My Approach To Running Games

I used to think a great GM was someone who planned every detail, anticipated every move, and always had the perfect response to their players. That’s not really true, and realizing that made me a much better GM. It’s been 30 years since I first played a roleplaying game, and probably about 25 since I first thought I could run one. Let’s just say … I couldn’t. Like every new GM, I made every mistake in the book; railroading players, getting too attached to my own worldbuilding, and including GM-PCs that overshadowed the party. These were mistakes, but not necessarily failures. They were lessons.

Tabletop roleplaying games have been part of my life since childhood. I played my first session in 1995 when I was eight years old, using an older edition of the Swedish game now known as Dragonbane. My older neighbor, a 12-year-old who seemed super cool to me at the time (even though he ate his own boogers) was the GM. In reality, neither of us had a clue what we were doing. But that first session sparked something in me. I was hooked.

From then on, I started sketching out my own game systems with nothing more than pencils and a notepad. When I say “game systems,” I mostly mean drawings of medieval weapons and stat blocks that didn’t tie into any mechanics whatsoever. But I was passionate, even if I didn’t know what I was doing.

By 11, I got my first official game for Christmas: Eon, a gritty and complex Swedish fantasy system. Too complex, as it turns out! Most of my friends lost interest halfway through character creation and drifted over to play Cool Boarders 2 on my PlayStation. To be honest, I couldn’t blame them. That game was pretty good! And I had practically forced them to make characters for a medieval reality simulator that they had no personal passion for. So, I didn’t get to play much at the time, but the games were still an important creative outlet for me.

Eventually, I found friends who shared my interest in actual roleplaying, and my 20s were dominated by games like Exalted and Cyberpunk. We spent countless hours immersed in campaigns that stretched on for years. Life, of course, changes—university, jobs, moving away—but my passion for roleplaying never waned. When in-person games weren’t an option, I turned to online play, running long play-by-post campaigns that lasted for years. These days, even with a full-time job, part-time studies, and real-life responsibilities, I still make time for almost weekly games on Discord or every third week with a local group. When I’m not playing, I’m working on personal projects like game design or YouTube.

For me, tabletop roleplaying games have always been more than a hobby. They’ve been a creative outlet, a stress-relief, and an escape. And honestly? That’s what I love about them.

THE SOCIAL ATMOSPHERE
For my in-person group in the early 2020s, we used to rotate hosting duties, and we all contributed to making the experience enjoyable. Sometimes someone cooked—one of our players even made their own chocolate. When I’m hosting, I like to set the mood with lighting and background music. It helps me get into the right headspace for the session.

If I’ve prepped physical maps or handouts, I bring those to the table as well. I often use a small whiteboard for quick notes or sketches that might be useful in the moment but not necessary to keep. It’s a lot less messy than a bunch of papers or erase markers, and the players seem to enjoy it as well, since some of them can’t keep their hands off it and always try to sneak in a subtle dick drawing when they think I’m not looking.

I also love the feel of having physical books at the table. But not everyone wants to flip through pages mid-game, so I make sure to have PDFs available too. I even keep a couple of old tablets on hand for players to use if they need to look something up. It’s a small touch, but it keeps the game flowing smoothly. Snacks, drinks, and comfortable seating are also important. You don’t need an elaborate setup to have a good time, but a relaxed social atmosphere can work wonders for immersion. Whether it’s a tense narrative moment or a break between scenes, good company and good chocolate make it better.

I find three players to be the perfect amount for most games, but I don’t mind too much if it’s more or less; no more than five, though, since too many players usually mean longer periods of time before each person can be spotlighted.

If a player cannot show up for a session, I generally prefer to reschedule. Exceptions can be made if the character can be easily sidelined without disrupting the story. I know that some people like to use absent PCs as NPCs, but I don’t like doing that. I want the player to retain full agency of their character. But if a player is repeatedly missing sessions, we might need to have a conversation about how to proceed; there might be other reasons for their absence.

SESSION ZERO
I find Sessions Zero essential for setting expectations, establishing group dynamics, and laying the groundwork for the game. In a typical Session Zero, we discuss what kind of game everyone wants to play, brainstorm character ideas, and explore relationships between characters. Some players come in weeks ahead with fully fleshed-out concepts, while others need more of a push. Both approaches are fine. It’s my job as GM to meet them where they are.

I encourage players to develop meaningful snippets about their characters’ lives and backstories that I can draw inspiration from, but I’m not interested in fully fleshed-out novels. When a player is stuck, I use prompting questions to help spark ideas, like, “What’s your character’s biggest regret?” or, “Who’s the one person they would do anything to protect?” Questions like these often get players thinking in ways they hadn’t before. These kinds of questions are also good ways to form character connections. For example, I might ask, “What does your character admire about theirs?” or, “What’s one thing your character finds annoying about theirs?” These questions not only help the players connect but also provide me with material to weave into the story later.

Themes and tones are also important to establish upfront. For a horror game like Vaesen or KULT, I prioritize player consent and comfort. We talk about boundaries, the level of intensity everyone is comfortable with, and any specific topics to avoid. It’s not just about making sure everyone’s on the same page; it’s about creating a safe space where everyone can enjoy the game. For games with more complex mechanics, like Exalted or Machineborn, I’ll often prepare cheat sheets or quick-reference guides to make things easier. I’ve found this especially helpful for new players; it saves everyone from having to flip through rulebooks mid-session.

Not every Session Zero looks the same. Some are nothing more than informal chat messages before we meet up to play, while others are structured workshops that take several hours. The goal is always the same: to set the stage for a collaborative and enjoyable experience. But when done right, a good Session Zero makes everything that follows run more smoothly, and trust me, it’s worth the effort.

STARTING A CAMPAIGN
Starting a campaign can feel like embarking on a road trip. You don’t need to map out every stop along the way, and you might not even know where you’re headed towards. But you do need a starting direction. For me, the first session of a long-running campaign is the hardest one to prepare for. It’s where you hook the players, set the tone, and introduce the first sparks of what could become overarching narratives; all while making sure each player feels personally invested.

The key to a strong start is balancing personal and overarching narratives. As much as I’d love to say I’ve mastered this task … I haven’t. To get things rolling, I often turn to written scenarios or other media for inspiration. I borrow ideas, tweak them to fit the group, and then let them evolve naturally during play. For example, when we started our Machineborn campaign a few years ago, I shamelessly lifted the initial story beats from the Coriolis scenario The Tailor from Mira. I changed the lore and adapted the story to better fit my own world. The result? A story that felt original but still had the structure I needed to get started. And the players? They had no idea! They had a lot of fun, though. And we didn’t have Coriolis on our list of games to play, so they were unlikely to run into that scenario anyway. I got to use some of my Coriolis books that I probably wouldn’t have used, and the players got a neat start into their own adventure. It was a win-win.

Once the ball is rolling, everything gets easier. I can lean on player-driven narratives, improvise more freely, and prep less intensely. But that first session? That’s where I need the spark of inspiration to make it all come together. Pro-tip, though: when I don’t have any other inspiration to lean on, the Session Zero becomes even more important. The more you prompt your players for ideas then, the more material you’ll have to draw inspiration from when setting up the game.

Another crucial element is player agency. The story should feel big, but it shouldn’t feel like a railroad. Players want to grow their characters both mechanically and narratively, and part of that growth comes from the freedom to shape their own paths. A strong campaign opener gives them enough direction to be intriguing but leaves plenty of room for them to make it their own.

INCORPORATING PLAYER BACKSTORIES
When prepping for a session, I write down a few bullet points specific to each character, such as the introduction of an NPC they might have a connection to or a clue towards a personal goal. My aim is to ensure that every player has at least one moment during the session where they feel seen; where the story connects directly to their character. It doesn’t have to be groundbreaking, but even a small nod to their backstory can make a huge difference. For example, if a character’s backstory mentions a long-lost sibling, I might introduce an NPC who turns out to be that sibling or who claims to know them. Whether it’s a heartfelt meeting or a lying villain, the story becomes richer because it’s personal for the player.

