Hoo boy, it was a long, exhausting weekend. As you know if you read the read the Megadungeon Monday post. Yesterday. Tuesday. I know. I’ve come a long way in the past few months, but I’m not perfect. At least, not perfect regarding running a site. I’m perfect in a lot of other ways, though. I like to think it balances out.

Anyway. Last week turned out to be a very long, chaotic week. Lots of crap. I don’t want to talk about it. But one of the things that happened is that I decided to see how the ole Twitter thing was doing. And, man, it’s still mostly a garbage fire. And, after two days, I was ready to get right the f$&% back out of Twitter. And then something happened that made me remember why Twitter wasn’t completely reprehensible. It trashed all of my ideas for a feature article and made me address a topic by providing me with a fascinating conversation. One that actually made me think about things. And one that even taught me a few things. I know. I’m f$&%ing amazed too. Who thought there was anything left for me to learn.

It all started with an innocuous little invitation. It came from this dude, Bill Allen World. He runs the YouTube Channel Bill Allen World and also works with another YouTube Channel called Initiative Coffee. They post a series of those insipid, live streamed games I find unwatchable. One of them involves playing with f$&%ing teenagers. But they seem to actually put some effort in, and the quality is pretty damned good. If not for the fact that I’m watching a bunch of people play a game of D&D when I could be running a game of D&D myself – and probably better – I’d be a fan. So, call this a grudging recommendation.

Anyway, Mr. World asked me if I’d be interested in appearing as a guest player in one of their games. And I responded the way I usually do when someone asks me to play in a game. I pointed out that I am far too creative and clever and cunning and witty and handsome to be a player. That’s why I’m a GM. But we talked about whether I could act as an allied, temporary NPC who joins the party and who is statted up like a player-character. World seemed amenable to that. So maybe it’ll happen. Who knows. That is not quite the point.

The point is, several other Twits jumped on me to point out that players can be just as creative and clever and cunning and witty as GMs. And they also pointed out that being attractive is irrelevant. But that’s something unattractive people always say. And I reminded those unattractive Twits that if players really were smart and creative, they’d be GMs.

Trust me, there is a really important point in here. One that is worth writing a few thousand words of bulls$&% analyzing. And one I didn’t realize was so important until I was sitting in a coffee shop two days later pretending I was actually interested in some story from a game they had played in about a fight with some dragons and Tiamat on the upper layer of the Nine Hells or some s$&%. I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening. Nothing bores me more than people telling me stories about their characters. Except maybe GMs telling me about their campaigns.

Anyway…

One particularly tenacious little player who felt slighted by the implication that GMs are, by their nature, smarter and more creative than she, she decided to make a big fight out of the whole thing. And, as an example, she cited a friend of hers she considered to be an extremely creative and clever player. Because, you know, a single, anecdotal, nameless person who might as well be “her girlfriend from Canada” is always a compelling counterargument. But she then pointed out that this player also frequently ran games.

That is to say, her evidence that GMs are NOT inherently smarter or more creative than players was a clever and creative GM who happened also to play the game sometimes.

Yeah. I know.

But here’s the deal. The crux of her argument – and, look, I swear this not just me recounting a semantical argument that started with a bit of obvious trolling – the crux of her argument was that playing and GMing were things you did. Activities. Actions. When you’re playing the game, you’re a player. And when you’re running a game, you’re a GM. And that just ISN’T how it works.

Once a GM, Always a GM

Here’s the deal – and I have to assert, once again, that there is a very important, meaningful lesson for GMs and players at the end of this discussion, even if it sounds like semantical nonsense right now – here’s the deal: once you become a GM, you are, forever after a GM. You can go back and play games, sure. But you’ll never, ever NOT be a GM. GMing is something you are. And it can’t be taken from you. It’s kind of like earning a degree. Once you’ve got that Ph.D., you have earned the right to be called doctor forever. Even when you’re not doing surgery or smashing subatomic particles into each other. Another example is that I am an accountant. I am not currently working as an accountant these days. But I can still call myself an accountant. And I can account whenever I want.

