Zombies Ate My Playground

During a recent visit to one of our county’s very nice public parks I watched a horde of summer day-camp kids overrun the playground, chasing each other with shambling gaits, uttering guttural growls, and reaching for each other with rigid limbs; they were playing “Zombie.” (I was somewhat amused that their adult minders didn’t seem to do anything to discourage this sort of horror-themed play…I can’t imagine it was a Christian summer day camp, though speculation on whether Lazarus could be considered a zombie after being raised from the dead remains the subject for an interesting if not deliciously blasphemous debate.)

My toddler was not immune and became immediately infected with the idea of playing “Zombie” with his dad. I’ll freely admit to engaging in monstrous play with him before, grabbing at him through his plastic play house window or the bars on the playground equipment and growling menacingly. He was a bit too shy to approach the older kids he saw chasing each other around on the jungle gym; so I obliged him by occasionally lunging at him with claw-like hands and a zombie-like snarl from my sedentary position in the shade of a small tree. He was amused and ran around me laughing uncontrollably, gleefully unaware of the horrific implications of pretending to run from zombies.

In my childhood we played “Cops and Robbers” or “Cowboys and Indians.” While the latter might seem politically incorrect today, neither had the horrific connotations that playing “Zombie” have. Yes, all three make-believe games rely on one party dispatching the other in some way, though one could argue the older two might mitigate the concept of death with imaginary capture or injury; but “Zombie” assumes at least some of the players start the game dead, or rather undead. It’s a somewhat grisly concept when one contemplates it…but it’s a children’s playground game one shouldn’t overly analyze.

I recall seeing somewhere that the zombie horror genre is a purely American invention; I’m sure whatever scholarly analysis I read gave several academic explanations why Americans in particular focus on this form of resurrected dead. Whatever the intellectual reasons (which apparently were so non-compelling they failed to imprint on my memory), my experience on the playground proves it’s quite effectively saturated the American subconscious to the point that our children -- who can’t (and possibly shouldn’t) comprehend the utter horror of the zombie concept -- think it’s an acceptable play theme.

What does this say about our society, and our media saturation, when children find playing “Zombie” an acceptable playground activity? At heart I think it demonstrates our ability as humans to compartmentalize potentially emotionally charged concepts to defuse them. For instance, warfare remains a horrid reality of our world, yet gamers -- from board and card game players to those engaged in miniature wargames and roleplaying games -- fully indulge in war-like activities of conquest, killing, blasting, and smiting things with axes. “Zombie” seems like a childhood extension of that ability; kids don’t sit there and contemplate the horror of resurrected dead (possibly their family members and friends) re-animating and trying to eat the living…children simply use the genre theme as a framework for imaginative and active play.

I’m not a huge fan of zombie horror media, though I’ve seen and appreciated some related films and television shows, from George Romero’s seminal Night of the Living Dead (on the big screen at the Library of Congress’ National Audio Visual Conservation Center fantastic theater) to 28 Days Later, Shaun of the Dead, and the first season of AMC’s production of The Walking Dead. Despite my thematic aversion to undead in media, I love infusing roleplaying game adventures with zombies. They serve as the perfect cannon fodder few players have any scruples about killing. My pulp Heroes of Rura-Tonga adventure Island of the Damned strands the heroes on a Pacific island filled with hungry undead intent on consuming them and their Japanese rivals. I’m guilty of relying on Nazi zombies at least twice; once in a convention Doctor Who scenario using the D6 Adventure rules, and once in a D6 Adventure modern-mercenary themed scenario…both employing not simply the Nazi zombie stereotype, but the radioactive Nazi zombie stereotype.

Half the fun of roleplaying with zombies remains the uncertainty of infection. How (if at all) does a zombie infect a human? Is it by touch, bite, or outright death? And how long does it take? Does it affect dogs? One pair of contentious players in a convention game of Island of the Damned actually started shooting at each other because they feared minimal contact with zombies had infected the other (much to the relief of the other players, who were glad to get rid of the disruptive pair).

I suppose H.P. Lovecraft, of all people, might help us understand to some small degree the dichotomy between horror and play: “The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.” If we stopped to think of the moral implications raised by our media tastes (from horror, violence, and sex, among others), our brains might simply implode in the face of such staggering cognitive dissonance. Perhaps engaging in games about zombies and war help us cope with related realities beyond such play activities.

Remembering Branchville Hobby

This year marks 30 years as a gamer for me, starting with my parents giving me the Dungeons & Dragons Basic Set as an Easter present. I’ve found it a fitting occasion to examine my early gaming past, which would remain incomplete without reminiscing about my first “gaming” store, Branchville Hobby in Ridgefield, CT.

Branchville Hobby occupied part of the second floor of a two-story building at the corner of Route 102 (Branchville Road) and Route 7 (Ethan Allen Highway) across from the train station. Branchville itself is a small commercial area located about five minutes’ drive from the center of the town of Ridgefield. Most of the businesses still cater to people in the southeastern corner of the town’s official boundaries and commuters along the busy Route 7 corridor (insanely congested even way back then).

