheme of things, a minor setback.</div>
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Now <i>that </i>is a story. But notice how there's nothing Shadowrun-ey about it. I could add some Shadowrun elements...maybe the corp's business is in selling magic reagents, or maybe the Mr. Johnson is an ork and part of the reason he took the job was to evade the meta-racial tension in Seattle...but the story! The story is about a man who extracts revenge on a moving company. All of that shit is <i>not </i>about that story. So I <i>could </i>add it, but in reality it would take away from, not add to, the story.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-78092380356665824952016-09-07T05:46:00.000-07:002016-09-07T05:46:00.467-07:00Money Ruins EverythingEvery idea you see in this blog, Dear Reader, is yours to do with as you please. I am not interested in royalties, attribution, or publishing deals. Steal every single word from this blog and use it as your own. I do not care. I'd appreciate a little hat-tip, but it is not at all necessary.<br />
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I'm not interested in profiting off of role-playing games because I love them too much. I want to continue to love them. And if money starts getting placed on the table, I will stop loving them.<br />
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I must stress, because it's the Internet, that what I'm saying here might not be what you're feeling. And that's fine. But here's what I'm saying: Money Ruins Everything. I don't tell stories for money. I don't play RPGs for money. I do it because, well, that's just what I do. If I start getting paid for it, then I'm no longer doing it for that reason. I'm doing it to get paid. And if I'm not doing it solely because I want to, then the story suffers. And the story <i>always</i> comes first. I didn't used to feel this way. But I'm older and wiser now.<br />
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Can I have it both ways? In theory, yes. In practice, no, because if I'm getting paid, I can't quit. If a story isn't panning out how I'd like it to, or I want to do something else, "what about the money?" becomes a question that needs to be answered. And, unfortunately, "fuck the money" is not always a viable answer.<br />
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I've discovered something very important about myself: I hate working. Not the normal "is it Friday yet?" contempt for work, but an actual, legitimately-hostile disposition towards the doing of things motivated not by my own desires. If I'm doing a Thing for any reason other than "because I want to," then I <i>automatically </i>hate that Thing. I am neither proud nor ashamed of this. It's just who I am. I could be a professional blowjob tester, and I promise you, around day 90 or so, I'd be like "Mannnnnn...LOOK at all these goddamn blowjobs I have to receive! Is it Friday yet?"<br />
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Going back to RPGs, this is why I've never been able to fully commit to most campaigns. Because at some point, the ongoing campaign stops being something I want to do and starts being something I and my players committed to doing. At that point, the hate sets in. And I don't hate RPGs; I <i>love </i>them. So anything that makes me hate something I love is not worth doing. That's why I don't plan on running any long-term campaigns anymore, and that's why I'll never accept a dime for anything RPG-related I do.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-74584362701420352032016-09-06T11:01:00.001-07:002016-09-06T11:01:42.152-07:00Story FirstI stopped playing RPGs for a few months. I got burned-out. But now, I'm back.<br />
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This happens from time to time. I know I'm not the only one. Eventually, you get tired of a Thing, so you step away from the Thing to get some perspective. Then, you either come back, or you don't. If you don't, it's because you're no longer into the Thing. If you do come back, it's because you love that Thing and you're ready to make it work again. That is me.<br />
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Here's the perspective I have gained from this self-imposed exodus: Story First. Not the rules. Not the game. Hell; not even myself or the players. When I am running a game, the number one priority is to tell a good story. That's all. If I want to tell a good story and I can't find a system that will do it, then I make up my own.<br />
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Of course, this is the internet, and I am writing with at least a hypothetical audience in mind, so I need to clarify. First of all, "Story First" is my motto, but it's not necessarily yours. Why Story First matters to me is because storytelling is what I do. I've played role-playing games for over 20 years now. I have two degrees in creative writing, fiction and non-fiction. So I have the talent, the education, the experience, and most importantly, a passion for storytelling. I may or may not be the best storyteller around, but I do know this: I am better at storytelling than anything else I do. So it makes sense for me to put an RPG into the perspective of telling a story. An interactive, orally-recited story, with rules that introduce swerves to the story, but a story, nevertheless. That may not be where you're coming from. That's fine.<br />