That said, it’s important to balance individual and group dynamics. While a personal storyline can be incredibly rewarding for one player, it shouldn’t overshadow the rest of the table. I try to integrate backstories in ways that naturally involve other players; perhaps the party helps search for the lost sibling, or an interaction reveals a clue that ties into the overarching plot.

The more I get to work with, the easier it becomes to tie the different player narratives together as well. In one of our Machineborn campaigns, one player learned that her father was an influential politician, while another player was an investigator who started working for law enforcement. When the story moved in the direction where the player and their father were to unite, the other player’s role as an investigator could be weaved in as well, since they were having their own interests in being close to this high-class politician. This is also why it’s so much easier to run the sessions later into a campaign. Many of these story hooks and relationships have been more clearly defined, and the story starts writing itself.

Ultimately, it comes down to this: players are the protagonists of the story. By weaving their backstories into the narrative, you’re not just building a campaign. You’re creating something unique and personal that your players will keep talking about for years. They don’t care about your story or your world. They care about their character’s story and their character’s world.

COLLABORATIVE STORYTELLING
The whole point of tabletop roleplaying games is that it’s a collaborative experience. As a GM, I might be guiding the story, but it’s the players who bring it to life. Over the years, I’ve learned that the more you involve your players in the worldbuilding and the narrative, the richer it becomes.

Like I mentioned before, collaboration starts already in Session Zero by asking the players questions about their characters’ relationships or past experiences. I like to bring that with me into the game as well to give the players some influence over the world as they experience it. For example, I might say, “What’s a rumor your character has heard about this town?” or, “Tell me about a person who lives in this town who your character has had a bad experience with?” These small contributions not only add depth to the world but also make the players feel like they’re shaping it.

If there’s a scene where one player’s character isn’t present, I might let them control a minor NPC to keep them engaged. When we played Dune, two of my players took on the role of sparring partners during a solo training scene with a third player. The players both added their own personalities to these minor NPCs that were only relevant for that one scene. Moments like these not only keep players involved but also lead to unexpected twists that make the story more exciting.

That said, not everyone is immediately comfortable with this level of collaboration. Some players might say, “Isn’t it your job to come up with that stuff?” And that’s fine—it’s not about forcing anyone. I ease hesitant players into it by asking small, open-ended questions. Once they see how their input shapes the story, they’re usually more eager to participate. Collaboration isn’t just about sharing creative control. It’s about trust. By involving your players, you’re showing them that their ideas matter. And as a bonus, it takes some pressure off you as the GM. You don’t have to come up with everything on your own.

MAKING IT EASY FOR MY PLAYERS
It’s important to know that collaboration shouldn’t mean “extra work” for the players. I firmly believe that playing a tabletop roleplaying game should never feel like homework. If my players want to dive into rulebooks and memorize every mechanic, that’s great, but it’s not something I ever expect from them. My job as a GM is to make the game accessible, whether someone is a seasoned veteran or joining for the first time.

When introducing new players to a system, I focus on easing them in. We start with the basics, like how action resolution works, and add complexity only as needed. If a rule is too confusing in the moment, I’ll make a quick call and clarify it later. Patience is key, mistakes happen, and that’s part of the learning process. You’re welcome to join my table with no prior experience at all. I’ll get you sorted. I also provide tools to help players stay organized. For more complex games, like Exalted or Machineborn, I create cheat sheets summarizing key rules or mechanics. Sometimes, I even compile player-specific compendiums with their character details, abilities, and lore references. This way, they don’t have to flip through hundreds of pages to find out how something works.

Another thing I’ve started doing is creating NPC lists. If the party meets a lot of characters during a scenario, I’ll hand out a sheet with names, short descriptions, and key details the players might need to remember. It keeps the game flowing and avoids those awkward moments where I introduce someone important and a player says, “Wait, who’s this guy again?”

When it comes to in-game resources, I encourage players to keep track of their own character sheets. But for newer players, I’m happy to help until they feel confident managing things on their own. I want the game to feel exciting, not overwhelming. One of my personal rules is to avoid micromanaging. If a player makes a mistake or forgets a rule, it’s not a big deal. And if someone accidentally bends the rules in their favor? That’s on me for not catching it sooner. As long as everyone’s having fun, I don’t really mind small things like that.

PLAYER DYNAMICS
Every player is different, and that’s part of what makes GMing both exciting and, occasionally, challenging. While it’s great when everyone collaborates seamlessly, that’s not always the case. I’ve had my fair share of disruptive players over the years, but I’ve also learned that most disruptions don’t come from malice. They come from misaligned expectations, communication issues, or someone having a bad day.

When there is a conflict, it’s important to address it head-on. My first step is always to try to understand where everyone is coming from. I ask each player involved to share their perspective and look for common ground. This isn’t always easy, but most conflicts can be resolved with a little mediation and compromise. However, sometimes you might have to stand your ground as the GM. If someone’s behavior consistently disrupts the group, it’s important to have a direct conversation, even if it’s uncomfortable. I’ve found that addressing issues early prevents resentment from building, and, in some cases, disruptive players will remove themselves once they realize the group dynamic isn’t a fit for them.

But even the most cohesive group sometimes struggles with sharing the spotlight. Some players naturally dominate conversations or scenes, while others are more passive. I try to balance this by designing moments tailored to individual strengths. If one character is a combat monkey, I’ll create a scene where they can shine. If another is more socially inclined, I’ll set up a moment where they get to socially outmaneuver someone.

If a player’s behavior disrupts the flow mid-game, like constantly interrupting or derailing scenes, I pause the session to address it calmly. If it’s just a misunderstanding of boundaries or expectations, a quick conversation should be able to set things right. But when the issue is more complex, I might suggest a one-on-one conversation after the game to delve deeper.

Ultimately, managing player dynamics and conflict is about adaptability and communication. Not every solution will work for every group, but by staying flexible and proactive, you can create a table where everyone feels valued. And if all else fails … chocolate helps.

PERSONALIZING THE EXPERIENCE
Every player deserves to feel like the story is, in some way, about them. When I’m a player, I want to feel personally connected to the narrative, and as a GM, I want to create that same sense of connection for my players. It’s about reminding them that their characters are the protagonists, not just participants in someone else’s story.

When I prepare for a session, I make it a habit to write down bullet points specific to each PC. This could be an NPC connection, a personal goal, or a thematic threat that I can tie into the narrative. Even if it’s only a small thing, I want every session to have a moment that resonates with each player. It doesn’t have to be something that ties to their backstory; it can be something that I believe would fit that character going forward, or something I believe that the player will like. It can be a reward of some kind, or a personalized scene that the player finds memorable and where their character feels important.

Plot twists can add excitement and move the story into new arcs, but they should feel earned. I avoid introducing plot twists solely to subvert expectations; they must make sense within the narrative. Proper buildup is essential, and they work well as cliffhangers to end a session on a high note.

Personalizing the experience isn’t just about big narrative arcs. It’s also about keeping players engaged in the moment. I like to ask Socratic questions during play, especially when I notice someone becoming passive, distracted, bored, or unfocused. Questions like, “What is your character thinking right now?” or, “How does your character feel about what’s happening?” not only pull players back into the scene but encourage them to reflect upon their character’s internal experience which can help them make more active choices in game.

CREATING IMMERSION
Tabletop roleplaying games have the potential to be very immersive experiences. Immersion isn’t just about describing what people see; it’s about engaging their senses, emotions, and imagination. One way I create immersion is through descriptive language. I didn’t use to put much effort into it, but I’ve gotten much better at it over the years. I don’t use accents or voices much, but I do play with pitch, tone, and silences to set the mood.

I think my improvement here is a combination of factors, but the main one is exposure. I often improvise or half-improvise sessions for the sole purpose of training on-the-spot thinking. It has definitely helped to practice speaking before a camera and into a microphone. My experience working as a therapist has also helped me refine my storytelling. In therapy, I often need to explain complex ideas in ways that connect with people. I also need to meet people where they are to build therapeutic alliance with them. I think this skill translates well into roleplaying.

