On The Other Edge

Why I’m At My Most Neurotic When Doing A Thing I’m Good At

(CN: The following is about gaming as much as writing, and contains discussion of my mental illness.)

Let me start with some self-indulgence. This weekend, I am running a one-shot for some very dear friends of mine, and I am excited and scared. While discussing it on Facebook with my friend Roo, she said:

I was telling a friend about your one shots…and found myself saying something incredibly true: you are on a very short list of people whose GMing skills and style are such that if I have a chance to play in a game you’re running, I will jump at the chance every single time. I adore playing your games and getting to spend these bits of time sharing the space in your head.

This is so kind of her to say, and it felt like a beautiful payoff for all the hard work I have put in getting better at running games (among many beautiful payoffs, but I needed one today especially). But the point of this post is not to sit here and pat myself on the head; it is to discuss the other side of that coin. My gaming stuff is good because I care about it a lot. And my gaming stuff is hard for me because I care about it a lot.

Writing is a fraught activity for me, and as a GM even more so than as an author. (I also have a lot of anxiety and angst about gaming as a player, and some of what I am saying here may be true for that end of things, as well.) This is something I am coming to grips with in my life right now, as part of my effort to understand myself better on both a macro- and a microscopic level — that I have a lot of anxiety about doing creative things well, even though I demonstrably do them at least pretty well (well enough to get lauded in the case of GMing, and well enough to get published in the case of writing), and that a thing I have chosen as a hobby causes me more stress than a thing that I do as a theoretical paying gig.

I put a lot of time, energy, and care into my creations. For fiction, that means outlining, editing the outline, maybe working on story beats before or after that if I think I need to worry about pacing (especially for things like comic scripts or flash fiction where I have a very restrictive format or a limited amount of space for the story to breathe); it means writing the zero draft, the rough draft, the first draft; it means alpha and beta readers; etc., etc., etc. For gaming, it means penning the scenario; figuring out what notes I need to write and what I need to let myself wing; selecting (or writing) stats for the various characters; parceling out the clues (for mystery stories) or big epic moments (for superhero stories) or monsters, traps, and loot (for dungeon crawls); finding ways to set the right mood (for literally everything). A lot of that detail work is done unconsciously, though I think more of it is conscious with game design, since you do not get the same kinds of second chances in GMing that you do with fiction.

And that’s half of it. What Roo said put the other half in stark relief for me, so much so that it gets its own separate paragraph for maximum drama — like she says, my creations are a walk inside my head. It’s only natural that seeing people taking that walk in real-time is harder than the idea people are doing it where I can’t see.

When I run a game, I am seeing peoples’ reactions to it in real time. When a moment falls flat, it falls flat right then and there, and I have to recover from the lack of impact in just as little time. When an encounter proves to be unbalanced, I have to fix it now, or at least decide how to prevent the game from either moving forward much quicker than anticipated or grinding to an unsatisfying halt. Even if somehow a total garbage piece of my fiction goes steaming and stinking out into the world, the worst I will see is a nasty review on a website somewhere. If my game is screaming-out-loud bad, I am in the middle, watching it happen.

It hurts to have a creation fail. I care about my stories, RPG and prose alike, and caring about them means I put a lot of time into it, and that loads things in a way that I’m not sure people outside my head always see. (And I wouldn’t demand they do so; it’s not their responsibility to take care of my feelings.) So when things fail hard, the first thought I have to deal with is not “How do I improve on that?” it’s “Oh God I’m a failure!”

That is manageable; anxiety is something I deal with every day, and while I am not perfect at managing it yet (and perfection is not a realistic goal anyway), I manage it well enough to see it coming eight times out of ten and not act out one of the other two times. But the thing is, because of the anxiety, there are things that set off the failure alarms that are not indicators of failure; and a lot of those need to be things I can roll with if I want to truly be in control of my anxiety.

There are gamers who are happiest when they are testing the boundaries of the narrative, looking for unorthodox solutions and trying to be clever. And that’s valid! But to anxiety brain, it can read as them trying to poke holes in my creation, which leaves me scrabbling to fill those gaps.

There are gamers who do not do a lot of external roleplaying, who roleplay through their actions rather than through facial expressions or tone. And that’s valid! But to anxiety brain, it can read as my emotional content failing to hit its mark.

There are people who come to a game just plain wanting a different thing than you were delivering — who were expecting a powered-up dungeon crawl when you prepped a diplomatic mission, or were going for personal horror in a game that is more about solving a murder, etc. And that’s valid! But to anxiety brain, it can read as a failure on my part to accurately set the stage for the game. (The subject of being explicit about the narrative, mechanical, and temporal goals of a game you are running is a whole other animal that I am not wrangling in the space of this post, but, that’s a thing, too.)

The list goes on. The point of this is to say two things: that GMing is hard, and that sometimes enlightenment comes from the most unexpected places.

I’m going to run a one-shot tomorrow, and it may not go quite like I intended. But thanks to today’s unexpected insight, I’ll be better equipped to deal with that than I was when I woke up this morning.

And even if that’s all I get from today, that makes today a victory.