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To me, everything else is a distraction from putting the Story First, so this time around, I am going to keep that in mind. You're not going to see anymore blog entries about rules discussions, or what's the best game for this or that. I just don't care about that shit anymore. Whatever you see in this blog from here on out will be about one thing only: telling good stories, typically within a role-playing game. But a lot of the stuff I say here will probably apply to any storytelling medium. Stay tuned.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-42755339552437510972016-05-23T15:02:00.000-07:002016-05-23T15:02:51.203-07:00The Mystery MapSince the inception of the hobby, the dungeon has been roughly the closest thing any GM's ever had to a "script." The GM has this map, the GM knows where the party is on this map, the GM tells the party where they can go from the room they're in, the party chooses a direction, the GM checks the notes for the map to see what's waiting for them in the room they moved into, and so on. It's very straight-forward and intuitive. I daresay it's where a lot of the so-called "OSR movement" gets their strength; the dungeon is a time-honored, effective tradition for adventure creation.<br />
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That's all well and good for a hack-and-slash dungeon adventure, but what about a murder mystery? How can a GM prepare that?<br />
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Simple: make a dungeon. Or, as I call them, a <i>mystery map. </i><br />
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A Mystery Map is the exact same thing as a dungeon, except instead of being rooms, monsters, and treasure, it's scenes, witnesses, and clues. I'm not the first person to come up with this, but here's my interpretation of it. Here's one I did up real quick to use as an example:<br />
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In this sample adventure, the PCs are looking into someone...we'll call him Mr. Victim...who's been mauled to death by a pack of wolves in rural Michigan. This seems highly unusual; not completely bizarre, as there's a death or two every season, but this particular mauling was along a relatively well-used hiking trail and it's very unusual to have an entire pack of wolves maul someone that close to civilization. Furthermore, the Michigan Department of Natural Resources (DNR) have tagged hundreds of wolves in the area and are usually very good at keeping the population to a manageable level.<br />
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The map starts at the bottom. That "S" in the box stands for "Start," as in, the first scene of the mystery. What exactly that is would be customized for the PC group; if they're cops, maybe they're in a briefing room; if they're private detectives, maybe a member of the victim's family goes to their office to hire them, etc. In the start "room," the PCs learn the nature of the mystery: in this case, they learn some dude got mauled by a pack of wolves in the woods.<br />
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The lines connecting to other boxes are <i>leads, </i>or clues, if you will. Here, I have three lines connecting to three other boxes. The line to the left leads to a scene involving the DNR, if the PCs decide to check with them about the unusual wolf activity. You see no other lines connect to that box; this means this "room" is a dead-end. The players may get some nice supplementary info, or maybe a chance to do some role-playing, but they'll find nothing directly at the DNR scene that will move the plot forward. The line to the right is a lead the PCs follow if they decide to do some digging on the victim himself. The line in the middle (which I forgot to write any notes on!) is if the players decide to directly visit the crime scene, which according to TV is the place that most detectives start their investigations. (on a revision, I may even consider starting the adventure at the crime scene, <i>Law & Order </i>style, since it's such an obvious move).<br />
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From that "room" on the bottom right, the players will, among other things, discover an important clue that moves the mystery forward: Mr. Victim is a convicted drug dealer. This will pique the PC's curiosity and have them thinking that perhaps Mr. Victim is not a victim of circumstance, but possibly to a drug deal gone bad? So perhaps searching his home will yield some more clues.<br />
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Notice that, unlike a literal dungeon, the players don't of course have to backtrack through the Mystery Map to get somewhere else. After discovering the clue about Mr. Victim's past, they don't have to go back to the first scene of the adventure before they can move forward. However, this can give a GM an idea on pacing and time. If the players have to "backtrack" through several previous scenes, then perhaps several hours or even days pass before the players can get to where they're headed. This can be a logistical issue (perhaps Mr. Victim lives hundreds of miles away?) or just a queue for the GM to throw out some random encounters (a sideplot, some complication of a PCs past crops up, etc.). A GM doesn't have to, of course; that's just an option, a way to "read the script," if you will.<br />
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Also notice that the crime scene has only one lead, directly to Mr. Victim's house. Off the top of my head, that means that the PCs will find some evidence the police did not...some meth hidden in a tree stump, perhaps. This sends the PCs to the same scene, but it now introduced a scene in between.<br />
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I think you get the idea, so I'll just gloss over the rest of the map; from Mr. Victim's house, we find two more leads; the name of one of his customers (we'll call her Ms. Wolf), and the name of his supplier (we'll call him Mr. Herring). Following Mr. Herring brings you to a scene at the casino where he works; there, the PCs discover the location of Mr. Herring's lab where his meth is produced. Going there reveals that the lab has burned down, written off as a meth explosion by the police, who still haven't figured out the connection between Mr. Victim and this lab. The PCs, with their clues, are able to put together (either from investigating the lab itself, or by pursuing Ms. Wolf) that Ms. Wolf was in fact the reason behind the explosion. Pursuing her (literally, perhaps, with a chase scene) brings us to "F", the Final scene: Ms. Wolf is a werewolf, and she and her pack are waging a vigilante war against the drug trade in the region. The adventure ends with a cliffhanger decision: now that the PCs know a pack of werewolves are fighting drug dealers in the region, what are they going to do about it? I'd listen to the discussion and prepare the next Mystery Map off of what I think they will do next.<br />