This is definitely a skill that can be learned. For me, it came through exposure and experience. I’ve spent years running sessions with minimal prep to hone my improvisational abilities, and the confidence I’ve gained has made a huge difference. It’s not about being perfect; it’s about being present and responsive, adapting to the story as it unfolds.

BUILDING DYNAMIC NPCS
When describing a scene, it’s important to remember that not every NPC needs to be a fully fleshed-out character. In fact, most NPCs are like the background extras in a movie. They add texture to the world, but only step into focus when the main characters interact with them. For these minor NPCs, I treat them more like set pieces, focusing on how they can provide challenges or opportunities for the PCs rather than diving into the depths of who they are.

But when an NPC becomes important, I want them to stand out. This doesn’t mean writing pages of backstory. A few key traits—like an attitude, instinct, or behavior—are often enough to make them memorable. For example, a gruff blacksmith might chew on a piece of straw while speaking bluntly, or a court advisor might have a habit of tapping their fingers nervously on a table. These small details stick with players and help them immediately place the NPC in the story.

When I’m preparing more complex or recurring NPCs, I like to define three things: a strength, a weakness, and a meaningful relationship. Let’s say we have a military commander who plays a key role in the story. Their strength might be their ability to inspire loyalty in their troops. Their weakness might be that they are overly cautious, and hesitant to take risks. Their meaningful relationship could be that perhaps they’re driven by the need to live up to a mentor’s legacy. With just these three elements, the NPC feels real without requiring a ton of extra prep.

Don’t hesitate to rely on traditional archetypes, since players can often easily relate to them. But sometimes, I like to subvert expectations to make an NPC more unique. Maybe the gruff blacksmith is secretly an aspiring poet, or the noble court advisor is a kind and charitable person well-liked by their community instead of a stereotypical greedy snob.

One trick you can use for on-the-spot NPCs is to randomize a few distinguishing features. Prepare a list of quirks ready to go, like “always speaks in metaphors,” “has a scar running down one cheek,” or “doesn’t respect personal spaces.” These quirks can be assigned quickly, and if the NPC becomes important later, build on them.

It’s also important to remember that NPCs exist to support the players’ story. Even if they have their own goals and motivations, these should take a backseat to the players’ journey. I’ve made the mistake before of letting GM-PCs take too much spotlight, and it always led to players feeling undermined. Now, I make sure my NPCs are there to enrich the story—not hijack it.

NARRATIVE PACING
Pacing is one of those things that can make or break a session, and it’s something I’ve had to learn through experience. One-shots and campaigns demand completely different approaches, especially if you’re trying to craft a cohesive narrative.

For one-shots, I’m much more mindful of pacing and preparation. With limited time, I have to ensure the narrative stays focused, that key plot points are hit, and that scenes don’t drag on longer than they need to. It can be a balancing act; keeping things moving without stripping too much agency from the players. But in a one-shot, it’s important to prioritize only the essentials and keep the rest trimmed.

Campaigns, on the other hand, are more forgiving. I take a more relaxed approach, letting scenes sit longer and giving players the freedom to explore narrative threads that might not directly impact the main story. This flexibility allows for deeper character moments and organic development, which are harder to achieve in a single session.

I’ve also found that running pre-written scenarios presents its own pacing challenges. While these can save time on crafting story beats, they require a different kind of prep. You need to familiarize yourself with the material enough to adapt it to your players’ decisions. Following a pre-written scenario too rigidly can make it feel like a railroad, so I focus on getting an understanding of which story beats are essential and which can be adjusted or skipped entirely.

For me, bullet points are a lifesaver when it comes to pacing. I outline the major beats of a session, and if I’m running a pre-written scenario, I add extra notes to tie the plot more directly to the characters. This doesn’t take too much extra time but makes the experience feel more personal and engaging for the players. When I ran Vaesen, I made sure to add something personal for each player throughout the pre-written mysteries. This way, we could play mystery-of-the-week while still making it feel like part of an overarching plot. I also added more personal scenes at the headquarters in between the mysteries to make them flow into each other more seamlessly, and sometimes even overlap.

KEEPING PLAYERS ENGAGED
I think it’s important not to take the game too seriously. I like engaging and dramatic storylines, but it’s much more important to me that my players have a good time than that they are “clocking in for the day.” It is my responsibility as a GM to be engaged throughout the session, but I recognize that people have different energy levels and attention spans, and sometimes they just need a break. While I prefer to see players engaged throughout, even in scenes they aren’t personally in, I don’t get angry if someone checks out for a bit and plays with their phone. Some players simply have a harder time retaining focus for longer periods of time. Letting them briefly play a game on their phone during a scene that doesn’t require their immediate attention might actually be what’s keeping them engaged throughout hours of play, rather than causing them to check out and lose interest.

Even here, it boils down to communication, like so many times before. Don’t be afraid to talk to each other about your thoughts and feelings throughout a session. If you expect everyone to be fully engaged and see them playing with their phones without knowing why they are doing so, you only have your own assumptions to go on. And it’s very easy to start misinterpreting things and assuming that they aren’t having fun.

Now, there are tricks to keeping people engaged, if you notice them starting to check out. Like I mentioned earlier, you could let them play a minor NPC during a scene where their PC isn’t present. You could take a more active role in engaging them by deliberately involving their character. This is especially important if the player is introverted or passive. They might want to assert themselves more but not feel comfortable doing so on their own initiative. Use the Socratic questions again: “What is your character thinking in this moment?” “How does your character feel about what is happening?” “What is your character doing right now?”

HANDLING THE UNEXPECTED
Players will always find ways to surprised you—that’s the beauty of roleplaying. They might befriend the villain you wanted them to fight or antagonize the NPC you wanted them to ally with. When I was a newer GM, these moments could really throw me off my game. But over time, I learned that the key to handling the unexpected is to avoid getting too attached to the details. You can’t plan for every possible outcome, and trying to do so will only set you up for frustration. Instead, focus on creating scenarios that allow for flexibility. Don’t design a scene where the only way forward is with a specific action or dice roll. If you need to win the dice roll to progress the story, then maybe you shouldn’t leave it up to dice in the first place.

If you truly must redirect a story, such as if you’re running a one-shot with a clear end point in mind, try to keep any contingency you planned for as an alternative pathway towards a similar goal. For example, if the players alienate an NPC with important information, introduce another way for the players to acquire that information. Perhaps the first NPC wasn’t the right NPC at all, and there was another NPC down the road who really had the intel.

It’s also okay to take a moment when you need to. If the players’ actions leave you stuck, don’t be afraid to take a break. You can even tell your players that you’ve hit a wall and ask them for suggestions on how to break through. If you’re really in paralysis mode, it’s fine to end the session early and come back better prepared.

The longer you play with the same group, the better you get to know their play styles as well. That makes it easier to know which behaviors to expect and plan accordingly. For example, if your players are a bunch of murder hobos who are more likely to kill an NPC than talk to them, maybe you should have the important information on a letter on their corpse rather than have it come from their mouth.

So, my suggestion for GMs who struggle with handling the unexpected is to relax, slow down, and embrace it. You don’t want to push the players too hard in a specific direction; they need to retain agency to keep having fun. Practice your improvisational skills by gradually reducing your prep time. If you find yourself writing long descriptive elements of each scene, try using bullet points instead. Once you’re comfortable with bullet points, practice using key words. Once you’re comfortable with key words, practice on-the-spot improvisation.

THE ROLE OF CONFLICT AND FAILURE
Even failure should be exciting. One of the most important lessons for both GMs and players is that the game has no real winning condition. Sure, you can defeat the bad guy and conclude a story. But individual failures, like having to retreat from a fight or failing to unlock the door, shouldn’t feel to the players like they’re failing the game.

The narrative should always progress forward, with added complications and consequences along the way. Retreating from the fight doesn’t mean that the bad guy wins; it might be the reason why the players band up with some new allies and suddenly form relationships with new NPCs. Failing to unlock the door doesn’t have to mean that the door won’t open, but that an alarm sets off and calls enemies to the scene.

