Category: side projects (Page 1 of 6)

“The Length of a Season”

So Stephen King said about how long it should take to write a rough draft for a novel.

I can’t begin to count how many times I’ve failed at this. I always take too long.

Before anyone starts in and says, “The story takes as long as it needs to take,” let me explain that while this may be a helpful maxim for other people, it is not for me.

I know because I’ve let novels take longer than the length of a season and always–always–it has hurt the project. I lose the heat. I lose the thread. I’m at a different place as a writer and my voice has subtly shifted.

Speaking with one of my students today, she had the exact same experience. She started a draft a few months ago but never wrote a proper ending. She added the ending recently, and she and I both agreed it lacked that certain oomph the earlier portions had. It didn’t have the same voice, the same energy. She’d taken “longer than a season.”

This happens to me constantly. I’m not saying this happens to everyone, nor that it necessarily happens to me all the time (I’ve had a few short stories where the break/pause ended up helping me work out something that was missing). But it happens to me often enough that I’ve got to actively fight against the fear and blockage that keeps me from riding the momentum of a project to its completion. Especially for novels. Both my interest and my ability to conceptualize the story dissipate the longer it takes me.

I want to get better at riding the wave. I have too many stories I want to write for things to linger on like this.

And thus my pact. My commitment. I will finish my next book in a season.

The Backstory:

I started writing a novel for my children earlier in the spring. They had brought home a book about dragons from the Scholastic book fair and it left me cold. Generic. Trite. Also, a bit too mature for my first and second graders.

I sprung into action and started writing a dragon fantasy novel using some of their ideas. I wanted it to be more in the tradition of books I remember loving as a kid. Something similar to the Prydain Chronicles, or Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH.

This, remember, was in the spring. And now it’s late autumn and I’m on chapter seven. About ten thousand words in. Not very far. And much longer than King’s “season.”

Nevertheless, I will persist, and in the spirit of King’s advice (and my own inkling about how my creative process works), I intend to finish the novel before the end of this season (this season meaning November/December).

To do so means writing 50-60k in a month (so, sorta like the NaNoWriMos of old), which comes to roughly 1600 words per day. I’m not going to hold myself to a strict word count quota (another quirk of my creative process: as soon as word counts come into view, I get the hives); instead, I’m setting a time quota: sixty minutes per day in the writing studio. A bit more on weekends to make up for slow days.

I’ve already built up a tiny bit of momentum because I’ve been working on the book for the past week or so, but I need a more formal commitment to really push myself and write with more urgency and gusto. Not urgency in the panicked sense, but urgency in the sense that this story will be best served if I get it out into the world without delay. In delay there is doubt. There is that changing of voice and squandering of energy. Like my student realized: taking “time off” from the writing didn’t help it; it just made it flatten, like a tire leaking air.

Why do we take that time off? Is it really to make the piece “better”? Or is it fear, resistance, tension, doubt? It’s worry and perfectionism. It’s a defense mechanism. If we keep going, we might end up somewhere “bad.” We might flub it. We might not know where to go next and make a “wrong turn.”

But I would say the more harmful thing, from an emotional and intellectual standpoint, is to let a story idea taper off, to let a novel die on the vine, to never finish the piece. Losing the energy, wiping out from the wave: these are the bigger troubles. A tough, wild wave is easier to ride if you don’t intentionally jump out of it. Better to stay on and ride it out than to jump off and tread water, hoping for a new wave to come along.

I’m going to keep riding the wave. I’m excited, in fact. There’s a thrill here. A high-wire act (okay, now I’m mixing metaphors). But the idea that I can build my own momentum, that I can accelerate myself to the end of a novel: it’s exhilarating. It’s fun to think that in six weeks’ time I’ll have a rough draft novel to share with my children. I’m hoping this experiment shows me a new way of working, of approaching my creative projects. In the length of a season, I’ll have something new and complete.

DCC Middle-Earth: Too Much Noodling?