Now, my argumentative little player friend called this whole thing a load of semantic nonsense, and highly subjective to boot. And you may be thinking the same thing. You are probably thinking this is all just an elaborate way for me to rationalize a bit of trolling. Well, two things can be true at the same time, can’t they? It’s both.

The point I was trying to make was that I was pretty sure – and the reason I’m saying “pretty sure” is tied into the learning experience I had – I was pretty sure that GMs actually see the game differently. Becoming a GM changes you. It changes your outlook on the game in a fundamental way. Once your perspective has shifted, you can’t go back. What I didn’t know at that moment was how little I understand the full ramifications of the change. I didn’t realize how much it transformed people. And I didn’t realize the actual details of the transformation.

Part of the reason is that I have always been a GM. I went from knowing nothing about D&D to being a GM over thirty years ago. Thanks to an older cousin, I had heard of Dungeons & Dragons. But I knew nothing about it. I wanted to, though. So, I convinced my parents to take me to the B. Dalton Bookstore at the local mall, and I used some gift money or allowance or whatever to buy Frank Mentzer’s Dungeons & Dragons Basic Set. Now, through the 1970s and 1980s and 1990s, there were several Basic D&D sets. This was the 1983 version, revised by Frank Mentzer, in a red box with a Larry Elmore cover. Having now seen every Basic D&D box ever made and also many beginner products from other RPGs, I can say I learned from the absolutely best introductory gaming product ever made. The runner-up prize goes to Fantasy Flight Games’ various Star Wars Beginner Games. Those are pretty damned good.

Anyhoo, I read through the whole thing. It taught me how to play and how to the run the game and even how to build my own dungeon. I kidnapped three of my friends, ran them through the game, and that was it. I was a GM.

So, I have no idea what it feels like to be a player. At least, not firsthand experience. Over the many years I’ve been running this game, I’ve introduced A LOT of people to gaming – to playing and to game mastering – and I’ve listened carefully to them about their experiences. And I’ve also talked to A LOT of other gamers about their experiences. And I’ve run games for players and for GMs and for mixed groups of players and GMs. And I know – I ABSOLUTELY KNOW – that players and GMs approach the game differently.

At least, once they really are GMs. Which raises a very interesting question.

Graduating Yourself

Right now, if we accept the premise that there really is a difference between players and GMs, we have to ask when does someone actually BECOME a GM. Because I can also tell you that running one game is not enough to make you a GM. Even running several sessions isn’t enough sometimes. And it’s not like there’s a certification process to rely on. So, when does someone BECOME a GM? Well, I’ll tell you my answer. But I’ll also tell you that I know now that it’s wrong. I didn’t know it three days ago.

My answer is pretty simple: it’s the point at which you identify yourself as a GM. Or rather, it’s the moment when you realize there’s a difference between running games and being a GM. It’s the moment when you say, “I’m a GM” instead of “I’ve run a few games.” Now, that’s a dangerous thing to rely on. Because anyone can identify themselves as something. But it isn’t the act of self-identification that actually makes the GM a GM. It’s the realization that there IS an identity there at all.

If we go back to my argumentative little player, she didn’t recognize that there was an identity behind being a GM. She just figured you run games or you play games. Whatever you’re doing at the time, that’s the verb you use. And lots of people who’ve run just a few sessions think the same way. That’s why, when you ask them if they’re a GM, they don’t say “yes” or “no,” they say, “I’ve run a few games, but I mostly play.” Or they say, “well, I do both.”

One day, though, after you’ve run some number of games – and it could be as few as one – something in your head clicks. On that day, you become a GM. That’s the day your perspective shifts. You see the game differently. You may not know what is different and you may not know why you suddenly see the difference. Hell, you may not even know that it happened. Not consciously. But, very suddenly, you start calling yourself a GM.

And that – as I was trying to explain to this stubborn player – was also why she couldn’t see the difference. Because she’d not experienced it firsthand. Of course, she also refused to listen to me or anyone else telling her that yes, after you become a GM, you see things differently. And you can never go back. And that is how all of this exploded.