This is an important lesson for players too. Don’t see your poor roll as a failure. Don’t let it discourage you. See it as an opportunity for something interesting to happen.

BALANCING MECHANICS AND STORY
I grew up playing mechanics-heavy games, and while I still love those, I’ve learned that the narrative should never take a backseat to the rules. The mechanics should serve the story, not the other way around. This is why I’m not that big of a fan of Dungeons & Dragons, even though I regularly play it. My issue with that game is that you often need to restrict the narrative based on available rules, which often leads to moments when you limit your creativity on behalf of what the mechanics allow. In combat, I want to describe how I’m jumping up on the dragon’s back and stabbing it through the scales. But when playing D&D, I often feel like I’m not allowed to do that. I feel like I must position myself adjacent to the dragon, make an attack action, and hope for the best. It becomes more of a game and less of a story.

My guiding principle is to prioritize the rule of cool. Even if I run a game of D&D, I’d like my players to be able to describe how they are jumping on the dragon’s back, even if we resolve it as a normal attack action. It feels more immersive. It becomes more memorable. That’s the kind of game I want to play, so that’s the kind of game I’m going to give you.

That said, consistency and fairness are important. Bending the rules to enhance the story is fine, but it shouldn’t come at the expense of balance or create confusion about how the game is meant to be played. If there is a rules dispute at the table, I’m going to make a quick ruling in the moment and sort it out after the session or during a break, if I need to give it a closer look. I really don’t like it when everything gets interrupted because of a long argument over how something should work or be resolved.

BALANCING POWER LEVELS
I think that it’s generally a game’s responsibility to provide rules that are fair and balanced, but I think that the lack of mechanical balance can be compensated for by communication about expectations. If I run a game of Exalted and one player wants to be a Solar while another wants to be a Dragon-Blooded, we need to talk about what that means. The Solar character will have better odds going for them than the Dragon-Blooded, but there are also things the Dragon-Blood gets that the Solar can’t have.

Through clear communication about expectations, it shouldn’t be an issue at all. If one character becomes dominant, I can put effort into creating individualized moments for the others. But if I miss out on the communication part, I might not get it right. This is where asking those questions comes back into play. I can ask the dominant player something like, “What can you do to help spotlight this other player?” This doesn’t shift any blame towards the dominant player, but might instead make them more aware of the uneven dynamic and take a step back in moments where it would be appropriate. It can also help foster more collaboration rather than competition.

I don’t like nerfing overpowered characters, and players don’t like getting nerfed. They want to feel powerful. As a GM, I should let them be powerful. What I can do is to focus on narrative consequences, because a powerful character might not always use their powers responsibly. If they commit criminal acts, law enforcement might come after them. If they start murder hoboing their way through law enforcement, the military might come after them. But this also provides the delicate balancing act of presenting successes through failures. Because even if they have murder hoboed their way into being targeted by the local military, the narrative along the way should feel consistent and fun. It shouldn’t feel like I’m punishing them for doing “the wrong thing.”

INCORPORATING PLAYER FEEDBACK
There are no perfect GMs, but there might also be blind spots in how I, as the GM, perceive a session and how the players perceive it. I might enjoy a particular narrative, but don’t communicate well enough with my players to recognize that they do not. Because of that, I find feedback to be an essential tool for improvement. I try to make regular check-ins with players to help gauge how they feel about the game and what they like to see going forward.

One valuable criticism I got from a player was to avoid being too vocal about what could have happened in the narrative if the players had gone a different path. I often found myself excited about the prospects of how things could have gone differently, even telling my players about things they missed or things that could have happened instead. In my mind, it was to express how amazed I was at how things actually turned out, but my players interpreted it as them making the wrong choices and missing out on other things. After a player told me that this was how they felt, I felt stupid for not having recognized it to begin with. I have become more mindful of this since then, but I still find myself falling back into that habit at times when I’ve been particularly excited after a session.

LESSONS LEARNED FROM MISTAKES
Like I said, there are no perfect GMs, and mistakes are inevitable. But mistakes are also valuable learning opportunities. I used to make constant mistakes of over-prepping, railroading players, and letting GM-PCs overshadow the party. I’ve even made narrative decisions—like killing off an NPC off screen, which alienated a player who was emotionally invested in that NPC. That player held it against me for a very long time, and I was too stubborn to acknowledge that I had fucked up.

Instead, I was so convinced that I had some grand vision that the players would love once it came into fruition that I forgot the most important rule of roleplaying. This is the players’ story. I’m only the facilitator. Getting too attached to your own work comes with the risk of wanting to see it unfold in a certain way. You’re not facilitating the players’ story then. You’re using them as tools to facilitate your own.

The most important lesson I’ve learned is that player enjoyment comes first. If the players are having a good time, I will be having a good time. But the only way to know for sure if people are having a good time is to get out of my own head and start asking questions instead of making declarations. “You’re going to understand eventually why this is a good choice” is the wrong thing to say. “What are your thoughts about how things are progressing?” is a better thing to say. “Is there a particular storyline you’re interested in exploring?” is also good.

Some people might think that these kinds of questions are approaching spoiler-territory, but that’s not the case. I’m not telling my players that these things will happen. I’m evaluating potential lines and veils and use their answers as prompts for future storylines. I think that these questions have the potential to make much greater games than when I tell my players to shut up and play along.

DEALING WITH BURNOUT
Burnout happens, and I’ve experienced it firsthand. A few years ago, I was so burnt out from work and health issues that I had had to go on sick leave. It took me three months of rehabilitation before I could go back to working full time again, but I still have a heightened sensitivity for stress after this experience. So, I have personal experiences with burnout. I also have professional experience with it, since I often meet patients with it.

Sometimes, a break is all that’s needed for the body to recuperate. But I’ve learned that it’s often deeper than that. Burnout is usually tied to other life stressors, such as work, personal challenges, or health issues. Recognizing the source is key to making meaningful changes. Simply stepping away for a while and then jumping back into the situation as it used to be will likely cause a new burnout in the future. You need to identify the strain and see what you can do about it.

I personally needed to shift my motivations from my hobby to other important aspects of my life, like more social stimulation, more time outside my home, and better taking care of myself. Recently I’ve taken huge strides in applying positive reinforcement to reframe the things I disliked about the responsibilities in life; things like cooking, cleaning, and exercising were all things that I hated. By using positive reinforcement, scheduling, and reward systems, I have found ways to make it more fun. It also helps me maintain new habits.

It feels much better to be able to sit down with a clear conscience and work on a project or prepare for a session when I know that I’ve had my exercise and done my chores. I can relax more, and it’s easier to focus on the hobby without other distractions.

HANDLING CAMPAIGN FATIGUE
Another form of burnout is campaign fatigue. There will be moments when long-running campaigns feel stale, and where you don’t enjoy them as much as you once did. It’s easy as a GM to feel responsible to see something through when you’ve put years into it. But this type of fatigue is very similar to burnout and should be treated the same. You might need to take a break for a bit and come back to the campaign once you’re refreshed.

Having to end a campaign that you’ve poured your heart and soul into is always disappointing, but it’s sometimes necessary if the group is fatigued. I once struggled to let go of a years-long campaign but realized in hindsight that I should have ended it much earlier than I did. Recognizing when to step back is crucial if you want to be able to continue doing long-running campaigns with a group that’s engaged.

Nowadays, I try to reduce campaign fatigue by viewing story arcs as seasons. Once we’ve reached a suitable story ending, we end the season and switch to another game for a bit. When the group is ready to come back to the campaign, we have hopefully been away from it for long enough to feel excited about it again.

I remember meeting some skepticism once I pitched to a group that this was how I was going to run things. One player in particular said that he really wanted a long-running campaign. I told him that I want to run them as well, but this is the only way that it’s going to work for me. I’ve been doing it like this regularly for some time now, and I haven’t felt any fatigue yet.