I know I JUST posted something about my ideas for a homebrewed DCC-based Middle Earth role-playing game, but now I’m starting to doubt all my noodling and tinkering. Why use DCC’s rules and characters if I’m going to change so many mechanics? (Like combat/damage rules, etc.)

Better to stick with the DCC rules-set and add on a few things (still looking at a Pendragon-style Hope/Despair trait) but keeping the general mechanics as-is. Even though I like Cairn and Nimble 2e’s roll for damage and not to-hit mechanic, it just messes up too many other aspects of DCC that I DO like (like the Deed Die, Turning Evil, etc.).

The real alterations need to be in terms of setting-specific things, like patrons, spells, etc. And using another game’s overland travel rules to capture how important traveling is to the Middle-Earth experience.

But whether we roll to hit or just roll for damage or whatever feels less important. What matters in a Middle-Earth-specific DCC game is making it suited to MIDDLE-EARTH through flavor details, magic, etc., and not worrying about which OSR or NuSR-style mechanic I’ll be using for combat or ability checks.

I need to work on world-building for a Middle-Earth setting and stop trying to Frankenstein all my favorite mechanics into one game.

More Middle-Earth RPG Noodling

Making my Middle-Earth role-playing game heartbreaker using DCC RPG as the chassis and adding in various other elements from games like The One Ring, Nimble 2e, Dolmenwood, Shadowdark, MERP, Pendragon, and others has been both exhilarating and dispiriting, often in equal measures.

As I got deep into the weeds of character stats, magic systems, Luck/Hope/Despair mechanics, I was suddenly left wondering if maybe I should just learn The One Ring after all and call it a day. Why fight the system that everyone seems to agree “gets” Tolkien the best?

But my Middle-Earth RPG isn’t trying to capture TOLKIEN’s Middle-Earth; it’s trying to capture MY Middle-Earth: the one that I created as a kid via various versions including the Tolkien books, and cartoon movies, and other fantasy-related games, books, and media, and the aforementioned MERP, and my own ten-year-old imagination.

I want a Middle-Earth RPG that’s more 1960s “Frodo Lives” counter-culture and 1970s and 80s American fantasy publishing and Angus McBride MERP illustrations. That’s why I settled on DCC RPG as the main rule-set for my homebrew. DCC gives the right vibes of loose-goosey, pre-codified Dungeons and Dragons generic fantasy that feels right for how I imagine my own head-cannon Middle-Earth.

The One Ring, for all its virtues, is very much in line with the aesthetics and interpretation of Tolkien’s legendarium post-Jackson’s film trilogy. It’s got that WETA Workshop feeling–and listen, I love that WETA Workshop feeling! But I want something different for my homebrew game. I want something that takes me back to my kid days, when Middle-Earth wasn’t so “fixed” in everybody’s minds (including my own). It’s hard to describe this “kid-version” of Middle-Earth, but it was somehow more fluid, more malleable. My imagined Middle-Earth was more of a hodge-podge, and as good as the Peter Jackson films are, and as beautiful as Alan Lee’s and Ted Nasmith’s illustrations are, they aren’t my head-version of Middle-Earth.

Anyway, despite my frustrations, I don’t want to abandon my attempts. I’m a bit stuck on the Hope/Despair mechanic and how it will work. I want it to be similar to the Luck mechanic in DCC, but I’ve been toying with using Pendragon’s personality traits mechanic, where Hope and Despair are two opposed scores that add up to 20. If Hope is 10, Despair is 10; if Hope is 13, Despair is 7; etc.

But then what happens if a player spends Hope? Hope goes down, Despair goes up. This might disincentivize players from using Hope (a la Luck), which is one of my favorite DCC mechanics.

No. The Despair score needs to be something else.

This is where I thought maybe Despair might replace the DCC mechanic of Disapproval. Players start with Disapproval of 1, and it goes up by one point each time a character…what? Fails a Hope check? Falls unconscious? Hmm.

That’s the sticking point. In normal DCC, Disapproval goes up if a Cleric fails a spell check. But in my Middle-Earth homebrew, I’m considering getting rid of spell checks and using a mana point system for magic instead. So when does Disapproval/Despair go up?