The building’s main floor housed Ancona’s IGA grocery, which later expanded to a nearby location to become a cornerstone of the Branchville and Ridgefield business community. One reached the hobby store by ascending an exterior staircase to an alcove with a door, the kind of entrance that didn’t really give confidence to new customers but seemed perfect for those “in the know” who dabbled in any dubious hobby pursuit.

A central island held the register and display counter, with a few tables for key hobby displays and the rest of the merchandise on shelves along the walls. The store carried model railroading supplies, models of all kinds, flying rockets and planes, and some sports equipment (no doubt there were other categories a clueless young boy didn’t notice since they didn’t interest me at the time). We had visited the hobby store before as younger kids, more as a novelty where we purchased balsa airplanes and model kits and, as my brother immersed himself in the HO-scale model railroad hobby, train stuff. Young boys found the most exciting feature in a side room: an entire HO-scale railway layout, complete with city, cutaway-view subway station, numerous trains running simultaneously, even a house “on fire” with a fire engine raising and lower its ladder to extinguish the blaze (all dependent on technical good fortune). Despite gaming slowly making its way into the inventory, the store had no open play area and rarely had any gathering of gaming fanboys hanging around.

When I started playing D&D the store kept most of its roleplaying game books and minis on the counter near the register and on a nearby display table. I suppose at the time it was the latest fad and deserved a place of prominence, though this might also reflect the limited number of products available in the adventure gaming hobby’s infancy. Still, the store managed to carry most of the “core” rulebooks, boxed sets, and games of the time. Once I immersed myself in D&D and other roleplaying and gaming pursuits, visits to Branchville Hobby became more frequent. Throughout my high school gaming years I bought nearly all my earliest D&D materials from the meager stocks there: the Expert D&D set, Player’s Handbook, Dungeon Master’s Guide, Monster Manual, the Fiend Folio, even the World of Greyhawk folio edition -- whose poster maps adorned my bedroom walls and became visual icons of my early gaming experience -- and modules galore, including A1 Slave Pits of the Undercity and the tame version of B3 Palace of the Silver Princess. This was the place to find the “latest” games to add to my collection, titles I’d read about in Dragon Magazine reviews and advertisements and longed to try: the Gamma World box deal shrink-wrapped with several modules and the referee’s screen, Top Secret and its early modules, Star Frontiers, even a few Avalon Hill Games like Wizard’s Quest, B-17, Queen of the Skies, and Mystic Wood. I started slowly my first “D&D summer,” with new acquisitions usually occurring during prime breaks from high school -- Christmas break, winter or spring break, and summer vacation -- during which I could read new material and run games with neighborhood friends.

The store staff never really made an impression on me one way or the other. They always seemed polite but never overly friendly or enthusiastic about any particular hobby. Perhaps the best impression I got was one of my first purchases, the D&D Expert boxed set I bought at the beginning of my first “D&D summer.” The clerk tossed an “old” copy of Adventure Gaming magazine (October 1981) into the bag as a freebie; sure, he was probably just trying to get rid of a slightly out-of-date magazine, but it gave me one more glimpse into my nascent and imaginative gaming hobby.

During these years Ancona’s IGA moved out from downstairs to its new supermarket facility nearby. The hobby store morphed into Branchville Sport & Hobby, with emphasis on the “sport” as it catered to the burgeoning horde of organized youth sports teams. At first this allowed hobbies to take over the entire second floor, since the sports equipment side of the business had slowly but steadily encroached on hobby space. After leaving for college I didn’t visit Branchville Hobby much. At that time roleplaying game books were finding their way into mass-market bookstores -- I found my first copies of Paranoia and the Star Wars Roleplaying Game at the local Waldenbooks -- and my hobby interest became secondary to my collegiate studies.

The last time I visited it, Branchville Hobby languished in its final days. I was home on a summer break from college after having discovered West End Games’ venerable first edition of the Star Wars Roleplaying Game; I stopped by to see what they had and picked up the Tatooine Manhunt adventure. By then it was more accurately called Branchville Sport, the “hobby” portion having been so marginalized as to be crammed into a few shelves down a front aisle. (I sometimes sadly ponder the fate of the store’s fantastic HO model railway layout….) Not long afterward the store closed; the space has since hosted numerous businesses, none of which had the joyful appeal of a hobby shop.

Since then, during a long hobby and professional career in gaming, I’ve visited many gaming and hobby shops, some just once, others habitually. They’ve run the range of dedicated gaming stores to hobby shops with some gaming materials, those with knowledgeable and friendly staff, generous open gaming areas, and comprehensive inventory and those without. Time has no doubt fermented my memories of Branchville Hobby into the pleasant liqueur of nostalgic reminiscence, but one doesn’t easily forget impressions of their first foray into something new, exciting, and life-changing.