GM SELF-CARE
Everyone has different approaches to self-care, and mine is to diversify the games I play. I don’t think that being a GM is inherently a stressful job, but the workload is uneven. I don’t expect my players to match my effort, but it can be frustrating sometimes when I’m asking for input about something and they aren’t responsive. I don’t get upset about it, though. I’ve learned to accept that it’s part of the role as a GM to give the game more thought. But it can also be the same way the other way around. Sometimes, my players are putting in a lot of effort between the sessions and ask me for input, and I’m the one who isn’t immediately responsive. That’s just the way communication goes sometimes.

Still, I do feel respected by my players. They understand that it’s a big role to be a GM. And it isn’t that big of a deal if I’m asking someone a character-related question in our group chat and it takes a few days for a reply. It’s just a game after all. I don’t always need the information exactly when I ask for it. We’re still going to have a good time.

CONCLUSION
If I were to sum up how my GMing style has evolved over the years, I’d say that I’ve become much more relaxed and confident about it. I used to feel anxious which led to overthinking. And since I felt that I needed to prepare a lot before a session, I was often the one who cancelled or postponed when I felt that I hadn’t had enough time to get ready.

But after practicing improvisation and generally becoming more confident in other ways as well, I recognized that I don’t need to prepare even a fraction of what I used to do, and still have a good time. This both saved me time and reduced any paralysis I’d get when things didn’t go according to my over-prepared plan. Now, I’m much better at embracing spontaneity, I trust my instincts more as a GM, and I’m more curious to see where the story goes instead of getting too attached to where I would like to see it go.

My advice for new GMs is simple: embrace imperfection. No session will go exactly as planned, and that’s okay. Be honest with your players, seek their feedback, and focus on the social experience. If you’re running a horrible session, make it the best horrible session you can make it by embracing what’s outside of the game; you, spending time with friends.

Being a GM is both challenging and deeply rewarding. It’s a role that demands creativity, adaptability, and willingness to learn from mistakes. If you haven’t tried it, I think you should. And if you’re afraid to try it, that’s just another reason why you should.

The Rise of Solo Roleplay

Tabletop roleplaying games are often seen as a social experience. A group of friends gathered around a table, rolling dice, telling stories together. But sometimes that’s easier said than done. You might have a hard time finding a group to play with, or you might want to engage in the tabletop roleplaying game hobby on your own. What if I told you that tabletop roleplaying games don’t have to be social at all? What if you could explore deep narratives, make impactful choices, and experience roleplay entirely on your own?

When I decided to write this article, I had no personal experience with solo-friendly roleplaying games. I owned a few that could be played solo, but I never did. Neither had I bothered to learn much about the solo game hobby at all. In fact, writing this article became a motivation for me to explore an entirely new space.

Today, we are diving into the world of solo roleplaying games—how they work, where they came from, and why they have become such a growing trend. We will explore the history, the mechanics, some standout games, and what the future might hold. I am not an expert at this topic, and I will not pretend to be. This will cover my exploration and impression, and what I learned along the way.

THE ORIGINS OF SOLO ROLEPLAY

When we talk about solo roleplaying games, it is easy to think of them as a recent innovation—something born out of convenience, or even the pandemic. But in truth, solo games go back much further than many might expect. Long before Dungeons & Dragons, solo-friendly board games and war games were being played, and there was already an audience for solo experiences. When D&D later released in 1973, there was an interest in adapting the dungeon crawls for solo play.

In 1975, the first signs of a solo D&D experience appeared in The Strategic Review—a publication that would later become Dragon Magazine. There, Gary Gygax—creator of D&D—introduced mechanics that gave players the ability to explore dungeons without the need for a Dungeon Master. The tools were later expanded and implemented in the 1st Edition Dungeon Master’s Guide.

Around the same time, Tunnels & Trolls—written by Ken St. Andre and published by Flying Buffalo—emerged as a simpler, more approachable alternative to D&D. While not originally built for solo play, it was the first roleplaying game to publish dedicated solo modules, starting with Buffalo Castle in 1976.

Buffalo Castle was essentially a choose-your-own-adventure dungeon crawl, featuring about thirty pages of paragraphs containing choices and information to help navigate the dungeon. It starts with the following paragraph: “You are facing a large, gloomy castle, with three large wooden doors. If you choose to go in the left door, turn to 4A. If you wish to go in the center door, go to 8A. If you wish to go into the right door, turn to 12A.”

If I were to choose the left door, I would look up the paragraph marked 4A and read: “You walked down a short corridor, and entered a small room 10’ x 10’. There is a troll sitting on a treasure chest. He is looking at you in a bored fashion. If you wish to fight him, go to 7A. If you wish to try to talk to him, go to 14A. If you wish to try to walk by him, go to 18A. This is room number four.”

Let us say that I want to fight him, and go to 7A. That paragraph reads: “He has a monster rating of 40 (5 dice). If you kill him, go to 17A.” This is where the Tunnels & Trolls game mechanics come in.

Ken St. Andre wrote in 1979 that his system was meant to be more accessible and affordable than D&D. He highlighted the solo modules as a way for players to experience roleplaying without needing a group—something that resonated with many players. While D&D became the dominant roleplaying game in the US, it was actually Tunnels & Trolls that first gained international traction. Its use of standard six-sided dice made translation and distribution far easier than D&D’s more complex, polyhedral-dependent rules.

In parallel to all this, a different form of solo storytelling was evolving in the world of books. In 1969, even before Dungeons & Dragons, Edward Packard began developing a story format where readers could choose what happened next—an idea inspired by the bedtime stories he told his children. Although The Adventure of You on Sugarcane Island was not published until 1976, it is now considered one of the earliest examples of the gamebook genre. These interactive books offered players narrative choice and consequence, but without direct game mechanics.

In the early 1980s, interactive fiction and game mechanics merged with Fighting Fantasy by Steve Jackson and Ian Livingstone, the founders of Games Workshop, and with Lone Wolf by Joe Dever. These were hybrid experiences where players combined Edward Packard’s style of interactive fiction with game mechanics and character progression.

As this was also the time when personal computers became commercially available, digital games like Colossal Cave Adventure (later Zork) brought text-based interactive fiction to a wider audience.

The development of Gary Gygax’s solo D&D rules, the Tunnels & Trolls modules like Buffalo Castle, and interactive fiction like the gamebooks all evolved seemingly in parallel. Some argue that the gamebooks were the first true solo roleplaying games. Others consider them more in the realm of interactive fiction than actual roleplaying games. Either way, while it is hard to name a singular “origin point” for the creation of solo roleplaying games, all these formats together helped shape what solo roleplaying would become.

The interest in solo roleplaying games and other solo adventures waned in the 1990s, very likely due to video games. However, with the rise of the Internet, something changed. Online communities began rediscovering old solo modules and gamebooks. Digital PDFs were shared, and discussions around solo-friendly mechanics started to reemerge in forums, blogs, and fan sites.

In the 2000s and 2010s, the solo roleplaying scene began its renaissance. New games were created specifically for solo play—some focusing on journaling, others on procedural worldbuilding, and some were hybrids that blurred the line between game and narrative tool. It was still a niche space, largely separated from the general tabletop roleplaying game community. However, even today, solo roleplaying games stand as a unique and thriving genre. This might be in part due to the pandemic.

THE PANDEMIC’S EFFECTS ON SOLO ROLEPLAYING GAMES

When the world locked down in early 2020, tabletop gaming—like so many hobbies—hit a wall. Game nights were cancelled. Groups disbanded. And for many, the social side of roleplaying simply vanished overnight.

As players searched for ways to stay connected to the tabletop roleplaying game hobby without access to in-person groups, virtual tabletops (VTTs) and solo roleplaying games emerged as lifelines. While VTTs were already well-known at the dawn of the pandemic, solo roleplaying games were new experiences for many, and they had an unprecedented boom in popularity during the early months of the COVID-19 pandemic.

With limited social interaction and an increased need for escapism, many players turned inward. Journaling games like The Wretched, Thousand Year Old Vampire, and Alone Among the Stars offered space for self-reflection, emotional processing, and creative release. These weren’t just games anymore; they became tools for managing anxiety and expressing uncertainty. I did not personally know of these three games until I started researching this article, but I kind of wish I had explored games like these during the pandemic.