This has led me back to Pendragon’s personality traits. Perhaps I keep DCC’s Luck mechanic as-is. Players can spend Luck and it works the same as the rules as written in DCC.

But in addition to Luck, there’s now a Hope/Despair trait. Players start with a base of 12 for Hope and 8 for Despair. They can make a Hope check right from the get-go in character creation, and if they roll under 12, they can add +1 to their Hope score.

Mechanically, players can ask for a Hope check at any time to help them on their journey. Maybe they need something really good to happen that can’t be covered by any other rule or mechanic, like they are in a tricky spot against an overwhelming number of goblins. They can ask to make a Hope check, and if it succeeds, then something good does happen–maybe a tunnel gets spotted that allows the party to escape the goblins, or one of the goblins gets too cocky and accidentally trips himself and several of his comrades. Maybe everyone in the party gets +2 to armor class or something during the fight. The player making the Hope check can decide in conversation with the GM. Later, after the session, they make a Hope check again, and a success means Hope goes up by one point (and Despair down by one).

But if the Hope roll during the game fails, then the player must put a check mark next to Despair, and at the end of the session, they make a Despair check, and success makes Despair go up (and Hope go down).

When Despair is higher than Hope, the player falls under the Shadow… not sure how this will work yet. Maybe I make this more of a role-playing thing and less mechanical. As Despair increases, the player must play their character as falling further and further under the sway of the Shadow, and that means they become more Denethor-like, or even Saruman-like. At some point, the PC might even reach a Despair of 19 or 20, in which case they might cease to be playable because they are too under the sway of the Dark Lord.

There’s also a possibility that Hope can get a check even without a player asking for a Hope roll. Maybe the GM can award a check for the party’s success in a difficult situation, and everyone can get a chance to increase their Hope. Similarly, Despair can also get a check when, let’s say, one of the party dies or is seriously injured without healing at the end of the adventure. PCs will have to make a Despair roll at the end of the session to make sure they aren’t overcome by the bad situation.

Maybe this is too swingy or fiddly, but if I make rising Despair into something that is more about role-playing and less about a mechanical disadvantage, then that might give players freedom to ask for Hope rolls during the game to advantage themselves, knowing that if Despair goes up, it’s more about the storytelling than about making their character less effective mechanically.

I’m also curious to try the Nimble 2e (and Cairn/Into the Odd’s) mechanic of only rolling for damage. This would mean hit points need to be slightly higher at first level, and I’m not sure I would use Nimble’s exploding crits mechanic (but I would keep its normal crit rule, where rolling the highest number on the die equals a crit and you can roll again and add to the total). I would keep Nimble’s rule of missing on a roll of 1 too.

I would also use Nimble’s armor class rule, where the AC is lower (normal AC score minus 8), and that’s what gets absorbed on a hit (but only when using Defend as a reaction, see below). Everything hits, basically, except a roll of 1.

Similarly, I would also keep Nimble’s action economy. Every PC gets three actions per round, and those can be used outside their turn as Reactions too (help, interpose, defend, opportunity attack). A PC could potentially attack three times in one round, but the second and third attacks are rolled with increasing disadvantage. Monsters would not get three actions; they would most likely get two actions (move and something else). The more dangerous the monster, the more actions they would get (using DCC’s action dice rules).

I think warriors and dwarves at higher levels will get more actions or special actions to make their classes special.

I would also steal Nimble’s magic system, where PCs would spend mana to cast instead of rolling. I feel like magic in Tolkien’s Middle-Earth rarely “fails.” I’ll keep the DCC spells, though (with a few subtractions… the ones that don’t fit the flavor of Middle-Earth).

My next big step in all this is to make a character sheet, come up with a starting occupations table that’s more Middle-Earth-centric (no gongfarmers, lol), and create the patron tables for Elbereth, Aule, Manwe, and Sauron. Then I gotta cut down the magic spells lists, figure out how to modify the DCC Annual’s Canticles rules to fit with Middle-Earth sensibilities, and playtest with some of my new rules (the Nimble combat and magic stuff, and the Hope/Despair mechanics especially).