D&D Next: Only Slightly on My Radar

The internet is abuzz with lots of speculation, expectations, opinion, judgment, and other dialogue about the next iteration of Dungeons & Dragons, currently called D&D Next or D&D 5th edition. I’d say it’s only slightly on my radar as much as any other big news event in the adventure gaming hobby. Sure, as a longtime gamer who got his start with Basic D&D back in 1982 I’m interested in where it’s going, but whatever it becomes I doubt I’ll take much notice beyond some of the system mechanics and play rationales it might introduce or develop.

Since Wizards of the Coast purchased TSR and the D&D brand in 1997 it has tried to revive the game and, in doing so -- in the economic cycle that demands regular updates to core product to produce sales -- has ignited “edition wars” among the numerous fans of the game. While I think a fifth edition of the game makes sense from a corporate standpoint, trying to create something based on an iconic past with modern innovations to please fans from all epochs of the game seems like an exercise doomed to failure. The current spate of opinionated activity focuses on the “open” playtest materials Wizards of the Coast recently released, offering fans a glimpse of the next iteration of the D&D rules with playable pre-generated characters and an adventure; a limited but practical view into what the final game might look like.

I’m casually watching the developments surrounding D&D Next because I came to the hobby through D&D long ago during the “Golden Age of Roleplaying” (the early 1980s) and because I’m interested in any new developments it brings to the mechanics of the roleplaying game experience. Beyond that, however, I doubt I’d purchase the new rules set myself, let alone play it.

My D&D Edition History

Dungeons & Dragons is the iconic title of the adventure gaming hobby, one that, in whatever version, most everyone seems to have played, in many cases as their introduction to roleplaying games (at least for the earlier generations of gamers). I started back in 1982 with a copy of the Modvay-edited D&D Basic boxed set. I enjoyed playing that and the Expert Set materials while simultaneously exploring (and gradually transitioning to) the standard Advanced Dungeons & Dragons game with the three core books, adding to that numerous adventure modules and supplements available at the time. Through the years I explored other roleplaying games in genres that interested me more, and thus didn’t really invest too much in AD&D second edition. When I started working professionally in the adventure gaming hobby for West End Games in 1993 I had more interaction with folks from TSR and the material they were publishing, and picked up a few second edition AD&D items that caught my interest (including the Deck of Encounters, City Sites, Castle Sites, and The City of Greyhawk boxed set), some through GenCon trades, many in gaming shop bargain bins and sales. At one point I even had a second-hand set of the core rulebooks, though I’ve since sold them off as I never really played the game but used the materials as sourcebooks as reference for other endeavors.

My interest, like the game line, languished until Wizards of the Coast bought TSR in 1997 and set about revising the brand into what would become D&D 3 and 3.5. My interest in the game at this time was more mercenary; given the open gaming license (OGL) that enabled third party publishers to produce compatible material, opportunities to freelance for the game abounded. I bought the core rulebooks for D&D 3rd edition and familiarized myself with the system so I could write for its various iterations under d20 and OGL. I got some freelance writing work out of it, too, and most of the supplements I own for 3rd edition are authors copies of books to which I contributed. I even ran some games at the local gaming store where I lived at the time and enjoyed playing one of my stereotypical dwarf characters in a friend’s game for a few adventures. After the d20/OGL bubble burst -- with too many publishers producing a deluge of product with varying degrees of quality to a saturated market -- freelancing opportunities dried up; no doubt my own interests moved off to other realms (the “revival” of the D6 System under a new West End Games, as well as other personal projects like Pulp Egypt and Heroes of Rura-Tonga).

I can’t recall when D&D 4th edition released. I certainly didn’t follow news of its development, and I didn’t bother buying into it or even checking out its supplements. Sure, I’ve heard about it here and there, mostly vague impressions from blogs and other online sources; my general, no doubt misinformed impression leads me to believe it’s more a tactical miniatures game with some roleplaying game trappings than an actual roleplaying game (not something I’d really want to play).

Although my genre tastes have wandered throughout my gaming experiences -- branching off into science fiction, Star Wars, Victorian steampunk, cyberpunk, and finally pulp -- my tendencies in medieval fantasy hack-and-slash currently reside in two camps: games adapted to use the D6 System (with which I’m extremely familiar), and those originating from the old school renaissance of D&D retro-clones, the most notable of which being the innovative and original Old School Hack. Even so, these endeavors remain secondary to my own gaming endeavors, both for playing and designing. I’m developing my own fantasy roleplaying game system attuned to my own tastes, with an eye to merging some elements of the old school renaissance with an approach to appeal more to younger players and their parents.

Curiosity about D&D Next

I’ve not downloaded the D&D Next public playtest materials Wizards of the Coast recently released; from the online buzz I’ve heard it’s far too much hassle to register, navigate the Byzantine website, and download necessary playtest files. I’m always interested in the look of new product and the technical approaches in presenting playtest materials, but my curiosity in D&D overall has waned since my professional interest in third edition.