Many players who engaged in these types of games during the pandemic might have found the ritual of writing, imagining, and rolling dice alone to provide a strange sense of agency or comfort at a time when the world felt unpredictable.

Solo games also gained traction for their ease of use. With fewer components and no need for scheduling, they could act as natural entry points for people new to the roleplaying game hobby. Journaling games and lightweight systems often required nothing more than a notebook, a deck of cards, or a couple of six-sided dice.

While some larger publishers, like Free League, made solo modes for bigger games, independent creators made smaller and more digestible solo experiences and sold or shared them on sites like Itch.io, which has long been a hub for indie games.

As creators saw growing interest in solo roleplaying, more games were designed from the ground up for solo play. Mechanics evolved. Game designers experimented with tarot cards, Jenga towers, story dice, audio recordings, and even Google Forms. By the end of the pandemic, solo roleplaying had transformed from fringe curiosity into a thriving subgenre.

THE MECHANICS OF SOLO ROLEPLAYING GAMES

I have already mentioned the early iterations of solo games and solo experiences, through gamebooks and solo dungeons. However, there have been several decades of innovation since. One of the most exciting things about modern solo roleplaying games is just how varied they are in how they work. Different games cater to different moods, creative needs, and player styles. However, at their core, most solo roleplaying games fall into a few broad mechanical categories.

Journaling games focus on introspection and storytelling through writing. Players often respond to prompts, record their character’s thoughts, and document unfolding events in the form of diary entries, letters, or logbooks. These games are often light on traditional mechanics and heavy on emotional or thematic exploration. Some use randomizers like dice or card draws to generate prompts, while others follow a more structured flow. Some examples of journaling games are Alone Among the Stars, Anamnesis, Quill, and Thousand Year Old Vampire.

Oracle-based games and GM emulators act in place of a Game Master by using randomized tables and “oracle” mechanics; systems that answer yes/no questions or guide narrative developments. A player might ask, “Does the merchant betray me?”—rolls some dice, consults a table, and receives an answer like, “Yes, but …” or “No, and something worse happens.” These tools are particularly useful when adapting traditional roleplaying systems for solo play. Some examples include Ironsworn, Mythic Game Master Emulator, Scarlet Heroes, and The Adventure Crafter.

In procedural exploration and dungeon crawling games, the structure comes from the environment. Unless they have other hybrid mechanics, procedural exploration or dungeon crawling games don’t normally have roleplaying as part of the game loop. Instead, players explore maps, draw cards, or roll dice to generate rooms, corridors, encounters, or entire story paths. These games often include light combat, random encounters, and resource tracking—blending elements of board gaming with some storytelling. Some examples of published procedural solo games are Ex Novo, Four Against Darkness, and 2d6 Dungeon.

Some solo roleplaying games defy categorization entirely. They blend journaling with resource management, card drawing with dice rolling, or even include tactile elements like Jenga towers or drawing maps. Others reimagine solo play as something experiential or poetic. Some examples are Apothecaria, Be Like a Crow, Gentleman Bandit, The Sealed Library, or The Wretched.

MY EXPERIENCES WITH SOLO ROLEPLAYING GAMES

Now that we have looked at how solo roleplaying games work, let us explore a few notable games that highlight the diversity of the genre. I am going to talk about the games I looked deeper into.

The first solo game I played was the journaling game Alone Among the Stars by Takuma Okada. The concept is that you are alone in space, exploring strange planets, and recording your experiences. It follows a very simplistic structure and could be seen more as a creative writing exercise than a game. You draw cards and roll a die to determine prompts, which you then use to describe how you explore alien landscapes.

This is not a solo game for those looking for a gaming experience. It is aimed at those who enjoy creative writing. The prompts are deliberately vague, only there to offer inspiration and to add structure to your own creative exercise. Because they are vague, some can feel repetitive, handing responsibility over to you to add a unique flare. I found it strangely relaxing and poetic, and it works well for me who likes to write.

The second game I played was The Wretched by Chris Bissette. This is very similar in structure to Alone Among the Stars, using a six-sided die and a deck of cards to generate prompts. However, this game is more involved than Alone Among the Stars and feels more like a game because of it. It does this by introducing a Jenga tower to add tension and risk of failure. You are the last survivor on a ship that has been attacked by a hostile alien creature, and the prompts are there to generate experiences and activities related to the ship’s systems, structure, and crew, or the creature that is hunting you. Some prompts ask you to pull from the Jenga tower, and when it inevitably falls, the ship is destroyed. After each day of activities, you are recording your experiences as a log; which is where the journaling comes in.

I found the addition of the Jenga tower very effective, since it creates a tension that you would not feel by a simple writing exercise. This is also why it feels more like a game than Alone Among the Stars did. However, the prompts are much more specified in The Wretched, which means that multiple playthroughs will generate a similar outcome. That makes Alone Among the Stars more diverse in the kinds of stories that it generates, even if the game itself is much more simplistic.

I did not actually play any oracle games in depth, but I took a deeper look at the solo mode for Free League’s The Walking Dead roleplaying game. The oracle systems are strong prompt generators that could be used for creative writing as well, but the fact that they are based on traditional tabletop roleplaying games make them feel more like roleplaying games by default. Instead of journaling, you are actively playing the game with yourself, using simplified systems and random tables to affect the outcome. You do not actually have to sit around talking to yourself; it all takes place in your mind, as you roll dice and generate results. You need to write things up to keep track of things, but you do not have to structure it in the same way a journaling game would.

While I do not have much experience with other oracle systems, I found The Walking Dead to be well-suited for solo play. The base game is already heavily relying on random tables to generate outcomes that the solo mode felt like a seamless transition.

The final game I had a chance to play before writing this article was the city-building game Ex Novo by Sharkbomb Studios. This game uses paper, pencils, six-sided dice, tokens, and random tables to help generate a map and a growing settlement. You go through different stages of development, from the city’s founding, and help generate events, factions, and landmarks.

This game is less of a roleplaying game and more of a roleplaying tool, in my opinion. It has gameplay elements through its structure, but it is not something I would play again just for the sake of entertainment. I would, however, use it as a tool to generate maps and settlements. It could be a useful tool as part of a Session Zero to establish a setting for a roleplaying campaign. Actually, for that purpose, it is very effective.

CURRENT TRENDS IN SOLO ROLEPLAY

While the foundations of solo roleplaying games stretch back to the 1970s, and the pandemic brought renewed spotlight to the hobby, today’s solo roleplaying game landscape feels distinct from its earlier roots. What we are seeing now—especially in the indie space—is an explosion of creativity, accessibility, and diversity in how these games are made, played, and shared.

One of the most notable trends is the rise of journaling games, like the ones I have mentioned in this article. These games emphasize personal storytelling, introspection, and creative writing. While they may appeal to a more niche audience compared to gameplay-focused systems, they have carved out a devoted and loyal community, one that actively supports small creators and encourages new ideas.

The indie market in general has embraced solo roleplaying games for their simplicity and low barrier to entry. Many games are either free or pay-what-you-want, and they often only rely on basic tools that most people have access to, like a normal deck of cards, or six-sided dice. They do not require vast time investments to learn, can often just be picked up and played, and are easily found and shared on platforms like Itch.io and DriveThruRPG.

There also seems to be a renewed interest in traditional, minimalistic printing, like booklets and zines, often through crowdfunding platforms like Kickstarter. But there is also a surge in digital tools, like GM emulators, web interfaces, and VTTs. If done right, these can offer new accessibility options, help lower the learning curve of games and offer entirely new experiences. For example, I had a chat a couple of weeks before writing this article with a game designer who was working on an automated web-based system for managing a Martian colony. It could be played as a solo game or be used as a GM tool for a roleplaying game. I am all for new, creative ideas like that, and new ways to play.

As much as we like to blame social media for all society’s wrongs, I believe that social media has played a crucial role in unifying the indie market and helping smaller creators advertise projects that would have otherwise been left unseen. There are many talented creators who help evolve the genres by blending adjacent styles and coming up with unique hybrid games that then give rise to entirely new ways of play.

