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.
Ekorren 