On Leaving It Behind

The Ways Giving Up Helped Me Move Forward

Late last year, I made one of the most important decisions of my entire writing career: I gave up on a project.

A personal project, lest I sound unprofessional; and actually, two of them. I had two novels in the works (read: on their third and fourth deep edit passes, respectively) that just were not clicking. There were germs of good ideas there, some wonderful turns of phrase, some characters I adore; but in both cases, the whole was lesser than the sum of its parts.

I rewrote one, and started rewriting the other, examining them for what was not working. The rewrite of the first one of these two was incredibly fruitful, teaching me a lot about what I was doing wrong in my writing at the time I wrote it and giving me a chance to move past it. The second one…not so much.

I mean, I saw I was doing wrong, but I had done so much wrong that trying to undo it left me like a kitten tangled up in string. I was trying to find my way out and continuously making it worse, with no capacity to get enough distance from the problem to actually perceive the whole. I kept slogging onward, re-plotting and re-outlining and doing every other form of hacking and cauterizing I could think of, until I realized one fateful weekend that I had been dreading going back to writing after one of my twice-weekly days off from the creative process, and that the dread was all because of this project.

I’d had this revelation once or twice before, that I was hugely burnt out on rewriting this novel, but I had powered through, operating under the axiom that you need to write when you don’t want to if you want to be a professional writer. But this time, it was different. This was not writing being difficult; this was writing burning me out and sapping my joy for creation. I sat back and examined why that would be the case, and I had the next revelation (a true Apocalypse over here, I tells ya): these novels were part of my million bad words.

It’s an old adage, one I need not repeat exhaustively, that every writer has to write a proverbial one million bad words in order to get to the good ones. It’s a fancy way of saying that in order to do something well, you have to do it badly first. That’s part of learning. It’s not something my culture really teaches anymore (though the Internet is getting that lesson out there pretty effectively), but it’s the truth. Few people (possibly no people) are instantly good at something; at best, they have raw talent that needs to be refined. Writing these novels, especially this one I couldn’t salvage, was an important part of that refinement for me — but that does not mean it is worthwhile for me to go back to them right now.

Some day, I may need those ideas, those characters, those plots. I may need them to make another attempt at saying what I was trying to say, but this time with a much more skilled hand; I may need them to say something completely different, but still said best with those people and those situations; I may just love some tidbit of description or dialogue and want to plug it in to something else. But I was not doing myself any favors with this rewrite: I can’t get through my million bad words by trying to redo 100,000 of them. I realized it was best, as heavy as it made my heart, to recognize what didn’t work and move on.

So I did. And friends, I feel so free.

Since letting those novels go to their long sleep in the depths of my files, I have tried writing in new formats. I have pushed myself to write about new kinds of people, to inject new themes, to push my boundaries in every direction I had the opportunity to push. I have written a story that an editor told me haunted them, and yet ended with a little ray of hope that things could get better for these people after the words “The End.” And I have written a zero draft of a new novel that honestly might be my favorite thing I have ever written. Someone who reads a lot of my work, who is kind enough to review my work constantly, has told me how much more they like my writing now than my writing from a few years ago, and there is an obvious dividing line between the last story they mostly liked and the first story they loved: the latter of those two not-so-great novels.

I do not generally recommend giving up on a creative project. Giving up is a bad lesson to teach yourself, most of the time. But at the same time, it’s invaluable to give yourself time to be bad at something so you can become good at it later; and that is the most valuable lesson of my creative life to date. So in this way, those novels were not failures, not at all. In fact, arguably, the novels I have moved on from are the two most important pieces of creative work I have ever done.

For now.

On International GM’s Day

International GM’s Day, for this GM and this Writer

It’s International GM’s Day, as dictated by the folks at EN World and now adopted across the Internet, and I can think of no better day to talk about roleplaying games and writing.

I’ve never made any secret about playing roleplaying games. I cut my teeth on Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Second Edition; I made an ill-fated attempt at Paranoia as a young middle-schooler; I toyed with but never actually got to play Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Other Strangeness; and I had a pile of GURPS books I never used. Four different editions of D&D; the World of Darkness; the Chronicles of Darkness; 7th Sea; Legend of the Five Rings; Wild Talents; Unknown Armies; Eclipse Phase; so many more I do not remember or only barely flirted with. These were the tools of recreation during my childhood, my early adulthood, and now. More campaigns have died unended than ever been completed (I think my Changeling campaign, Roo’s Eclipse Phasegame, and the first leg of my D&D 4th Edition campaign are the only ones I have ever personally seen conclude rather than die the slow death — or get killed in a fit of drama and broken friendships), but all of it has stuck with me. All of it has made me who I am.