I’m still teetering on the edge of my own despair (pun intended) that this homebrewed system won’t work or be worth the effort, but my hope hasn’t faded entirely yet. I think once I put some of these ideas into playtest, see how it goes, then perhaps I’ll feel better.

One may ask: “What’s the point of all this labor?” And I’m not sure I have a good answer. All I know is that I want to try it. I have an idea of playing in Middle-Earth, and I want something that keeps me in an OSR-space while also being a bit more Middle-Earthy than normal OSR DnD. For now, I’m still obsessed with making this homebrew, and despite my struggles, I’m still having fun.

Word Counts and Critical Voice

I never realized how much my consideration of a project’s word count could invite my critical voice to make an appearance. After all, if I’m writing a novel, don’t I have to make sure it hits a certain word count (ballpark, anyway)? Same for short stories, novellas, etc. How can I write anything without considering word count?

Here’s another case of me not heeding my own advice. I tell students all the time that page counts and word counts are arbitrary when it comes to prose. Teachers tell students to write five hundred words (or a thousand or two-fifty or whatever) not because the word count is intrinsic to the piece of writing, but because of other factors: we don’t have time to read twenty-five eight-thousand-word essays this week, or we want the students to learn brevity, or we simply follow convention by giving students their beloved “How long should this be?” question an answer.

The real answer is, “However long it needs to be.” But students hate that answer. We teachers sometimes hate it too.

If we were printing a magazine or a newspaper, then column length would matter. There’s only so much space on a page.

If we were publishing books, then length would matter too for something pushing against one thousand pages.

But students aren’t usually writing for publication in a print newspaper, and novelists aren’t usually pushing against one thousand pages for their novels.

The answer is, “However long it needs to be.”

And yet here I am, sitting here week after week, scribbling and typing away at my stories, constantly checking the word count to see if it “fits” the prescribed type of story I’m writing. Not genre, not narrative. But: Is it a short story? A novel? A novella? Better make my “short story” the right length. Not too long, not too short. Better make sure my latest novel is between 90k and 100k words. Better work towards a “length,” because how else will I know I’m done?

Idiocy.

Despite what I tell students, I’ve internalized the “How long should it be?” question for my own writing, and it’s opened the door to Critical Voice. Instead of spinning the yarn and letting it go where it may, I’ve decided ahead of time what “type” of story it is, and I’ve been writing to that length and structure.

Who is to say what I’m writing is a short story? Even if I set out with an idea I think will be a short story, what happens if it starts to pick up steam and becomes something more? Am I open to that possibility, or am I stuck in “short story”-mode, trying to fit an oversized foot into a glass slipper that just won’t hold it?

For Norse City Limits, I decided that it needed to be a “proper” length. Fantasy, after all, is a genre that welcomes the longer book. Readers expect a hefty tome.

But what if my story isn’t fit for hefty-tome-dom? What if NCL needs to be 60k or 70? What if it needs to be ultra-hefty? 300k? Or more?

I am not trusting my Creative Voice here. I am working towards something arbitrary instead of something that comes intrinsically out of the story itself.

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

I never realized how much the “publishing” side of things was intruding on my creative process. I thought that since I always write what I want and never to “market,” that I was immune from the business side interfering with Creative Voice.

Gah! I was so wrong!

Sneaky, that Critical Voice.

If I were writing for a print newspaper, things would be different. If I were writing a sonnet, obviously, the form demands a certain length.

But I’m writing fiction and nonfiction on my blog and as an indie publisher. Length doesn’t matter.

This is wildly freeing. Today, as I worked on a “short story,” I realized that there was no reason it had to be bound by the term “short story.” I mean, maybe it will end up being a short story. Chances are it will. There are only a few characters and one setting. It’s basically the story of a brief affair. I don’t think it will be more than a short narrative.