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So there you have it. As you can see, I pulled a lot of this right out of my ass as I was writing this post. Having the structure of the Mystery Map allows me to do this. I can see the key scenes of the adventure, see where I need to place those core clues to get the group from scene A to scene B, and I can also see places where I can stick in secondary/bonus scenes that enrich, endanger, or perplex the group.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-16211917102219896502016-03-14T05:14:00.000-07:002016-03-14T05:14:29.702-07:00The FeelzThis isn't about what you think it's going to be about. This blog entry ain't about "feelings." It's about when a thing <i>feels </i>right. It's about following your gut to where it <i>really </i>wants to go.<br />
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I am scheduling a game of <i>Cyberpunk </i>for next Sunday. <i>Cyberpunk </i>came out in 1990. There is a third edition, released in 2005, but it looks like booty so I'm going back to the second edition.<br />
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The question that comes up is, why play a 20+ year old cyberpunk game? Why not play <i>Tech Noir, </i>or <i>Shadowrun? </i>The answer is simple: <i>Cyberpunk feels right.</i><br />
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One of the hardest things about GMing is learning when to trust your gut. In nearly 30 years of playing RPGs I still struggle with it. Those fucking Shoulds enter my head. You <i>should </i>play a game more relevant. You <i>should </i>play something more people recognize and can get behind.<br />
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But you know what else I <i>should </i>do? I <i>should </i>play whatever the fuck I want. I should play to my passion. Passion's contagious, as we all know. If I have a fire for <i>Cyberpunk, </i>someone's gonna wanna see where it goes. And my gut tells me it's going to go to a cool fuckin' place.<br />
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So how am I going to deal with the obsolete elements of <i>Cyberpunk? </i>A future without wifi? A future without Facebook? That's simple: I'm not. I'm not aiming for contemporary realism in this game. I'm aiming for the future of the 90s, not the future of the 20-teens. If you want to see how my <i>Cyberpunk </i>game is going to look, go watch <i>Robocop </i>(preferably the original, but the remake is not too far off the mark, either). Go watch <i>Total Recall. </i>Go watch <i>Blade Runner. </i>These are the stories I'm basing this game's future on. This is a long, waggly middle-finger to transhumanism and the "realistic" future that has nearly killed this genre with its lofty idealism and hard-to-understand technologies.<br />
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Now don't get me wrong: I love transhuman shit, and I've written at length about how cool I think <i>Eclipse Phase </i>is. But what <i>feels </i>right to me is cyberpunk. So that's what I'm shooting for. And I think it's going to be <i>awesome.</i><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8121100433999663865.post-79692725571180213182016-03-11T09:17:00.003-08:002016-03-11T09:17:57.130-08:00How to Control Pace.You like that period I threw up there? I'm gonna say about 7 out of 10 of you read that title differently because of the period at the end. Knowing how to change someone's thought process, even for a fraction of a second, is <i>pace control. </i>And that is a VERY valuable skill to have in the bold and dynamic world of tabletop gaming. Whether you're playing <i>Dungeons & Dragons </i>or <i>Pokemon, </i>knowing how quickly or slowly things move relative to each other...and knowing how to adjust that speed...is an essential skill for tabletop gamers to have.<br />
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Unfortunately, pacing is <i>such </i>a bold and dynamic variable that it is very, very hard to teach. At least, from my experience. I'm going to write about two little tricks I do. These things may or may not work for you. "Your mileage may vary," as they say.<br />
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The first thing I do is <i>take a ten minute break every sixty minutes of play. </i>During that break, I take a little walk, I think about what's happened, and I think about what I want to do next. Guided by my agenda, I typically come up with a solid enough foundation to build the next sixty minutes of play on.<br />
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The second thing I do is <i>intentionally take as long as possible to do something</i>. Not <i>everything</i>, of course. Just whenever I'm feeling overwhelmed or that the game is running away from me. I don't normally look up rules in the middle of play, for example. But if I feel like the pace is going faster than I'd like, suddenly I give a damn about rules and start looking them up, mid-game. This is a tricky little trick because many people are going to read this and think I'm saying do fucking EVERYTHING as slowly as possible, and of course I don't mean that. I mean, a tool I have at my disposal for controlling the pace of play is to intentionally make an effort to think a thing through, rather than throwing out the first thing I can think of. A lot of you probably do this instinctively. That's an awesome gift to have, gov, and I'm jealous if you do! I don't think I have it since I have to think about it a lot to get there. 30 years, in fact.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04143802508898869979noreply@blogger.com27