The Art of Storytelling
by Mark Rein·Hagen
It seems that a myth itself, as well as the symbols it brings into play, never quite disappears from the present world of the psyche; it only changes its aspect and changes its operations.
Mircea Eliade, Myths, Dreams and Mysteries
I will never forget my first experience as a Storyteller, not if I live a thousand years. I was a little snot-nosed kid, who, having roleplayed for over a year already, was beginning to feel confident in his abilities. So confident, in fact, that I though running a game would be no problem at all. Therefore one rainy afternoon I gathered together my mother, father and sister and had them create characters - all of whom were to be secret agents in the employ of the CIA.
Character creation went well enough; such structured activities usually do. But when we began the story everything began to go wrong. First of all my father insisted that he be given the exact parameters of the mission, their exact objective and what they could and could not do in the pursuit of that objective. After much haggling I finally had to write it all down: "Objective: Recover the Department of Treasury master $100 bill plates, taking no longer than 48 hours from this moment." Keep it simple, I thought; that way he won't be able to twist my words.
My father didn't mean any harm, he just took his game playing seriously. He played to win, and understanding the winning conditions is the only way to do that.
He then proceeded to construct a plan which completely sabotaged the story I had so laboriously prepared. They were supposed to enter an underwater complex through an open airlock after a pair of guards went on swim patrol, sneak past the complex security, remove the stolen plates, encounter the mad scientist who was behind the whole thing, and in the process rescue a certain British agent known only as 007.
Gathering together nearly 10 pounds of plastic explosive the characters swam immediately to the complex, attached it to the side of the bulkhead, backed off a bit, and set it off (before the patrol could get out of the airlock). The whole base was flooded with water and everyone inside was killed. The characters then swam inside (past the drowned body of James Bond!) picked up the plates, and left.
The story was over in 10 minutes. They had "won" but in the process everyone had lost out. I was stunned and then enraged, "You didn't do it right," I yelled, desperately trying to think of some way to salvage the story. My father, however, was sincerely puzzled. The team had accomplished what I had wanted them to do, so why was I angry? At the time I didn't know how to reply to his oh so logical question, all I could shout was "you don't get it, you don't get it!"
I didn't try to be a Storyteller again for another year and a half. I had been burned by my experience, and the memory of it affects my storytelling to this day. Though I didn't know what to say to my father then, now I have a better idea how to explain to him what went wrong, and that's what I want to relate to you now.
What my father did not understand, and what I did not tell him, was that storytelling is about stories and roleplaying, not missions and objectives. A character should be concerned with the mission, but the player should be concerned with the character. The Storyteller should be concerned with making and keeping the character at the center of the story. It is as simple as that. But though the concept is straightforward, applying it is not.
I never really made this clear to him however, not before the story began and not since. He was operating under the premise, largely unconsciously, that this was a game, and that you play a game to win. This is a premise many of us operate under; the game element of what we do is often central to our enjoyment of it.
However much we may enjoy winning, however, we must never sacrifice the story to the game. I should never have allowed things to progress as far as I did in the mission without bringing the story back into it. All I needed to do was add a plot twist, such as a perimeter guard already out on patrol, and it would have become a story again, but I didn't, for a variety of reasons.
My first mistake was to let myself start thinking of the players as enemies. Though I didn't want them to fail, I did think of them as my opponents, and my job as putting obstacles in their way. In a way, I was playing to win as well. Moreover, even when I was thinking in terms of opposite sides, I was letting them (my father at least) run all over me. I didn't establish myself in the beginning as the final authority, and in the process of trying to reestablish some sort of control I set myself up as the antagonist, as the enemy. As soon as I did that, the story became less important than the game, and the only test left was how fair I would be in judging the efficacy of their efforts.
My second mistake was to believe that my job was to stay in control. I tried to tell the story rather than letting the story tell itself. I wanted to be in charge because I thought that was what my job was; the thought of being a "game master" had gone to my head. Achieving mastery over the game was my motivation, and I thought that meant achieving mastery over the characters and story.