A Thousand Different Experiences

Now, at this point, I was both frustrated and curious. Frustrated because someone had called this whole discussion – which had an important point beyond the trolling, which I ALWAYS DO – semantic, subjective, arbitrary nonsense. And curious because I didn’t have all of the experience I needed to really figure the whole puzzle out. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I put the question out to all of my followers on Twitter. Actually, I put a couple of questions out. First, there was a simple “yes/no” poll directed at GMs asking them if they thought the transition from player to GM had personally transformed them. That was just to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. And though there weren’t as many responses as I’d have liked – given I was doing this over a weekend – the answer was overwhelming “yes.” GMs knew that GMing had changed them.

The other two questions basically amounted to “how did GMing change you” and “what differences do you see between players at your table and GMs who are players?” I read and retweeted every answer I saw. Though it was a busy weekend and I probably missed a bunch. And, while everyone agreed there were differences, no one agreed on what those differences were or how they had changed or whether those changes had even been entirely negative or positive.

As far as the personal transformations go, I got pretty much everything I expected to get and a few things I didn’t expect to get. On the positive side, the most common response was just an increased level of respect for the game and increased selflessness in playing. Players-turned-GMs were more respectful of the GM and the way the particular GM wanted to run the game. And they were less focused on their character’s role in the story and more focused on bringing other players into the game. They tend to “go along” with the story more, changing their character a bit to suit the game as necessary. They also just tended to be less argumentative. Let’s just call that all “respect and selflessness.” That seems to be the good side of everything.

On the neutral side, some players-turned-GMs said they had an increased ability to assess the style of a game and decide whether they were a good fit. They were more able to recognize that a game wasn’t “for them” and were more likely to walk away from a game that didn’t suit them.

On the negative side were a few player-turned-GMs who admitted they had a decreased tolerance for, what they termed “bad GMing.” They were less willing to put up with whatever behaviors they thought had a negative impact on the game from a GM. And more than a few were intolerant of inexperienced GMs. That is, they didn’t distinguish between GMs who were “bad” from GMs that were simply “learning.” And my, that’s interesting. A few of those intolerant player-turned-GMs were willing to address issues with their GM to make them better GMs. I guess that’s more a neutral behavior. It could be a very good thing if done properly and I’ve certainly done my share of coaching. But it can also be a very bad thing if the coaching is done poorly or if the coach is mistaking a style choice for an outright mistake.

And that, by the way, is important to recognize. Perspective and competence are not the same things. You might be better able to recognize something is going wrong at a game table after you’ve run a few games yourself, but that doesn’t mean you’re good at handling the problem the right way. Having keen eyesight does help you find and track your target, but you can still be a bad shot with a gun. The two things feed each other, but they aren’t completely dependent on each other, and you can have one without the other.

The same thing happened with the observations about the differences between players and GM from players-turned-GMs. Actually, this was really emotionally polarizing. Some GMs LOVE having experienced GMs as players at their table. Others HATE it. A few do go either way. And I suspect it comes down to the number of experiences they’ve had. Someone who has only run for a small number of GMs and has had a few bad experiences will extrapolate that running for GMs is a bad experience. Someone who has had good experiences the few times they’ve run games for GMs will extrapolate that running for GMs is a good experience.

I suspect the truth is that every GM is different, just as every player is different, and any GM can create a good or bad experience as a player. The more GMs you run games for, the more you recognize that and the less firmly you can say that’s always good or always bad to run games for GMs. But that doesn’t mean you still can’t tell the difference between players and GMs-who-are-playing.

Those who love running games for GMs cited that the GMs-who-are-playing have that “respect and selflessness” thing I already mentioned. That isn’t a big surprise there. Though a few did mention that the “respect and selflessness” thing wasn’t always good. And, actually, I find myself falling into that camp.

See, I have had GMs at my table who are trying to “help” by bending their character to what they think are the whims of the game. You know, “going along with” whatever they think my plan is. That actually kind of f$&%s me up because I’m very responsive to my players and alter my plans based on what the players decide to do. I often dangle multiple story hooks to see where the players want to go next. And I use their choices to guide my future plans as I learn what my players want. If I have a player who is trying to figure out my plan and play along, that really screws everything the f$&% up. So, does the GM-as-player who tries to play mediator between my plot and party, trying to convince the party not to resist my plans or go the wrong way. Nothing screws me up more than a player who isn’t behaving like a player.