But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is only the first chapter of a longer story. Maybe this little May-December romance will become something larger in scope.

That’s not for me to decide at the moment. All I have to decide is what the next sentence will be. And the next. Until the story finds its ending.

That’s the key: The story must find its own ending.

Not a word count or publishing consideration. Those don’t determine the ending. That’s Critical Voice thinking.

What does the story need? Where will it end?

That’s Creative Voice talking. I’m just along for the ride.

I finally realized today that I’d been trying to backseat drive, trying to route the way only to discover that there is no fixed destination. Not yet, anyway. The route, the journey, my Creative Voice will decide the destination, not me.

And not my word counts.

Return to DCC RPG

I’m playing a solo Dolmenwood game right now, my kids and I are playing some adventures using Hero Kids, and I might be joining an open table for Shadowdark in the very near future, but I’ve also been cooking up another solo adventure/campaign using the Emirates of Ylaruam gazetteer from TSR, and I was thinking of using Cairn for my system, and yet now, I’m getting the itch to return to my first OSR love: Dungeon Crawl Classics RPG.

I’ve played several games using DCC, and I’ve loved each and every one, but I find that players don’t always love it as much as I do. Maybe I’m not a very good Judge, maybe the players have wanted a more typical 5e experience, I don’t know. But I’ve moved away from DCC RPG partly because there are so many new games I’m interested in (Dolmenwood!!), and partly because I’ve found it hard to get a regular game going.

But if I love it so much, and I’m planning a solo campaign, why not use DCC for my solo campaign? It’s an obvious choice!

One thing I’m interested in is using DCC for a homebrew. Although Goodman Games makes excellent adventure modules, I’m more and more curious to see how DCC works when using the core rules but adventuring in my own world (“my own” is a stretch… I am using the Ylaruam stuff from TSR… but I’m not using any pre-made modules; I’m making a sandbox and letting my PCs go wherever, no set story).

One of the things I love most about DCC RPG’s core rulebook is the way it encourages the judge and players to develop their own world: make your own patrons and deities and monsters and magic items and everything else in between. If dice rolls lead to wild results, play out those results and see what happens. A spell goes awry and transports the party to another dimension? Cool! Go explore that dimension. A PC dies and his friends want him back? Cool! Travel to the underworld and rescue him. The warrior wants to learn a new fighting style? Cool! Seek out the legendary sword master of the far-off mountains and convince him to train you.

The Goodman Games modules are fun, but one of the things that drew me to DCC RPG is the way it inspired my own adventuring and world-building ideas. I like the modules for one-shots, or even as locations/encounters within a hex crawl, and I might use a few as I solo-play, but I’m really in the mood for creating my own map of adventures, my own locations, my own quests. I’ve never really used DCC for that kind of play yet, and I want to try.

I’m inspired on some level by Bob the Worldbuilder’s excellent Skrym resource. By using the Ylaruam gazetteer and the Skrym random tables (as well as the tables in the DCC core book), I feel confident I can make a robust solo campaign.

In some ways, I wonder if Goodman Games’s success with its modules has hampered or undersold DCC’s ability to work as a homebrew game. The game itself has so many interesting quirks and tables that create stories simply by the effects of a spell roll or treasure table roll or patron roll. The modules are wonderfully weird and well-designed, offering the perfect DCC “flavor,” but as a system, I think the DCC core book gets overshadowed by this robust line of adventures. I’m genuinely curious to see how well the system holds up in a sandbox campaign that is not based on any DCC RPG modules or settings.

American Fantasy in a Box of Rain

Ross Douthat had an op-ed a few months ago where he posited that America needed its own quintessentially American fantasy novel/series, and while I immediately objected to the headline’s premise that we’ve never had one (ever heard of Oz, my dude? Or the John the Balladeer stories?), I understood that Douthat was arguing for a “Great American Fantasy,” a Lord of the Rings for our purple mountains’ majesty.