I’m watching developments on the D&D Next front with more of a professional eye than that of someone considering playing the game and contributing their playtest observations and suggestions. Wizards of the Coast faces the daunting (and arguably impossible) task of trying to please everyone familiar with the D&D brand, from the earliest editions to the latest ones, with wide-ranging play styles and expectations for specific game mechanics. The company efforts to produce a new iteration of D&D with all the corporate-customer interaction available in the Internet Age may serve as a lesson in how to use the internet to solicit input for game development, introduce and promote a major new game, and influence customer perceptions of the game as a whole and its individual parts.

Right now my primary information about general opinions on D&D Next come from various gaming blogs whose authors feel the need to weigh in on the game’s development, regardless of the degree their blogs regularly focus on D&D. Most have what’s commonly called the “obligatory opinion of D&D Next.” Like gamers following the D&D brand from various points in its history, these blog perspectives vary across the entire range opinions about play styles and rules mechanics. The ultimate impression is one frequently generated by a superficial scanning of internet insight on any subject: no even remotely conclusive consensus.

Only one blog garners more than casual interest to better inform my opinion of the game’s development and reception; Rich Redman at Diary of a Grognard is the only blogger I find who with any degree of regularity discusses D&D Next and has an interesting perspective on the game. Redman worked on developing D&D 3 and 3.5 while at Wizards of the Coast, and has since written for numerous other game publishing endeavors (in addition to other active and entertaining blogs). He was involved in the “closed” D&D Next playtest, an experience that informs his current and future observations about the game’s development (without violating any non-disclosure agreements…). His perspective enables him not simply to comment on the playtest rules’ current incarnation, but the changes from the earlier “closed” playtest materials, often providing insight into the design rationale we might expect to see in greater detail as portions of the game release to the public.

I’ll always have some interest in the D&D brand even if I no longer play it (nor have any interest in playing its current incarnation). I’m keeping a casual eye on D&D Next, not because I’m looking to buy into it and play it as a fan returning to a beloved brand, but because it has already provided some interesting experience from which we can learn.

Publication Consistency & Style Sheets

(Or Schweig Puts on His Stodgy Editor’s Hat)

Those who’ve worked with me as an editor way back during my time running West End Games’ Official Star Wars Adventure Journal and working on the Star Wars roleplaying game line know I’m a stickler for editorial detail. For many regular contributors (and those I hoped to cultivate to become regular contributors and later authors on roleplaying game supplements) I did not view my editor’s duties as simply correcting their work, but helping them improve their writing to more closely reflect what West End and ultimately Lucasfilm expected.

I’m not a huge fan of reality TV shows, especially those with lots of screaming; but if I’ve learned one thing from my few viewings of reality shows featuring the frequently cursing celebrity British chef Gordon Ramsay it’s that consistency counts…and in many cases it seems paramount to providing quality service at least in the restaurant setting if not in many other professions.

Consistency at all levels, both in content and style from the publishing perspective, helps ensure quality product time and again. It meets the general expectations of the broad readership and helps clearly communicate ideas in the common “code” of a consistent language, style, and grammar.

Look at writings from America’s earliest days and you’ll find “literate” people writing with inconsistent spelling and usage, mostly reflecting the phonetic spoken language than a written one, what today we’d see as a near-unintelligible mess. For instance, that last sentence might look like this:
    

Luk at ritns from Merkas erlyst daze and yul find peepl ritn w. nconsistant speling and usag mostlee flectn the fonetyk spokn langwage then a rittn 1.
 

They weren’t even consistent within the same document with the same words. It was a kind of a make-it-up-as-you-go process that didn’t always clearly impart the intended message to readers. This is why we have grammar and style within a language; it helps make sure everyone, writers and readers, use the same “code book” of language so we all understand our communication.

Code Book/Style Guide

I learned an awful lot about writing and publishing during three years at my first job out of college: reporting and later editing for The Ridgefield Press, the venerable, weekly newspaper in my hometown of Ridgefield, CT. Not that my four years at an extremely nice liberal arts college in central New York state for a degree in creative writing didn’t help; but the Press gave me a crash course in the practicalities of writing and publishing, with many hard-learned lessons that still influence me today.

The indomitable Executive Editor Jack Sanders -- who still serves as editorial sensei for the Press and its sibling newspapers under the banner of Hersam Acorn Newspapers -- whipped his reporters into shape with constant critiques, reminders, even entire issues of the newspaper “redlined” in red marker noting comments, questions, and errors (all in a style sometimes reminiscent of Gregory Peck’s portrayal of Brigadier General Frank Savage in Twelve O'Clock High). He continually demanded editorial excellence of everyone, from fledgling reporters to seasoned editors.

Upon embarking on the rocky road of reporting for the Ridgefield Press and its associated newspapers, each reporter received a loose-leaf binder containing the Acorn Press style guide. I still have my copy, cherished on the shelf with a host of other, more infamous style manuals and quite possibly more worn with love, devotion, and frequent re-reading than any others (though Strunk & White’s Elements of Style comes in a close second). Although it’s focused on writing for a hometown weekly newspaper in the early 1990s, much of its content remains relevant today, even if only in examining the minutia of style and grammar concerns current writers should still address. It taught me that, no matter how much a publication or publisher claimed it adhered to the conventions of one “official” style guide or another, each one has so many exceptions that it really needs its own to best communicate its specialized expectations to authors.