Ironically, for a hobby defined by solitary play, solo roleplaying games foster a surprising amount of community engagement. Shared experiences, playthroughs, and support for creators make it feel collaborative, even if you are the only one rolling the dice or drawing the cards. And with how quickly the space is growing and evolving, I believe we are only seeing the beginning of what solo roleplaying games can become.

THE FUTURE OF SOLO ROLEPLAYING GAMES

As we have learned in this article, solo roleplaying games are no longer a niche side branch of the tabletop hobby—they have become a distinct and thriving genre in their own right. Much of the innovation happened during the pandemic, so the question now is whether things have fallen off since then, or if innovation is still moving forward?

There will always be creators passionate about the niche spaces. Today, indie game designers are experimenting with hybrid mechanics, new ideas, generative tools, and genre mashups. The tools and formats we are using are also evolving thanks to crowdfunding: from zines and booklets to browser games, mobile apps, and box sets.

One thing that seems likely to grow is the integration of digital tools, especially generative tools. Oracles and GM emulators will probably combine with AI for more advanced procedural generation. Despite controversies related to generative AI, these tools combined could, hopefully ethically, lead to more accessible roleplaying experiences, especially for those who would otherwise be unable to engage with traditional social tabletop roleplaying games. More accessibility efforts would help the tabletop roleplaying game hobby reach an even wider audience, which I think would be a good thing.

I don’t think solo roleplaying games will see mainstream recognition anytime soon, but it is a good sign that more big publishers are incorporating solo rules in games that otherwise would not have them. The new edition of the Alien roleplaying game is such an example, where the original game did not have solo rules and the new edition does.

In the end, the future of solo roleplaying games will likely be defined by the same forces that have always shaped it: individual creativity, community support, and the desire for solo entertainment.

How a Backstory Can Make Your Character Worse

I think that many of us who have grown up with tabletop roleplaying games know how much harder it is to find time for games the older you get. I love getting invested in a character, but I barely have time for the sessions as it is. I used to be the kind of roleplayer who spent hours exploring my character and their story in between sessions, and doing so caused my roleplaying to suffer more than anything. Today, I don’t have time to sit down and flesh out my characters to that extent, but neither do I want to.

As it happens, an extensive backstory can cause more harm than good, and it isn’t needed to create a character with depth. In this article, I want to show you how to quickly and effortlessly make rich and engaging characters in mere minutes during Session Zero. I’ll also share why letting go of the idea of extensive backstories being a good thing will make your character stronger in play.

If you’ve ever struggled coming up with good character ideas, or if you’ve ever felt pressured to work on your characters between sessions like homework, this article is for you.

WHY BACKSTORIES CAN BACKFIRE

Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with backstories in general. They can be fun to write and can provide the GM with useful story hooks. If you don’t mind spending hours writing, who am I to tell you not to?

The real problem begins when the backstory gets so detailed that you become overly attached to it. If you write a story hoping the GM will incorporate it into the game, you’re putting expectations on the GM. The GM already has a bigger role than you in relation to the game, and they don’t magically have more hours in the day than you do. If you write a story and the GM doesn’t read it, there’s disappointment already there. But you might also hope for specific arcs that never come, or see things turn out differently from what you expected.

The more detail you add to your story, the more potential story hooks there are for sure. But there’s also a stronger risk of attachment—not just to your work, but to how you imagine the story unfolding. That’s where disappointment creeps in.

I used to be guilty of writing long backstories. When I was young and had the time to spend entire days writing, I could obsessively dig into my characters. The backstory I wrote for my first Exalted character was about 150 pages. I thought it was a good thing that I was so invested in my character, but it turned out to work against me in the end.

What happened at the table rarely matched what I had in my mind, and I often ended up disappointed that certain prewritten arcs weren’t touched upon or resolved. It wasn’t that the game was bad, but I crippled myself by clinging to a story I’d already written. When one game didn’t dig into the stories I wanted to see, I tried the same character again in a different game, much to the same disappointment. Looking back, I should have just written a book.

Tabletop roleplaying games aren’t solo stories. They’re more like ensemble stories. It’s easy, without realizing it, to make your character’s story into your own center of gravity. It pulls you in. The more time you spend writing alone, the more your mind starts treating it like the story, rather than one story among many. When the GM doesn’t indulge that vision, it can feel like losing control, and your expectations take a hit.

SHIFTING THE MINDSET

That leads to my main point. Not only can you make a character feel deep and detailed without a prewritten backstory, but you’ll often find yourself better served without one. The most important shift is trading ego for collaboration.

Like I mentioned, an intricate backstory can accidentally send the message “I’m the main character” to the table. But the goal is shared spotlight. You’re not the only one entitled to a good game and a good story. You might need to park that ego, stay curious, dare to let go of control, and see your character emerge from play.

This is the important part. Detaching from specific outcomes isn’t the same as detaching from your character. Be invested in your character without being too rigid. If you’re too attached to a specific story, you’ll seek to control the narrative going forward. Investment without attachment makes you resilient to the unexpected, and you’ll be able to approach the story with curiosity and excitement, even in the face of failure—or even character death.

THE “FOUR + ONE” FOUNDATION

I’ve talked about how the intricacy and detail of an elaborate backstory can work against you. But an entirely blank slate feels plain and uninteresting. So, what do I consider the minimum you actually need to make a character start feeling meaningful? I recommend a process I call “Four + One.” So, what is it?

First, answer the question: “What brought you to where you are?” This is your inciting past, like an event or force that pushed you onto the road. Second, answer the question: “Who are you now?” This is your present identity in a single line, similar to FATE’s High Concept. Third, answer the question: “Who or what do you care about today?” These are the people, factions, places, or ideals that anchor you to the world. Fourth, answer the question: “Where are you headed?” This could be a direction, a motivation, or a quest you’ve been given. It gives you momentum into the story.

These four questions don’t need elaborate answers. You can answer each one with a single sentence, and your character will already start seeing depth.

But I said Four + One. So, what’s the “+ One?” It’s the question: “What complicates your life today?” This is similar to FATE’s Trouble: it’s a flaw, a burden, or a recurring problem that makes your choices interesting. Flawed or burdened characters feel more alive and interesting, and it allows for more engaging stories. The reason I’m calling it Four + One instead of simply Five is because I want to give this last question extra emphasis. The first four questions define your character’s foundation, while the final one adds the complication that makes them interesting. It’s the difference between a character concept and a story waiting to happen.

Let’s use the Four + One method in a quick example. “What brought you to where you are?” My village was razed by an invading force, so I had to flee. “Who are you now?” I am a farmer turned hardened survivor. “Who or what do you care about today?” I care about civilians caught between feuding lords. “Where are you headed?” I’m trying to push back the invaders and reclaim a quiet life. “What complicates your life today?” I live with the shame of leaving someone behind to save myself.

It barely took me a minute to answer these questions, and it already suggests scenes, choices, and conflicts to spark storylines. It’s already playable. It’s evocative. And it didn’t require any effort or homework.

Let’s use the same Four + One principle for a completely different type of game, like KULT: Divinity Lost. “What brought you to where you are?” I haven’t been able to sleep properly for years, so I take late-night walks to distract my mind. I saw something I cannot explain on such a walk, and now I feel like the nightmares are becoming real. “Who are you now?” I am a social outcast who is always looking for new distractions, but my vices are becoming extreme. “Who or what do you care about today?” I care about my grandmother because she is the only one who checks in. “Where are you headed?” I feel like I’m heading into an abyss, and I follow whatever sign I get that leads me away from that path. “What complicates your life today?” I am sleep deprived and use vices like intoxicants. It harms those around me.

See, now we have a deeply troubled but also realistic character that would fit neatly into a horror game like KULT: Divinity Lost. It doesn’t really matter which type of game or genre it is: the Four + One method will give your character meaning in less than a minute of work.

But we’re not done yet! This is just the foundation to build upon. We have done a minute of work on the character so far, and it’s already more than a blank slate. But we can do even more, though the next step will require collaboration.