I have pulled aside GMs-as-players and – privately – grabbed them by shoulders and shook the hell out of them while screaming “I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP AND THIS GAME DOESN’T NEED TWO GMS! JUST PLAY THE DAMNED GAME!”

In fact, for better or for worse, I have had to say to a lot of GMs-as-players that I just want them to play the damned game like a player. That’s kind of how I knew there was a difference. Because there’s been a definite pattern over the years.

But back to other people’s responses. The other major complaint that many GMs had about running for GMs-as-players was the backseat GM. Or, worse, the front seat GM who tries to grab the wheel. Those are folks who are either “trying to help” or they think you’re doing something wrong and they need to fix it. How they act varies. Some state their case like a rules lawyer and get passive-aggressive when they don’t get their way. Others just “help” you or the other players by reminding them of rules or making calls or answering questions before you have a chance to.

Now, I am willing to listen to anyone at my table if they think I’ve done something wrong, unfair, or bad for the game. But I have limited patience for anything beyond a single, polite statement of disagreement, a judgment call, and then moving the f$&% on.

So, some GMs have had one too many experiences with GMs-as-players turning themselves into either helper-GMs or super-rules-lawyers. And those both suck. And I’m totally onboard.

I had one response that stood out. The responder said that he would no longer run games for inexperienced GMs because they were always “backseat GMs” but he loved running for experienced GMs because of the general “respect and selflessness” thing. And I found that response to be very apt. I don’t necessarily believe that the important factor is the level of experience. But I do think it’s at least close to the reality that running a game for GMs is different than running games for players, but whether it is better or worse depends on the GMs.

Moreover, there is a correlation between the quality of the GM and the quality of the GM-as-player. That is, people who are very good GMs seem to make good GMs-as-players. Poor GMs make poor GMs-as-players. And I think that point is super important. But I didn’t realize that until after I was leaving a coffee shop. So, let me get back to the story and add the last piece of the puzzle.

Blah Blah Tiamat Blah Teleport Blah Blah Damage Resistance

All of this crap went down over the weekend. And, after I fired off the poll questions, I also recognized that I had a hell of a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. So, after reading through the initial flurry of responses, I put Twitter on f$&%ing lockout. This is something I have to do occasionally. Partly because Twitter is a goddamned dumpster fire most of the time and partly because I’m addicting watching a good dumpster and roasting marshmallows and laughing my a$& off about how worked up people can get.

So, when I see I am spending too much time staring into the flames and eating marshmallows and when I have a lot to do, I delete my Twitter client from Windows and my Twitter app from my phone. I remove all of my login info from my web browser and delete my bookmark for the Twitter site. Basically, I make sure that seeing Twitter will take just enough steps that I can talk myself down and get back to work.

Now, it just so happens that a couple of frienemies of mine was in town over the weekend. I mean that in the sense that they are paying supporters of this site and also in the sense that I have had repeated interactions with them over the years that were not awful and even positive enough that I was willing to have more interactions. I know some people use the word “friend” for that person, but that implies a certain level of “caring what happens to the other person.” I don’t want to give false impressions here.

Anyway, we – The Tiny GM and I – ended up in a café with The Carpe DM and Jules FX. Carp had just made some kind of point about emotional engagement and then failed to prove he had any understanding of how to emotionally engage me by sharing a long, detailed, blow-by-blow account of something that had happened in some game he’d played in. It involved Tiamat and teleporting into dragon stomachs or some s$&%. And I was trying hard not to fall asleep and, as a result, smack my head on the table and give myself a concussion. I’ve had too many interactions end that way, and I’m starting to suspect I might have some serious blern dermage and kumquat flapping purple hjewhi;lk,,.

Suddenly – possibly realizing he was losing me – Fishy asked me about the Twitter interaction. Specifically, he asked me what I thought caused the transformation. If I really thought GMs changed as part of the process of becoming a GM, what was it, did I think, actually caused the change. And, eager to be the one talking instead of the one pretending to listen and seizing the chance to forestall another gaming war story, I proceeded to think out loud. Because I hadn’t really thought about it.