The Acorn Press style guide and my practical education at The Ridgefield Press led me to write a comprehensive style guide at my next job as editor of The Official Star Wars Adventure Journal at West End Games, a quarterly publication supporting the company’s Star Wars Roleplaying Game with original game-related fiction and source material. I was hired to start the publication from scratch, using established game authors, cultivating new “up-and-coming” writers, and courting best-selling name authors. At the time, West End’s editorial department had, at best, a sketchy style policy based on submission guidelines and a few pages of notes. I have an extremely vague pseudo-memory (or was it a dream?) that some kind of hodge-podge Star Wars Roleplaying Game writers guidelines existed before, most likely as a dot-matrix-printed, faint photocopy of miscellaneous things we expected writers to understand. If it existed, it was hardly comprehensive and didn’t reflect the seriousness with which the editorial staff and Lucasfilm’s approvals personnel viewed material in editing.

In editing a periodical that required contributions from numerous authors, I needed a more standardized, comprehensive guide to what we expected substantively in terms of content and approach as well as in grammar and style. I viewed a Star Wars RPG and Adventure Journal style guide as a manual covering all aspects of publishing such material through West End Games. In consultation with the Star Wars line editor at the time as well as production management, we made sure it included a wide array of useful information, much of which was influence by what was covered in my revered Acorn Press style guide:
    

• An outline of the submission process, including contracts and assignments of copyright, what we expected of writers as professionals, information about payments, and writing diagram and illustration suggestions.
   
• A guide to what authors should and shouldn’t do in the Star Wars universe at the time, with notes on working within existing continuity.

• Guidelines on writing adventures, source material, and game-related fiction (the “game-related” designation an essential part to avoid infringing on other Lucasfilm licensees’ rights to publish fiction).
   
• Style and grammar guidelines on punctuation, capitalization, italics and bold, and other miscellanea as reflected in West End publications.

• A master reference spelling list noting many proper names from the Star Wars universe.
   
• Style definitions addressing individual issues, from common grammar problems to Star Wars-specific matters (similar to sections in Strunk & White’s Elements of Style).

• A master stat format guide for almost every form of stat used in the game, in both long and short forms.

Version 2.0, August 1994 of the Star Wars Style Guide I drafted was almost 60 pages long. Every author who had a project accepted for development got a copy, and some were sent to prospective authors. I’m sure some fellow editors thought the effort was a waste of time, paper, and postage, but it established a common foundation on which everyone could work. (I find it ironic that some who play and write game rules don’t necessarily like following other rules, like those for using style and grammar in a publication.) It also served as a “rulebook” of sorts to help ensure what came in from authors was closer to what we (and Lucasfilm) expected in terms of content and quality, making editor’s jobs slightly easier so they could focus on other important issues.

In paging through my lone surviving copy of the style guide, I’m struck by some of the more interesting tidbits we included, some tailored to game writing, others to the Star Wars universe:
     

• A laborious but informative step-by-step walkthrough of the submission procedure, from the proposal (with all the required forms), review, first and final drafts, and payment, with notes on when to expect to hear from editors at each stage.
   
• Tips for writing in the Star Wars universe like “minimize real-world references,” “no superlatives or absolutes” (like “all customs inspectors in the galaxy will do this”), and “use the major players sparingly.”
   
• “Avoid the future tense” in writing adventures (something I still notice in some scenarios today).
   
• “A blaster has a ‘sight,’ not a ‘site.’”
   
• “In Star Wars: The Roleplaying Game we have gamemaster characters, not NPCs or non-player characters.”
   
• “Wookiee is spelled with two E’s at the end” (thanks to this I still do a double-take writing “cookie” with only one E).

Bear in mind the document was customized for both the Star Wars license and roleplaying game materials; however, it represents a comprehensive guide to writing in the gaming profession, from editorial expectations to basic writer information, all with an eye to producing quality product. Some folks might balk at all these rules, suggestions, and details, but they offered a pretty comprehensive idea of the expectations West End editors and Lucasfilm approvals personnel had for writers. Following the style guide helped editors prepare manuscripts for approval and publication; those who made life easier for editors were more apt to get future work.

Lack of Style in the Internet Age

I’m sometimes discouraged by the lack of attention to consistency in style and grammar today, whether in personal communication, official correspondence, or published material (particularly internet content).

I’ve had a few day jobs in the publishing field since leaving West End Games after it declared bankruptcy in 1998, and most of them had their own versions of style guides -- some formal, some sketchy -- for their publications.

In my years in the publishing field I’ve referenced the monumental Chicago Manual of Style and AP Stylebook; many editors used them more as general suggestions than rules, and then almost arbitrarily so (driving many writers and editors somewhat insane). I recall one senior editor, when asked to clarify a style issue after consulting an established guide, simply shrugged his shoulders and uttered the non-committal “It’s just a judgment call.”