Through playing and developing characters, I learned to develop empathy for people who are not me; actually meeting people who had radically different experiences than I did was obviously necessary for me to bridge that gap, but it got me on the right track. Through running ongoing campaigns, I learned about communication, conflict management, and scheduling; through running one-shots and limited-run campaigns, I learned about navigating limited narrative spaces, and writing plots that fit into the time/space you have available. Through gaming, I learned how to write a plot that affected a consumer emotionally; how to take the germ of an idea and expand on it and refine it; how people interpret data presented to them, and how to both ensure the data is clear and manipulate interpretation to make a later revelation shocking or surprising; how to navigate the narrative tools of coincidence and convenience and ensure they do not turn into crutches. My understanding of storytelling structures, my comprehension of social dynamics, and unfortunately, even my ability to identify abusive and toxic behavior; all these things were refined by my time in the mental crucible that is gaming. None of them started or finished there, but my skill set and my personality are inextricably tied to my hobbies. They are a source of recreation; but they are also a source of creation. Hell, learning the difference between writing a story and writing an adventure for an RPG was one of the biggest moments in which writing “clicked” for me — and that, along with the message that everyone fails before they succeed creatively, is the most important lesson I have learned as a creator.

So, thank you to everyone I have ever gamed with. Thank you to the AD&D 2nd Edition, Mage, Changeling, and Vampire players in high school, for letting me just utterly reek at this whole thing so I could learn. Thank you to my Changeling players in college, for letting me really try something big, and for helping me struggle with the deficient parts of it, and for reminding me to this day that it was the best thing I had done at the time, even if seeing the ways I did not do so great helped me do better in the long run. Thank you to my D&D 4th Edition players, who helped me confront some anxieties I have about gaming and creativity and start to move past them, and who helped me try something a little weird (that may get weirder if we ever go back to it). Thank you to my Wild Talents players, who are part of my most ambitious campaign to date and who make me feel good about it every session.

Thank you to my high school GMs, for stumbling right alongside me and for giving me something to build on. Thank you to my college GMs: Josh, Kat, Tyler, Chris, Matt, the aforementioned Joe, all the Jasons, and Mo, for taking the time to run games and showing me both ways I did and didn’t want to GM, and for some golden moments that will stick with me forever. Thank you to Ted, Ralph, and Gary, my GMs in my grad school days, for showing me yet another different way and for pushing my boundaries. Thank you to Joe, my first 4th Edition D&D GM, who reminded me games could be fun again. Thank you to Sonya, for letting me come along on her first foray into GMing. Thank you to Matt, my current 5th Edition D&D GM, for helping me have fun playing again and helping me work through an awful Eeyore period with my dice. Thank you to the Alliance GMs, Brandon, Dan, Sarah, Jim, Sonya, Warlock, Madhawk, and Mike, for making me feel welcome and for trying some new things and some tried-and-true things, both with me and at me. Thank you to Terrance, my L5R GM, for showing me a different side of Rokugan and reminding me we’re here to have fun. Thank you to Nate, my recently concluded Mouse Guard GM, for showing me all kinds of tricks that may never have occurred to me. Thank you to the unnamed fellow GM who taught me it was OK to have anxiety about running games, and taught me we all work through it in our own ways. And thank you to the con GMs who have taught me a thousand little tactics that I could only learn by playing with total strangers.

Thank you to everyone. I needed all of you to become who I am today, as a gamer, as a writer, and a person. And the value of that is a price above rubies.

On 2015

I am 4.5 hours away from beginning the celebration that will put 2015 firmly in my rear view mirror, and therefore, it is time to reflect on the year.

“Mixed bag” defines most years in a human life, but in many ways this year has been one of extremes in that regard. I’ve had some of my lowest lows this year, but also some of my highest highs, and the latter often came as a result of the former.

Low point: Being diagnosed with type 2 diabetes, a manageable disease, but still a disease, and a chronic one there is currently no way to cure, only to avoid being hurt by (and that partially with a little luck); having my wife, the most important person in my life, receive the same diagnosis a month before I did. Realizing both diagnoses only came because she went in to have something unrelated checked up on, and that if we hadn’t checked we would have kept eating in a way that was ruinous to our health and potentially deadly long-term. Dealing with the tide of internal and external fat-shaming, diet-shaming, and general feeling of screwing up that comes with a type 2 diagnosis, along with the feeling that somehow this was life laughing at me after I decided to take charge of my mental and physical health this year.

High point: Going in for our first quarterly check-ups on the disease only to discover we have them totally under control with diet and exercise, we have praiseworthy amounts of willpower and discipline, and barring a curveball we should be able to avoid complications for our entire lifetimes. People told us we were an inspiration, and we learned that we are capable of a level of courage, self-discipline, and mutual support that will serve us well in every aspect of our very long, very healthy lives.

Low point: After resolving to submit more stories and novels, batting a perfect .000 for submission acceptances from January to December.

High point: Learning that I’m not the only one who goes through fallow periods like this; the hardship forcing me to learn things about my writing strengths and weaknesses that I might not have seen had I met with even moderate success. I’m finding my writing voice in a  way that I never have before, and I’m relaxing into the act of writing in a way I never have before. I’ve also figured out how to set reasonable goals for myself creatively and, as a result, in other aspects of my life. While I am not a financially richer writer after this year, I am a richer writer in every other sense.

Low point: My anxiety went off the rails at the beginning of the year, with multiple explosive crying jags, only further exacerbated by the discovery of the diabetes issues.