He also acknowledges the Oz books and others, and yes, he does say we can have a great American fantasy that is for children or that does something outside of epic fantasy.

In his opinion, no “American fantasy” has achieved greatness yet, and that’s what he’s challenging authors to do. “Make American Fantasy Great” (but not “again,” because, well).

Okay, cool, fine, whatever.

I’ll admit that I have a fantasy novel idea (that I first developed back in my early college days) that seeks to blend my love for psychedelic 1960s music with my love for fantasy, but I don’t know if it would meet Douthat’s idea of “great.” Too quirky, perhaps. Too niche.

In many ways, the Between Earth and Sky trilogy by Rebecca Roanhorse is what I would call an “American Epic Fantasy,” but I’m not sure it counts for Douthat’s vision, and I don’t think he’d call it “great.” For Douthat’s “American Fantasy,” America = United States, whereas Roanhorse is definitely America = non-European, indigenous America. She’s decidedly pre-Colombian.

My idea is of the “magic school,” magic-in-the-real-world variety. Think A Separate Peace set at a music school with magic and dragons and it’s the 1960s.

For me, psychedelic rock & roll has a lot of fantasy connections. It’s why hippies and college students were all saying “Frodo Lives” in the 1960s, making The Lord of the Rings into a huge American bestseller. We all know Led Zeppelin was putting Tolkien references into their lyrics. And the weirdness of an LSD trip can definitely feel like traveling into another world, a magical world (so I have heard).

In particular, the Grateful Dead’s music and Robert Hunter’s lyrics have always been a source of inspiration for my imagination and for my fantasy writing too. If there’s an “American Fantasy” soundtrack, I think it might be the Dead who plays most prominently on it. This is partly because of the free-form style of their music, the occasional weirdness. But it’s also because of Hunter’s lyrics, which blend Americana with mystical imagery; a very grounded, homespun sensibility with a dream-like lyricism:

“Walk into splintered sunlight

Inch your way through dead dreams

to another land

Maybe you’re tired and broken

Your tongue is twisted

with words half spoken

and thoughts unclear”

“Just a box of rain

wind and water

believe it if you need it

if you don’t just pass it on

Sun and shower, wind and rain

in and out the window

like a moth before the flame”

(“Box of Rain,” words by Robert Hunter)

“Box of Rain,” “Ripple,” “Dark Star,” “St. Stephen,” “Terrapin Station,” “Franklin’s Tower”: These are only a few of the Dead’s songs that carry me away to an Otherworld, to fantasy.

I think we tend to associate British bands like Zeppelin, or heavy metal and prog rock in general with fantasy — which makes sense. These genres and bands are often heavily influenced by fantasy literature. And fantasy literature has, to Douthat’s point, been generally associated with European culture for a lot of its history (though this has changed more recently).

But the Dead are also a band with a fantasy vibe, it’s just that their vibe isn’t always drawing FROM fantasy literature but instead from a different corpus that includes American history and folklore as well as classical literature, the Bible, the folk, blues, and country traditions, and, of course, the Ken Kesey Merry Prankster LSD stuff from their early years. The Dead are American Fantasy to me because of the way they bridge so many different influences, while also bringing their own original visions to bear on these source materials. It’s old and new, traditional and experimental. Earthy bluegrass and psychedelic flights of fancy.

One need only look at the album artwork and overall aesthetic of the band’s merchandise and promotional art: animated skeletons and dancing bears and all kinds of fantastical and sumptuous pastoral imagery. Crows and cats and harlequins. Banjo-playing turtles and skulls and starry skies.

(To be fair, lots of promo art from the psychedelic sixties and seventies fits this bill. But the Dead have kept it going beyond that particular period, making this aesthetic an integral part of their oeuvre.)

In some ways, the “Great American Fantasy Novel” isn’t even a novel at all. It’s the body of work done by the Grateful Dead. Maybe this isn’t what Douthat is looking for — this isn’t a Moby Dick but for “fantasy” — but as the man once said, “Believe it if you need it. If you don’t just pass it on.”

I believe it.

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