My third mistake was to have designed the story without the characters in mind, and with a complete plot already in place. I had expectations for the story which were unrealistic, even silly, and was angry when the characters decided to bypass all my careful plans. Born and raised on dungeon crawling, I knew no other way to roleplay than the presentation of a static setting and story. My experiences had warped what I knew of storytelling. In terms of what I thought about the story, the characters were annoyances when they should have been major players in it.
What I didn't realize is that as the Storyteller you have the responsibility to create the dream, and to bring the players into it. But once you have created the dream, you must stand back and let the characters take it over, and to become the engine that drives it. They must sit at the center of the story, not you.
Always let the Players decide what to do in setting the course of the plot. It not only makes them feel as if their characters really have control, but it saves you a lot of work. Always give them the opportunity to decide what they want to do, and how they want to go about it. Your job then becomes both incorporating these desires and plans, and placing entertaining hindrances in the way. Your job is reactive - a process of adapting and embellishing.
However, in order to do this well you need to set the scene well, to establish the basis of the Chronicle in luscious, exciting detail so the players know and care enough to take significant action in relation to that environment. You must first create a world so detailed and complete that the players can direct the story productively.
Your ultimate aim as the Storyteller is not to tell any of the Story yourself, but to guide the players into telling it for themselves. You should be the guide, not the path itself.
What I should have done is to have designed the entire setting and then created a complete story and timeline of what would occur within that setting if the characters were not involved. I would decide what would happen if they did nothing, and then change those events as they influenced the story's progress.
It takes a lot of energy to keep a story going, especially if you are doing it on your own. The energy required to sustain a story is immense, and it is impossible for a Storyteller to do it alone. The players need to be part of the process as they are the ones who add the fuel that allows the story to move, and only if they are directing the story can they supply this energy.
Some players actually suck away energy from a story, with their very demeanor making everyone else feel more lethargic. These individuals I call vampires, for they take the emotions and energy of others without ever giving anything back. They are cynical, hostile, arrogant and selfish - though perhaps in subtle ways. These players demand excitement in a story but do nothing to create it themselves. Vampires are the death of any story (and paradoxically, the life of this game).
The best test as to whether or not you are doing a good job or not is to see what happens when you sit back and say nothing. If they players are still roleplaying among themselves -planning, squabbling, plotting, commiserating - then you are doing something right. If when you stop interacting with the players the story stops cold, then you know something is going very wrong, and you need to start to do things differently.
I do not pass that test as often as I would like too. In some way that first experience scarred me, and left me with a number of bad habits. After losing control that one time, I am now obsessed with always keeping control. After having players escape my preplanned plot, I seem to be all the more eager to manipulate them into it. I seem to keep making the same mistakes over and over again, and I have noticed others doing the same.
You may think I am joking, but I assure you that I am not -just ask anyone who has ever played with me. They might say that the Chronicle was imaginative or perhaps even exciting, but if you press them they will always have to agree that there was something missing, that they just never quite got "into it," that they never had an "experience."
I think that this problem revolves around my inability to keep my own imagination in check long enough to let the players get theirs in gear. I barrage players with so much story material it becomes difficulty for them to create any of their own. In short, I don't give my players enough room.
A deadly flaw by any standard. One I have never fully managed to overcome, despite years of trying.
Moreover, I still have problems with being consistent enough to make the world seem real. I go for the glory, the immediate payback, instead of building a story slowly. I am more interested in making the story exciting than in making it realistic. I try to focus on evoking a complex, elaborate world, but always the drama seems to come before the details. Players are always catching me in inconsistencies, and a story can be ruined by that.
What it all boils down to, I think, is that I try to control and dominate the story too much, that I don't give the players enough room to direct and guide it themselves due, perhaps, to that still lingering fear of losing control. A fatal flaw that can perhaps be traced to that first bad experience, a flaw many others share with me. It is something I must fight to overcome every time I play, and it is something you should think about as well.
If you walk away from something, sometimes you find yourself closer to your goal. Walk away from needing control over your stories, and give that power to the characters. Give your players some breathing room, and let them breath some life into your Chronicle.
PAX!