High point: The explosions were finally bad enough that I had some conversations with Sonya about our relationship that were absolutely necessary and strengthened our bond as friends, partners, lovers, and teammates — there’s no steel without fire, as I think they say. From that came the decision to grab hold of my mental health as well as physical, and from that came a relatively saner Tyler; not one free of anxiety, because that demon is never truly slain, but one who can take a step back and assess his problems and deal with them rationally in a way he never could before.

Low point: I found a safe space for social justice-minded folk like myself, and promptly said something truly terrible and followed it up with a series of anxiety-riddled mistakes and outright bad behavior that ended in me needing to leave said safe space and in fact helped catalyze a general fracturing of it, losing myself at least two friends and leaving my Internet social media experience awkward to say the least.

High point: That huge screw-up and wrongdoing on my part forced me to confront problematic aspects of myself and my relationships, forced me to accept that there are consequences for my actions in a way that was frankly a little abstract before (being as I am a very privileged person), and took me down the road of learning a whole lot more about how to be less problematic and how I need to comport myself in public and in private. And I did keep a few good friends out of that, who though they are wholly digital right now, are an important part of my support network going into 2015.

High point: I rediscovered my love of comics, especially superhero comics, and broadened my artistic tastes in all fields.

High point: I navigated the waters of how to relate to my friends and family, and how and when and why to identify people who are unhealthy for me and keep them at the necessary distance.

High point: I celebrated a year in a fantastic marriage with Sonya, who has helped me learn to be a better person and has helped me learn just how happy I can be. I love you, sweetie. Hail Hydra.

High point: I recognized, eyes wide open, how truly lucky I am to have the life I have, and how valued my contribution to the world really is.

High point: I made mistakes and still have friends and loved ones. Forgiveness can be so important.

High point: I learned how to be diplomatic when angry.

High point: I got to hang out with my new nephew and niece (marriage grows families in the most unexpected ways) and watch them continue to be interesting and smart and engaged.

High point: I had a tweet liked by Squirrel Girl.

High point: There are way more high points on this list than low points.

2015 kicked me in the bojangles more than once, and it did its level best to get me on the ground and bloodied; but in the end, the scars left by this year are scars I can bear with pride. I’m a better person, a better writer, a better husband, and a better Tyler all around than I was last December, and that is a treasure that will never tarnish.

Next year’s resolutions:

Keep up the writing schedule.

Attend more cons, as a guest and as an attendee.

Keep working on excising problematic language.

Take time for self-care.

Go on more dates with Sonya, and recognize that sometimes, time at home quietly reading is the best date night of all.

Play more board games, especially ones I have not played before.

That said, play more Sentinels of the Multiverse and Red Dragon Inn.

Watch more wrestling that is not produced by the McMahons.

Go to more Fathom Events.

Have a really good beer when the carb count is available.

Love Sonya.

Love my friends.

Love myself.

Now if you’ll excuse me, two friends and their wonderful son are coming over soon to hang out and play some, oh yes, Sentinels of the Multiverse. I cannot think of a better way to start saying goodbye to 2015.

I love you all. Keep reading, and I’ll keep writing.

Happy 2016,


On Mary and Also Sue

tl;dr: As of today I am going to make a conscious effort to use neither the term “Mary Sue” nor the term “Gary Stu” any longer, as after reading some very smart posts from my very smart friends and colleagues, I believe the roots of those terms to be misogynistic, misguided, and mean-spirited.


  • This all got started in my brain thanks to a Facebook post from a friend of mine. I want to give him full credit for inspiring me here, and to say that the root ideas here are his; I’m only not naming him because I don’t yet have his permission to do so, and it’s the Internet.
  • Trigger warnings: mention of violence, rape, racism, homophobia, transphobia.

Longer form commences. It may get a little essay-format in here. I have tried to avoid spoilers and do not mention anything about Star Wars: The Force Awakens.


Mary Sue.

For a definition of the term(s), I turn to the august Web sites Wikipedia and TV Tropes.

From Wikipedia’s entry on “Mary Sue”:

Mary Sue or, in case of a male, Gary Stu or Marty Stu is an idealized fictional character, a young or low-rank person who saves the day through extraordinary abilities…”Mary Sue” today has changed from its original meaning and now carries a generalized, although not universal, connotation of wish-fulfillment…the “Mary Sue” is judged as a poorly developed character, too perfect and lacking in realism to be interesting…

From TV Tropes’ entry of the same name:

…the term “Mary Sue” is generally slapped on a character who is important in the story, possesses unusual physical traits, and has an irrelevantly over-skilled or over-idealized nature.

Okay. That’s enough to go on.

Let me sum up my feelings: this is garbage.

I say it is garbage not because bad writing and wish-fulfillment do not exist; but because bad writing and wish-fulfillment should be allowed to exist, and shaming people for involvement in them is simple cruelty.

(Well bad writing should not be allowed to exist without criticism…I’ll follow up on that later.)