COLLABORATIVE PROMPTING

The simplest way to turn the Four + One foundation into something the whole table can use is to take advantage of Session Zero. Do it together rather than alone.

Start by having each player speak their Four + One answers out loud. The answers themselves should come from the questions, but the character creation process and earlier discussions about the game are also important foundational pieces in coming up with appropriate answers. I recommend that you collaboratively create characters during Session Zero, not only to have these conversations, but also to avoid potential overlaps in character creation.

This is a bit a digression, but avoiding character overlap gives opportunities to both claim and cede the spotlight, which is important in a collaborative game.

After a player has introduced their foundation to the group, go around the table and have each person ask one short question to that player. Keep it simple and specific. Ask what they do in quiet moments, who they secretly admire or resent, or what rumor about them might be true. There are no stupid questions. Even the ones that don’t seem directly relevant can add flavor to a character and give their player thought and maybe a new perspective upon their personality.

Using the previous example, questions posed to the farmer turned hardened survivor might be things like “what is something your character does for fun?” and “who do you trust the most?” The player should then treat each question seriously and come up with an answer. In this example, it could be “he writes poetry that he doesn’t show anyone” and “he doesn’t see eye to eye with his sister, but she’s his last remaining relative and he knows she wants what’s best for him.” Two questions, seemingly random, and the character is already richer.

After you have done this for each player’s character, run a second round where each player asks a relationship question that ties their characters together. You could ask what you have bonded over, when you let each other down and how you mended it, how you met and why you’re traveling together. This is important not to add more flavor to the characters—though it does do that as well—but primarily to connect the characters to the group and the setting in a more meaningful way.

Using the farmer example again, let’s say that the other players in the group are going to be an aging soldier and a traveling troubadour. The soldier’s player might ask: “What is one thing our characters bonded over?” and the troubadour might ask: “Which song do you always ask me to perform?”

Same as before, taking the questions seriously, you might tell the soldier’s player that “You are the only person I’ve told the full story about my village to, including the shameful parts,” and you might tell the troubadour that “You have a song about how a man’s tragedy can lead to triumph. It inspires me when I hear it.” Again, seemingly random questions taken seriously, add flavor to the character, make you consider things you hadn’t considered otherwise, and help tether the character to the party and the setting in ways writing a backstory in isolation couldn’t do.

Throughout the rounds, the GM can jump in with clarifying questions and additional prompting statements to invite the players to come up with more details. It’s in the GM’s interest to get the information they need to come up with meaningful narrative hooks. Asking questions is helpful, but prompting statements can have additional purposes.

“There was a commander in golden armor leading the raid on your village. Tell me something about him.” This isn’t a question. It’s a statement. The GM might already have things in mind for the commander in golden armor, but by inviting the player in this way, the GM both collects new prompts to spark their own creative process and gives the player a connection to a potential story arc that will feel personal.

The player invents a detail in response to the statement, and it instantly becomes a shared hook. “I had a moment of eye contact with the commander when I was hiding. He smiled at me but didn’t tell his soldiers where I was. I don’t know why, and I can’t stop thinking about it.” Now, both the GM and the player own that piece of the world, and it’s alive at the table. You don’t need to delve deeper into that prompting statement now. You’ve already given the GM what they need to build upon that hook if they choose to.

You can keep asking each other questions for as long as you desire, but it’s recommended to leave some blanks on purpose. You don’t need an answer to every question, and some mysteries are better left to discover later.

WHY THIS WORKS BETTER THAN LONG BACKSTORIES

The Four + One and collaborative prompting approaches beat the big backstory for a few reasons. First, they’re flexible, allowing your character to evolve more organically. Second, they’re collaborative, so the story hooks belong to the whole table rather than to you alone. Third, they’re actionable, which means that every answer produces something both the group and the GM can use right away. Fourth, they’re practical, since you remove the burden of homework— ideal for us busy grownups and welcoming to new players.

There isn’t anything new in this approach to character design. A few decades ago, it was common for games to incorporate lifepath systems and random tables to prompt character ideas. Cyberpunk did this already in the late 80s and early 90s, but many lifepath prompts were still gamified to engage the players. Later, you saw other forms of gamified narrative prompts, like FATE’s Character Aspects. Other narrative games incorporated individual character prompting, like the playbooks of Forged in the Dark.

It’s a fairly new phenomenon for mainstream games to incorporate collaborative prompting as part of the default character creation process. Exalted Essence mentions it as part of the suggested structure of a Session Zero. Daggerheart has it as a vital step of character creation with designated sections for it on the sheet. Don’t skip this just because it isn’t gamified.

THINGS TO CONSIDER

There are other things to consider when it comes to these approaches. First, if you worry about stealing spotlight from other players, the Four + One method makes your character interesting without turning it into a narrative gravity well. Since your foundation is minimal and focused, there are less prewritten arcs to be attached to, and it will be easier for you to avoid sucking attention away from the other players or the larger story.

Second, if you’re a perfectionist, remember that “good enough to play” beats “perfect but late.” It’s easy to fall into the pit of overpreparation, and it can both kill the excitement for a game and the game itself. You only need a sentence or two per prompt to know enough about your character to start rolling dice.

If you’re hesitant or unsure about something, ask the GM to lead the conversation. Take every question seriously and answer it honestly. Don’t judge or rewrite each other’s answers. If someone gets stuck, offer a suggestion, not a correction. Even simple questions are meaningful, and an answer that contrasts from your original character idea can work in that character’s favor.

A question like “what’s your character’s favorite food?” might sound trivial, but suddenly you have a scene where a character treats another to dinner and makes that exact dish. That tiny detail personalizes the moment and makes the game more impactful.

If you’re a player who loves to write and wants to take time between sessions to delve deeper into your character, feel free to flesh out certain details or journal the experience as you think is fun. But remember to check in with yourself too to avoid the risk of attachment. Maintain curiosity and recognize that your character isn’t fully yours—it’s part of the group’s shared story, and the group are shareholders in its fate.

CONCLUSION

To summarize my main points. Remember the collaborative aspect above all. Help each other fill in blanks. Give extra emphasis to connecting your characters to each other and to the setting. Don’t get bogged down in minute details that no one has context for yet. Those are the kinds of blanks that will fill themselves in as you go, and they will feel more genuine because they grow out of scenes you actually play.

Remember that depth doesn’t come from length. It comes from hooks you’ll actually put on the table, together, session after session. Build the foundation with a few sentences, ask each other questions with curiosity, tie the party together, and leave space for discovery.

Machineborn DLC – Kirlians Available

Few people in the solar system have heard of kirlians. Their existence isn’t necessarily a secret, but most factions think it better if people are unfamiliar with them. The reason why is the existential dread that comes with the truth that death might not always be an escape.

People from all progenies can become kirlians. And while being one imbues you with great power, it isn’t something people would want to strive to become.

No, kirlians are tormented by an affliction. It is almost like a state of undeath, an incurable sickness that forever reminds you that your body isn’t truly alive; that your mind is nothing but a memory stuck in a husk of dying flesh. As a kirlian, you sometimes feel trapped in time; like your life is a lie; that maybe you actually died and this is all a dream.

But what actually happened? Well, you died! At least, you would have died. Maybe you should have died. It was an intensely traumatizing experience; perhaps a result of violence or an accident. Whatever the situation was, you recall just enough of it to know that you were filled with dread. But you also recall that you didn’t want it. You were afraid of it. You wanted to live.

The Voidstar noticed your pain. It came for you. It began the extraction of your consciousness. But then something happened. Maybe your will to live was too strong. Maybe it was your body that didn’t want to let you go. Or maybe the Voidstar changed its mind, if it has one. Whatever it was, it didn’t work! You woke up, perhaps on the street, or a hospital bed. You woke up alive.

But something was different. Something felt off about your body, your memories, your emotions. You didn’t feel right! It was almost like you woke up without a piece of you that was important, or maybe with a new piece that didn’t belong. Maybe both.

Download the Kirlian DLC here!