These days it doesn’t seem to matter. Style guides, from longstanding cornerstones of the publishing industry to customized rules for individual publishers, have become dinosaurs in this ever-changing Internet Age where people e-mail, text, blog, and otherwise communicate using the written word so casually that anagrams like OMG and AFAIK, once occasional code, now seem like acceptable grammatical concepts. The internet has blurred the line between professional writing and casual communication; perhaps the English language is rebounding back toward the days when everyone spelled words the way they liked without regard to whether they’re understood.

Okay, time to take off my stodgy old editor’s hat and rejoin the rest of the 21st Century….

Game Company Communication Then & Now

Technology constantly marches forward at a seeming exponential rate. New developments change how people carry on with everyday activities, as I’ve noticed in my professional life as a writer, editor, and game developer. I look back when I first started more than 20 years ago and see how I conduct business today; let’s face it, I started in publishing when “cut and paste” meant exactly that. I remain amazed at the changes the Internet Age has wrought in how game companies and customers share information.

Internet connectivity for individuals, corporations, and institutions today seems ubiquitous (though many in our society’s less-prosperous levels still don’t have regular access…); one cannot imagine a company without access to the internet and all the communication tools it offers.

I’ve seen these technological developments affect various aspects of my own life at different stages, from an editor at a game publishing company to a freelancer and sole proprietor of a small game studio advancing my own projects. I think some of the more pronounced differences come from examining my work on staff as a roleplaying game editor with the late, lamented West End Games from 1993 to the company’s bankruptcy filing in 1998.

Author/Artist Communications

Then: During my time at West End editors communicated with authors and artists by mail and phone. As editor of The Official Star Wars Adventure Journal, I perhaps had more traffic with authors and artists than most other editors at the company, with a host of contracts, critique letters, and other formalities for each of the magazine’s quarterly issues. Letters and contracts were printed and copied before going in the post, and authors and artists signed and returned official paperwork (voluminous thanks to the company’s licensing arrangements with Lucasfilm), which we countersigned and returned one reference copy (and some went to Lucasfilm for counter-signing). Long-distance phone calls covered basic revisions and last-minute logistics. Toward the later 1990s West End had some e-mail capability shared on one account by all the editors…meaning that everyone read everyone else’s business and, given everyone’s creative egos, passed judgment and shared their opinions, welcome or otherwise. When I finally and reluctantly entered the Internet Age on my own, I conducted a good deal of e-mail correspondence using my own computer and my personal e-mail account…this in the company’s last six months of viable existence.

Now: Most of these communications logistics -- even contracts -- go over the internet in the form of e-mails and attachments. Necessary “phone” conversations can occur over Skype or Google+ Hangouts for free. Editors can view work by potential authors and artists on their web and social networking pages without having to solicit printed game-writing and artwork samples (or lug them back from convention meetings). Without the delay in waiting for snail-mail, business occurs far more rapidly, with game company staff able to make informed decisions after some web surfing for information about potential writers and artists. Communication with contributors occurs more swiftly yet as clearly as a written letter.

Advertising

Then: West End Games had several print venues available for advertising, primarily gaming magazines. Paid advertising often remained expensive and thus a constantly debated strategy. While the company welcomed positive reviews, it remained reluctant to send out comp copies and actively cultivate reviews after getting burned by a critic who was sent a preliminary manuscript lacking artwork and yet reviewed it as the finished product. The company also pursued advertising opportunities through its distributors and at conventions, traditional options available even today, though reaching only a sliver of the overall gamer population. West End didn’t do many bulk mailings while I was there -- a catalog or two and several issues of Infiniverse (see below) -- but I recall seeing Ron, loyal assistant to the owner, hunched over piles of folded, stapled newsletters, mailing stickers everywhere, consulting the bulk mailing binder like a baffled sage trying to decipher some ancient, impenetrable manuscript.

Now: The internet offers a host of tools for more effectively communicating with customers, from company websites and social networking sites to forum posts, e-mails broadcast to lists, and press release “blasters.” These venues also offer the means for swift feedback from consumers and fast, two-way communication with individuals to better foster a relationship between companies and fans. Websites display “catalogs” for current game lines (whether or not they’re actually sold through the site) the company can easily update, promote, and support with supplemental gaming material.

Supplemental Material

Then: To its credit, West End Games in its heyday had some innovative ideas beyond those in published rulebooks and supplements. The company tried several ways of disseminating supplemental materials to fans. The evolving campaign setting of TORG comes to mind, with different realities invading earth and battling for control of various regions, plans which player groups tried to foil by running published adventures. Each scenario had a form gamemasters could snail-mail back to West End to report their group’s accomplishments, material editors tabulated and used to change the campaign landscape in future products and updates, particularly the periodic Infiniverse newsletter. (For this purpose a huge world map dominated one wall in the office, marked with pins and stickers to delineate the back-and-forth progress of the invasion.) It was an innovative approach to TORG’s inherently changing setting, one hindered by the realities of snail-mail communication. The company also included updates in published product; for instance, many Star Wars roleplaying gamers got their four-page, folded “rules upgrades” for first edition as an insert in early shrink-wrapped adventures. In 1997 we created a full-color, quick-start Star Wars Roleplaying Game flyer (Mos Eisley Shoot-Out), complete with map, counters, and scenarios, to distribute to potential new players at conventions and other venues, but its distribution channels were so limited that few made it into the hands of potential customers (I still have a small pile of them somewhere…).