Life is hard. Life as an oppressed class of person (woman, person of color, LGBT, etc.) is especially hard. Wish-fulfillment, escapism, and fantasy are perfectly reasonable responses to how hard life is, and legitimate ways of coping with getting through the hard parts of life.

We could argue back and forth all day about how much escapism is too much escapism; we can throw around words like “addiction,” and maybe even ableist nastiness about discerning fiction from reality; but the bottom line is that basically everyone, in every culture, sees the value of living and learning vicariously through entertainment, whether that’s a win by your sports team, a painting that speaks to you, seeing a fictional character succeed in the face of adversity that looks a lot like your own, or seeing someone who looks like you be socially accepted and noticeably successful.

Let’s hang on that last line for a second. “Seeing someone who looks like you be socially accepted and noticeably successful.”

You don’t have to look far to see the kinds of venom that are spit daily at women — say, rape and death threats when they criticize any form of media in any way — or at people of color — a potential Presidential candidate calling for all “Muslims” to be banned from the country or forced to sign a registry — or at LGBT people — the entire Westboro Baptist Church. I’m not going to link to real examples, because those monsters do not deserve the attention, but they are out there and easy to Google or ask your friends about.

If you have to deal with that on a daily basis, you probably want to see a ray of light somewhere, right? Some indicator that it is possible for someone who is like you to be a badass, strong in the face of difficulties, successful in the face of insurmountable odds? Hell, you probably want to see that on your harder days, even if it does not involve being threatened with sexual violence, right?

And you acknowledge the idea of “different strokes for different folks,” yes? You recognize that your wish-fulfillment/stress relief/enjoyment/whatever does not necessarily look like the method of achieving said state that works for spouse, or your best friend, or your next-door neighbor, right? If nothing else, do you understand intellectually that when your team plays the rival team, your idea of “fun” is probably going to look a lot different than the idea of “fun” held by most fans of the other team?

OK. Great.

So, assuming no-one is actually being hurt, and I mean actually being put in an actual negative place that lessens their actual quality of life…

Where do you get off deciding that another person’s way of having fun and feeling better about themselves is bad?

That is one of my three root issues with the term “Mary Sue.” No-one should be shamed for enjoying wish fulfillment. No-one should be shamed for wanting to have a good time, so long as that good time is not coming at the cost of the well-being of others.

I’m going to tap into that last statement in a moment, but I want to finish up my issues with “Mary Sue” first. My second issue with the term “Mary Sue” is the inherent gendering of the term. Yes, we have now come up with “Marty Stu” and “Gary Sue”; yes, people talk about how the term is not gendered; but, as TV Tropes says, “The prototypical Mary Sue is an original female character,” and if it looks like a duck and sounds like a duck…

The term grew out of Star Trek fanfiction (specifically, it “comes from the name of a character created by Paula Smith in 1973 for her parody story ‘A Trekkie’s Tale'” [Wikipedia]), and it’s an accepted if not concretely observed notion that fanfic writers were, initially, largely female. It is also overwhelmingly applied to original female characters who get to be as important as canon male characters — and as it has grown into a term used in fiction at large, it has continued to be disproportionately used to describe female characters. The only male character that I hear routinely get called a Sue/Stu is Wesley Crusher from Star Trek: the Next Generation; other male characters who are just as obviously given a disproportionate chunk of the spotlight (e.g., Wolverine and Cyclops from the X-Men franchise) or just as obviously get to save the day when the chips are down despite not being the only ones canonically capable of same (e.g., Batman in any DC universe fiction), either do not get slapped with the label despite qualifying, or get the label alongside so many jabs at either their “feminine” traits or their sexuality that it’s hard not to see this as being about shaming women for wanting to have rad protagonists available to them.

And that’s gross, people. Gross.

And now, my third and final issue with the term “Mary Sue”…it is generally used as a hallmark of bad writing, right? We are all agreed on this point? Well, bad writing needs to exist.

Writing bad stories is the only way you figure out what doesn’t work and get to good stories. Just like every hockey player (except maybe Wayne Gretzky) had to play some truly terrible games of hockey before they figured out how to reliably play well; just like every baker’s first-ever batch of chocolate chip cookies was likely inedible; just like if I went out today and tried to run a marathon, I would wind up calling someone to come pick me up in my new superhero disguise as the Human Cramp; every writer has to write bad stories. Most of us even keep doing it, because everyone has their off days!

Even if something is bad, it may represent the absolute best a person can do right now, not because they are in any inherently bad, but because they are still learning how to be good. Criticism is a part of helping that person to grow, but dismissive criticism may snuff out their fire while it is still just sparks. Also, not everybody is ready to be put on blast just yet; that’s why I don’t publish every rough draft I ever write on my blog, and that’s part of why fan-fiction communities exist. We need safe spaces to figure out how to be the best us we can be. Why invade and dismiss that just because you don’t think my How to Train Your Dragon/WWE crossover fic is the next Aenead?