But what I have been thinking about a lot lately is parenting. See, I’m not a parent yet. And, for a long time, I didn’t want to be a parent. I had a host of reasons why I didn’t want to be a parent. They don’t matter right now. What matters is that I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately. Because Tiny and I have a long-term plan that includes creating some kids and giving them a good life. And so, a lot of my personal plans have changed because those plans have to include providing stability for a family.

The reason it popped into my head is that everyone who is not a parent has been told by parents how different “it” is when you’re a parent. Whatever “it” happens to be. But, honestly, as I started talking, I realized there was a parallel between parenting and GMing. One that actually also explains the moment when you really become a GM.

Responsibility.

The thing is, players can be selfish. I’m not saying that all players are selfish. They aren’t. But they can be. They don’t have to worry about anything other than showing up and having a good time. Someone is taking care of them. It’s like being a kid. And even if you aren’t selfish – even if you’re a good, caring, kind kid who wants the best for everyone – there’s still a safety net. If you fail to take care of everyone around you or fail to take care of yourself, someone is there to handle it. You have parents and teachers and all sorts of other caretakers.

But when you become a GM, you eventually have to confront the fact that you own the game. You’re responsible for it. No one is going to clean up after. If you drop the ball, no one is going to recover your fumble. That game reflects on you. The players are looking to you. You are looking to yourself to do your best. If the game goes well, you’re going to take pride in that. If not, you’re going to beat yourself up.

But there’s more to being a parent – and a GM – than just being responsible. It’s the worst kind of responsibility. Because you don’t really have control. You can do everything right, put the game first, and give it your all, and that game can still go bad. Players can bring bad moods and bad attitudes. A bad string of die rolls can frustrate the players and put everyone on edge. Or your ideas – as good as they – might not work in practice. They just might not click for your players. Or, for all of your effort, you might not be very good at it. You might be inexperienced and need practice. Or you might just not be very competent.

Being a GMing is about understanding that you are fully responsible for something that you have only partial control over. And all of the effort and all of the drive to do your best might not be enough. It could still fail. And that’s still going to be YOUR failure. Because you’ll never know if it failed because of you or in spite of you. Honestly, if it succeeds, you’ll never know if it succeeded because of you or in spite of you.

And, really, that’s what it really means to take responsibility. It means you are going to do everything in your power to make something work, you may not have all the power you need, but you’re going to own the outcome regardless.

Admittedly, GMing is a lot less pressing than parenting. When a game goes bad, four people wasted four hours not having fun. The worst-case scenario – the WORST – is that some friendships end up ruined. That can happen from a bad game. I’ve seen it. Hell, I’ve lost friends thanks to this stupid game. But that’s still less than the worst-case scenario of failed parenting, which involves… well, look, I don’t have to say it.

But the parallels are still there. And those parallels also explain the moment when someone REALLY becomes a GM and also explain why people can GM without becoming a GM. Or become a GM and turn into an absolute nightmare to fellow GMs.

The Other Side of Parenting

Now, admittedly, I kind of had the part about ownership and responsibility figured out. And that explains all the “respect and selflessness” stuff. Once you have a game of your own, you know what that means. You’re a kindred spirit with every other GM out there who struggle with the same responsibility as you. And, because you became a parent out of love for the game, you love all games. You want to protect all of those innocent, helpless games. You want them all to have good lives and grow up to be strong, responsible… okay, I may be losing my focus here.

But becoming a GM and becoming a parent also have something else in common – they come with a level of power. They come with authority over other people. And authority also changes people. Power can corrupt. And GMing offers a sense of complete power over the game. And that has a lot of effects.

For example, people with power start to assume they know how to use it best. Power mixes badly with arrogance. Just look at me. See, once you start exercising your own power over your own game, you start to assume you know what’s best. And when you see other people raising their games badly, you feel compelled to step in. Maybe you do it politely, with the best of intentions. Or maybe you just parent other people’s games whenever they aren’t looking. Either way, it isn’t right.