Now: This material often falls under the “free downloads” category. Rather than sending a postcard requesting more information or a self-addressed, stamped envelope for a newsletter or free scenario, fans simply log on and download free resources from the game company website. Companies can easily upload and announce new errata, free adventures, quick-start rules, and other promotional materials, adding value to fans’ existing games and making a show of good will toward consumers. It’s heartbreaking for me to comprehend how much more different and vibrant the evolving TORG campaign world might have been in the Internet Age, how much better the successful Star Wars Roleplaying Game line might have been supported through an avid fan base, or how on-staff and player supplemental material might have enhanced other licensed and non-licensed game lines.

Many speculated West End’s demise came about through its absence of any internet presence when the web landscape was just emerging. No doubt the lack of information technology savvy -- a single e-mail account and no company web site -- hobbled West End in its desperate, final efforts to stay afloat, but it might only have helped if they were already firmly in place. Other forces, perhaps the same elements that deemed e-mail and internet too expensive and time consuming, pushed the situation beyond the brink of financial viability. I sometimes contemplate what West End’s presence might have looked like had it enthusiastically entered the Internet Age at an earlier point; whether or not it might have saved the company, the imagined internet presence of West End Games -- complete with free download resources and scenarios, press releases, art and editorial previews of upcoming products, and a greater rapport with fans -- remains a faded dream of what might have been.

Basic D&D’s “What Is Roleplaying?”

The debate over whether roleplaying games should include “What Is A Roleplaying Game?” sections in their introductions continues raging across the internet on message board and blogs and other venues. While my own experience tells me such introductory explanations, however short, remain an integral part of any game (if only to provide complete newcomers to the hobby with some direction), my overall instinct tells me that the inclusion and length of such an explanation depends on the product.

Many gamers came to the hobby through the Moldvay-edition of the basic Dungeons & Dragons boxed set (though this assumption, too, is often contested). I’ve been paging through it lately since I’m developing two projects combining old-school dungeon-crawl action with game mechanics and presentation geared toward kids. I noticed the rulebook contains a brief introduction to the concept of roleplaying games I consider an ideal middle ground between too little and too much: two paragraphs on “What Is A Roleplaying Game?” introducing readers to the game concept in broad terms without lengthy discussions and examples outside the realm of the rules themselves.

DUNGEONS & DRAGONS® Fantasy Adventure Game (“D&D® Game” for short) is a role playing adventure game for persons 10 years and older. In the D&D rules, individuals play the role of characters in a fantasy world where magic is real and heroes venture out on dangerous quests in search of fame and fortune. characters gain experience by overcoming perils and recovering treasures. As characters gain experience, they grow in power and ability.

At least two persons are needed to play this game, though the game is most enjoyable when played by a group of four to eight people. This game, unlike others, does not use a playing board or actual playing pieces. All that is needed to play are these rules, the dice included in this set, pencil and paper, graph paper, and imagination. the game may be more exciting if miniature lead figures of the characters and monsters are used, but the game can be played without such aids.

The rulebook then outlines the various chapters and provides definitions of various game terms and concepts, elements of most any roleplaying game orienting new readers to the game system and setting.

These two paragraphs provide enough of a description of roleplaying games to complete newcomers to the hobby without cluttering up the book’s introductory portions with overbearing definitions of basic elements of such games. Whether this approach worked in an introductory product like the D&D basic boxed set remains open to debate.

As a gamer, I’m well-versed in the workings of roleplaying games and don’t necessarily need a lengthy introduction to the form in rulebooks I buy. I don’t mind them, I just skip ahead to the rules and setting chapters. Sometimes I find “What Is A Roleplaying Game?” sections good material for people I’m seeking to introduce to gaming; some contain basic overviews of the game setting for orienting new players to an innovative genre.

As a game developer I’ve often included “What Is A Roleplaying Game?” sections -- often with solitaire tutorial adventures to impart basic rules and setting concepts -- because the projects were in some degree directed at newcomers to the gaming hobby with prior interest in the setting: things like the Star Wars Introductory Adventure Game, whose primary purpose was to draw Star Wars fans into the roleplaying game.

Whether one feels “What Is A Roleplaying Game?” sections have a place in rulebooks remains a subjective issue. Longtime gamers often find these introductions superfluous, especially when they feel such space would be better served with rules and setting material. The approach taken in outlining the concept of roleplaying games doesn’t always click with the newcomers given their different ages and backgrounds; the Moldvay-edition introduction above might seem too brief and sketchy for some without continuing into the rules, which, by their very nature, introduce specific new concepts by teaching the game engine (a case where plentiful examples provide immense help).