Now, there are forms of (or elements present in) “bad art” or “bad escapism” that are truly, objectively bad. Those that uncritically glorify rape, racism, murder, or other forms of violence and hate. Those that reinforce negative and problematic social narratives, like the idea every rape victim “kinda enjoyed it” or that a person of color is “asking for trouble” by behaving in a certain way. Those that stir up hatred toward a real-world group. Those that encourage hateful and destructive urges rather than offer a catharsis that prevents the need for actualizing those urges. In short, things that actually hurt actual people, even if only by making it seem OK to hurt those people. And those do need to be taken out behind the woodshed sometimes, and called out as either “problematic” or even sometimes outright hate speech.


Don’t deride people for doing their best, just because their best isn’t the same as somebody else’s best.

Don’t deride people for liking things that aren’t hurting anybody. Liking things is cool.

And don’t ever forget that everything is problematic in some way, and that criticism and dismissal are not synonymous.

Like stuff. Make stuff.

Figure out how to be you.

Figure out what doesn’t work.

Figure out how not to hurt people.

The world will be a better place.

That, in a 1700 word nutshell, is why I will never, ever again call any character a Mary Sue.

[Game Reviews] World Wide Wrestling

This is the first in what I hope is something of a series. This year, for Christmas, I gave out the “handmade” gift of running one-shot roleplaying games for my friends and loved ones, along with home-cooked thematically appropriate food provided by Sonya. (Yeah, we’re pretty cool I guess.) So in honor of that, and in honor of trying to stretch my brain in different directions, I’ll start chucking out some reviews of the systems we’re playing. Note that these systems are new to me but not necessarily new to the market, so don’t necessarily expect them to be topical to anyone except the game-curious. Anyway, without further ado…

The Game: World Wide Wrestling

Designer: Nathan D. Paoletta

The Fluff: World Wide Wrestling is, as the title suggests, a tabletop roleplaying game in which you are professional wrestlers, playing through one or more episodes of a professional wrestling show and the backstage/real-life drama that accompanies said show. It’s meant to be mainly focused on the usual stuff pro wrestling is focused on — people talking into cameras about who they’re going to fight next, people doing cool athletic maneuvers in a wrestling ring, and maybe the odd bit of comedy or bloody realism. The GM (or “Creative” as it is thematically branded here) is in charge of booking the, oh yes, scripted matches, and also given tools to give players who are having trouble deciding what to do next something to do. The intention is that as the game goes on, more and more of the “real” lives of the characters portraying the wrestlers will start to leak in to the game.

The Crunch: WWW is based on the Apocalypse World engine, and like (as far as I know) all games of that species, gives each player a set of Stats, rated from -2 to +3, which are added to 2d6 rolls to determine degree of success on tasks. Also like all -World hacks, rolls are meant to be much less frequent, and to have much larger implications than a single roll has in more typical tabletop RPGs. Wrestling character “classes” are called Gimmicks, and represent the broad archetype of wrestler your character is (e.g., the Monster is the huge guy who is powerful and intimidating, the High-Flyer is the dynamic athletic one who is a bit more fragile, etc.). Character sheets boil down into the four Stats — Look (your charisma and acting ability), Power (your physical strength and how imposing you are), Real (how good you are at bringing reality into the mix, both by using real-life events in your acting and actually getting violent with people), and Work (your technical capacity to execute wrestling moves) — along with Heat (a rating of how excited the imaginary audience is to see you interact with a specific character), Audience (how much the audience wants to see you in general), and your special Moves (the game’s term for things that cause you to make die rolls, which include a set of General Moves all characters can make and the Gimmick Moves that only the High-Flyer or the Monster or the Technician, etc., etc. can make). Characters can gain Momentum, as well, which is spent to activate specific Moves and can also be used more generally to add 1 to any roll you make. As characters gain Audience, they can add Advances, allowing them to add more special Moves or improve your Stats, along with some narrative effects you can add (like now having a Manager to interfere for you).

The Good: The system and game absolutely shines with love for the genre and the medium it is meant to represent, from the in-jokes used for the names of special Moves (“Excellence of Execution” really sticks out in my mind), to the way advancing your character encourages you to do things to develop a lot of Heat between you and opponents in order to gain you both Audience and so gain Advances. The way they handled the booking aspect of it (Creative does not reveal the ending until their sense of dramatic timing demands it) makes the game fun and suspenseful while still keeping true to the medium’s scripted nature. It’s a lot of fun for wrestling/gaming fans (and there are a lot of us) to play at wrestling without any of the physical risks involved, and the system really facilitates that in a way no other system I have ever seen could accomplish.

The Bad: Like all -World games, it suffers if you roll too often. Rolls have such massive impact on a one-for-one basis that too many of them in sequence can either cause a character to be dug into a narrative hole from which there is no escape (if they fail a lot) or advance far, far faster than is intended in the space of a few sessions (if they succeed a lot). It’s also very easy, with one or two Advances, to start breaking the system by making it just too easy to get highly successful rolls that then allow you to directly impact how easy it is for you to get more Advances, creating a vicious circle. In particular, my group found that the High-Flyer Gimmick, which has two different ways it can gain +1 Audience as a direct result of its rolls (as opposed to the one available to most Gimmicks) could easily be broken to become an Audience-farming machine with a total of 4 Advances, which in theory could be achieved in a single-digit number of rolls.