And when things start to go wrong, that authority – that power – can become absolutely poisonous. Remember that things can go wrong in spite of all of your best efforts, but you’re still responsible? Well, if you take that responsibility seriously and things really do go wrong, you can start to wield your power desperately, trying to rescue your game. You can get overprotective and overcontrolling. You figure you have absolute authority and absolute responsibility. Not only should you be able to fix anything, but you also have to do anything you can to fix everything.

The truth is that becoming a GM – like becoming a parent – hands you a bunch of responsibility and a bunch of authority. But everyone is going to react to those things differently. The core of who you are determines how you’re going to react to those things. And how you react determines the type of GM – and the type of GM-as-player – you’re going to be. Of course, like anything, you can learn from how you react. And you can grow. Unless…

The GM Who Doesn’t Count

GMing – like parenting – is a two-part thing. It involves both responsibility and power. And, while you can be given power, you have to accept responsibility. And, of the two, the more important one is the responsibility. That’s what enables you to learn and grow. That’s why you read my website.

Imagine, for example, the young player who became a GM too soon. She had dreams of all the great games she was going to play. But suddenly, she’s got a game of her own. So, she tries to live out her dreams through her own game. She doesn’t care what her players want or what’s best for them. She creates the game she wants to play and plays vicariously through her players. She’s got her players performing in beauty pageants and commercials as a toddler. She pushes them hard. She robs them of their…

Okay, you know what I’m saying. And maybe we should dispense with the parenthood metaphor before this gets too awkward. Because I have a feeling I can draw a lot of really ugly, uncomfortable parallels if I try.

The point is, it is possible to become a GM for the wrong reasons. It’s possible to start running games and accept the power of it without accepting the responsibility that comes along with it. You abuse power for your own selfish pleasure. Or you do it because you can’t figure out how to get out of it, but you hate every minute of it, and you take that resentment out on your players. Or you blithely ignore the responsibility, enjoy the fun parts, and ignore or avoid the hard parts.

None of that, by the way, is the same as being fully accepting the role and being bad at it. It might seem like it on the surface. The GM who runs the game their own selfish way because they are living out their own dream game and don’t care what the players want looks exactly the same as the GM who genuinely thinks the players will absolutely love whatever dream game the GM has in his head. At the table, those games are the same. The difference is that that second GM can grow. If the players can somehow make the GM see that the game isn’t making them happy, the GM will actually care. And try to do better. It may not be easy to make the GM see that. And the GM may not be good at fixing it. But the second GM will try.

It’s accepting responsibility for the game that makes you capable of growth. You love your game, you want it to succeed, and you love your players. But not in a gross way. So, insofar as you’re capable of recognizing your mistakes and learning from them, you will. The person who never accepts responsibility for the game, who runs the game because they love the power or because they landed behind the screen and can’t get out from behind it and don’t want to be here? Those GMs can’t grow. Not until they first recognizing the responsibility that comes with running game. And accept it.

And that’s the moment when you become a GM. When you fully accept responsibility and ownership for the game you’re running – even though you don’t have full control over every aspect of it and even though you may not be good at running it – if you call yourself a GM and MEAN IT, you are one.

Every Race is About Running a Circle

Now, I realize the logicians out there are recognizing that this whole mess has become a circular argument with a No True Scotsman fallacy at its heart: becoming a GM changes you because you don’t really count as a GM until you’ve been changed. Me? I don’t care so much. Partly because I’m still happy to call it a win because my argument is, at least, consistent with its own premises. But mostly because I don’t think the change is the important part anymore. I mean, I do think it’s important. But I’m not willing to die on that hill.

Fine, becoming a GM doesn’t have to change you. And it won’t automatically change you. You have to accept the change. Just like being a parent doesn’t have to change you. You have to let it change you. And that change is entirely about accepting personal responsibility for your game or your little pooping, drooling rug rat. I’ll let that go. But you absolutely cannot be a good GM if you don’t accept that responsibility. You’ll never grow. You’ll never improve. Morally speaking, you should not be a GM if you refuse the responsibility. And if I had the power, I’d take your title from you if you tried. But I don’t have that power. And your game is your problem.

But the moment you do take ownership of the game, you’re never the same gamer again. You could still be an a$&hole though.

Next week, I’ll go back to talking about campaign types or finish making that dungeon or something. I promise. It’s been a weird week. Sorry.