Perhaps the best approach remains keeping “What Is A Roleplaying Game?” sections in rulebooks short and basic, when necessary at all. The Moldvay-edition introduction to D&D provides a good example how to briefly outline the game and setting for new players. The exception remains product specifically intended to introduce newcomers to the roleplaying game hobby, especially children. With today’s technology, publishers can find other venues for explaining games to complete newcomers, particularly through supplemental product available free online, such as introductory adventures, quick-start rules, and tutorial videos.

Thank You, Mr. Harryhausen

This past weekend I had a chance to watch The 7th Voyage of Sinbad on the big screen. Despite what seem today like dated, homebrew special effects -- combining stop-motion animation and live-action through a process called Dynamation or DynaRama -- the film made me realize I owe a debt of gratitude to special effects pioneer Ray Harryhausen for bringing to life on screen the amazing fantasy beasts that inspired my sense of wonder and imagination I channeled into my nascent roleplaying game experiences.

I grew up on a steady diet of television broadcast movies, especially versions of Harryhausen’s work, including the aforementioned first Sinbad film and the subsequent Golden Voyage of Sinbad and Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger (coincidentally released the same year as Star Wars, which inspired me in another genre), Jason and the Argonauts, and the original Clash of the Titans. During this formative stage of my youth, before the flood of various flavors of fantasy films in the 1980s, such entertainment based on classical tropes appealed to my emerging enthusiasm for archaeology, legendary tales, and adventurous stories.

The 7th Voyage of Sinbad embraced many elements I felt, even as a kid, represented the fantasy genre…not space fantasy like Star Wars, or what I’d call “high medieval fantasy” like Tolkien, but entertaining fare like deceitful sorcerers, obedient jinni, treacherous journeys to strange lands, magical spells, captivating princesses, cyclops, dragons, and sword-wielding heroes with bravery and determination.

Many might consider Harryhausen the king of fantasy films before the genre re-emerged with a vengeance through such 1980s fare as Dragonslayer, Conan the Barbarian, Legend, Ladyhawke, Labyrinth, and Willow -- many enabled by Industrial Light and Magic’s groundbreaking work in Star Wars, as well as other pioneers like Jim Henson’s Creature Shop -- in an age well before today’s ubiquitous and often shallow-feeling computer generated images.

Audience Thrills

At the theater screening I attended recently the audience consisted of two distinct demographic groups: older adults (like myself) who enjoyed this genre when they were younger, and parents with kids seeking an afternoon’s diversion of fantasy and/or an opportunity to share a piece of their own childhood with their kids. The manager’s introduction noted a newspaper review from the film’s 1958 release emphasized the horrific elements of the “fantasy” movie, including screams from kids and parents leaving theaters with their frightened children.

I don’t think anybody left the theater screaming, but I certainly heard at least one child crying for a parent’s comfort during some of the more gruesome scenes…though by today’s standards such tame film violence might only garner a PG rating at best. The film contains some iconic special effects images: the lady in waiting transformed into a writhing, naga-like dancer with four serpentine arms; the two-headed roc (and its unfortunate hatchling) assaulting Sinbad’s crew; the scimitar- and shield-wielding skeleton animated by the magician’s dark magic; and, of course, the formidable cyclops and dragon who battle to the death in the climax. Though some might feel the special effects seemed jittery, stiff, and unrealistic, for the time -- and for those immersed in the screening -- they still impart a sense of suspense and amazement.

Early RPG Influence

Films like The 7th Voyage of Sinbad and other Harryhausen vehicles greatly influenced my early explorations in the roleplaying game hobby.

One of my first games, both designing and playing, was a clone of Dungeons & Dragons based on my observations of some friends playing. In the absence of my own copy of the rules, I created my own original game based on what I’d seen. This turned into something called Creatures & Caverns, which I’ve offered free at the Griffon Publishing Studio website for years and am currently revising (more as a “ludological curiosity” and marginally as a fun game to transition kids from board games to roleplaying games). The contents clearly reflect the influence of such stop-motion monsters as the cyclops and non-winged dragons as well as a host of mythological monsters.

When I moved on to Basic and Expert Dungeons & Dragons I brought my penchant for stop-motion monsters into the games I ran. I populated islands in the Sea of Dread (the default Expert Set campaign milieu) with creatures and concepts from Harryhausen’s Sinbad films, particularly the obligatory Isle of the Cyclops. I even included an entire dungeon level based on the later scenes of The Golden Voyage of Sinbad, complete with animated, multi-armed statues and bestial green-skinned savages.

Special effects have certainly come a long way from Ray Harryhausen’s pioneering efforts. Though his films were vehicles specifically created to highlight his stop-motion effects, they still operated within the framework of entertaining stories with exotic settings, heroic (and dastardly) characters, and fantastic plots; elements that provided ideal Saturday matinee fare and wondrous inspiration to young, imaginative minds. Thank you, Mr. Harryhausen.