Obviously, the answer there is to limit how many rolls are being made in the course of an Episode, but the problem there lies in the instinct of gamers to roll for anything narratively significant at all, and the fact that the game is not 100% clear on how many rolls should be involved sometimes. “Cut A Promo” is one Move, and so obviously no matter what the promo, you roll that; but how many times do you roll Wrestling, or Feat of Strength, or Work Real Stiff, over the course of a match? After one session, we agreed you should probably have each competing PC make 2 or 3 rolls before you call for the finish, but narratively that can be unsatisfying.

That said, I think this problem is easy to address on a group-by-group basis; if the players all agree ahead of time about how many rolls a match should involve, and how many chances they should get to do other moves during a game, you can all advance at roughly the same pace barring dice luck (which no-one can control for, really). My second session of it would, I think, go much smoother than the first for precisely that reason.

Rating: 4/5 Crits.

On Inactivity

After two months of inactivity, I’m finally crawling back to the blog.

To say that 2015 has been a full year for me would be an understatement. I am planning to summarize all that in a post closer to New Year’s Eve; I’m afraid that if I say anything with finality with this many days left in the year it will find some way of coming back at me with a vengeance. But I have been extremely busy, both with work in the traditional sense and in the emotional sense, and it has meant that there just hasn’t been time for things that are not as central to that work as the other things. Unfortunately, that has included this blog.

But! I am finally going to make a concerted effort to fix it. I’m not going back to the old, rote method of forcing a weekly update out of myself — with my current life load that is just not a feasible way of doing things. But I am going to start allowing myself to vary my content a tiny bit more — keep this a writing blog but also allow some other things to leak in. It’s already a combination of writing blog and personal journal, I might as well let myself have a little fun with it.

So, expect me to be throwing in more reviews (of movies, games, and, yes, probably wrestling shows), more deep thoughts on social justice issues within the fandom and speculative fiction communities, and probably a few little prose jam sessions. I promise everything will get appropriately categorized so you can decide what you do and do not want to see. Heck, worst case you people ignore some of my post categories, right?

Welcome back, me!

On Disclaiming

So, I have a few new followers on social media after Convolution; that means I may have a few new blog readers after Convolution. This post is largely for you, but may be useful to anyone. I’m adding the “Disclaimer” category so it’s easy to find this later if you need it.

One day post-Convolution, I posted the following two tweets:

To my new followers (1/2): I am a speculative fiction writer and fan. I also talk about pro wrestling, ice hockey, and social justice.

To new followers (2/2): I’ll do CNs as appropriate, and hashtag wrestling and hockey posts, but social justice stays unmarked.

And so comes the question this post seeks to answer: what does Tyler mean when he says “social justice”? And why won’t he give a content warning for it?

Simple: social justice refers to the ongoing effort to truly, finally, completely, give everyone equal rights and equal opportunities in this world; to minimize violence and eradicate oppression; and to increase empathy and education and overall mental and physical health across the entire spectrum of humanity.

On my blog, and on my social media feeds, I freely and openly discuss the need to end racism, homophobia, and transphobia; I say again and again that I believe abuse victims over their accused abusers until I see a damn good reason to do otherwise;  I speak out in support of marginalized voices and in support of the exercise of free speech, even by people who are using that free speech in a way that makes me use my free speech to call them a jerk; I speak out against violence and oppression and the pernicious idea that a person can be “asking for” any form of violence, especially sexual assault; and I call out problematic cultural programming and problematic language. I also try to encourage people who are being problematic to be less so, first kindly and then if necessary with great force. These are not the only things I talk about, but they are things that come up a lot.

Why do I not give warnings on these, though? Why do I say I will give content notifications for things that might be common triggers for trauma, or warn people I am talking about wrestling or hockey, but not when I want to talk about social justice? The answer is that I do not give a warning on these things because I do not think they are things we should be sheltering each other from.

There is a belief that artists using social media need to not be overtly political, and I agree — to a point. I’m not going to use my social media platforms to stump for a particular Presidential candidate, or to discuss my thoughts on tax reform (or if I am, I’m going to do it on private feeds where I can discuss those things only with those who want to discuss them). But I am going to support equality and free speech, because those are not topics I see as “politics” — it doesn’t matter if you’re a Democrat or a Republican or a Democratic Socialist or a moderate or whatever, the desire for everyone to be equal is something that should transcend those sorts of labels and that we should all be able to, if not agree on, at least debate.

Also, silencing the discussion is exactly what the people who oppose that equality want us to do; and while I am by far one of the least likely voices to be silenced, I still stand behind the somewhat symbolic gesture of doing so. Maybe someone will speak up because they see me speaking up; honestly, I can only hope to have that kind of reach.

So, that’s my disclaimer; if you follow me, you will hear about writing, and also about ice hockey, and about WWE and NXT and CHIKARA and all the rest of the great wrestling I love watching. You will also definitely see me being a social justice warrior. Well, more of a barbarian, really, but, let’s not get into semantics here.

Hopefully all that is copacetic, because I’m happy to have new people reading. We cool?

On Success (Convolution Post The Third)

I’m back from Convolution 2015, and trying to face the real world.

Convolution was not my first fandom-focused convention; that honor goes to BayCon. But it was the first one I made a point of becoming a regular at, and the first one I have felt this level of commitment to; the one year I had to miss it (due to the timing of our honeymoon) I honestly felt like I was somehow letting down a friend. After that year, and the discovery of the theme for this year — “FANDOM: LEGION,” and the celebration of diversity and inclusivity in fandom — I decided it was time to make the offer and see if I could take the next step: would they be willing to have me as a guest?

“I think you’d be a great fit!” I was informed by the staff member who contacted me. And then the whirlwind began.

Impostor syndrome hit literally immediately. I’m not qualified to be on panels. I’m not qualified to talk about anything to people. I’m not qualified to moderate a panel of experts, which I was going to be allowed to do. And I certainly do not even belong in the same room as the Guests of Honor, especially Brianna Wu, with whom I would be discussing the Women of Marvel. Jesus Christ, I tell myself, what have I gotten into?

But backing out was not an option; if I did that, I’d never know if my impostor syndrome was right or not, and that alone is enough to get me out the door. So I did my research. I put together my notes. I read some works by the authors I’d be on panels with. I contacted my friends and colleagues Leslie and Sara to get their thoughts on how to shot web re: panels. I did all the groundwork I could and prayed that it would be pay off.

tl;dr: Being on panels is fun, and I highly recommend it to anyone who has something they feel they can be on a panel about.

Convolution was a great con for me; it was a working con, for sure, with me passing out business cards and making awkward small talk and also that thing where I was on panels about things for 3 or so hours every day. But for all that it was a refreshing working con, and a reminder that doing what I love and being around people doing what they love is exactly the kind of work that doesn’t feel like working for me.

My greatest hits for this con:

The Women of Marvel panel, my first professional panel ever, and a total barn-burner of a way to start. The moderator (Carrie Sessarego) later told me she was worried that I was made uncomfortable by being the only man on the panel, and therefore the one the other panelists addressed when discussing the male domination of our culture. No; that was exactly what I wanted from being the only man on that panel. Plus I got to talk about Ms. Marvel, and who doesn’t love that?

The “Developing a Writing Practice” panel, the first panel I’ve ever moderated. I had a little trouble keeping a steady hand on this one, and I definitely had to walk back something I said about MFAs (short version: they are useful for learn how to write from a mechanical and framework standpoint, but never trust one that tells you how to write). The panelists were animated and engaged and the audience seemed to learn something, and I got some contacts out of it, and really it was just a huge success and I am so glad.

The Modern Boogeymen panel, with my friends and colleagues Matt​ and Kendra Pecan (whose web presence I do not have at hand at the moment)​. I learned a lot hearing them talk about their areas of boogeyman expertise, and I learned a lot from the audience, and it was one of the most engaged, interested, excited audiences I have seen at a panel in the history of ever. I need to read more Brothers Grimm to keep up with Kendra, and long-time followers of mine know that’s not a statement I make lightly. Also, obligatory: Watch It Follows.

The “I’m A Bad Fan” panel with Leslie​. It was a small audience, being one of the unfortunate post-checkout-time panels on the last day of the con; but it was an engaged audience, and one that seemed happy and relieved to be addressing the subject. I am officially borrowing panelist Brad Lyau’s phrase “the adult at the table” to describe the behavior I want to see from myself and other fans going forward. (Example: “So what if that person is just here to cosplay? Be the adult at the table and welcome them for being enthusiastic about something!”) Also: I totally didn’t freak out when an audience member told me they don’t like Superman. The table, I adulted it.

Giving my first live reading and getting actual applause from the other authors there. I feel like maybe there really is a writing community out there now, and like I really could be a part of it.

Giving out my business cards and having the other guests actually contact me. I’ve got some irons in the fire I didn’t a day ago, and some publishers to possibly submit to, and some potential new friends and colleagues to add to my list. Again: maybe I really can be a part of this whole big wonderful thing.

Having friends who can make sure “Sentinels of the Multiverse​ and chill” is an option for my evenings, after I’ve finished attending/being on panels and need to screw my head back on the right way.

The “Writing Fight Scenes That Aren’t Wack” workshop with Guest of Honor Balogun Ojetade, and not only learning volumes from him about pacing and physics and flow, but getting to be the hands-on demonstration of a take-down, and more importantly, getting a little applause for my practice fight scene we wrote at the end of the panel. Now I get to say the writer of The Chronicles of Harriet Tubman showed me exactly how he’d kick my ass.

And most importantly: Getting to do all of the above with my wife, the person I always want with me on every adventure I take. Love is so cool, everyone.

Special thanks here to go to Suzie Rodriguez, the staffer whom I dealt with most directly over the course of the con. She was friendly and helpful and made sure I figured out how to do the guest thing with a minimum of difficulty. I would likely have been a mess by Friday night if it hadn’t been for her encouragement.

In summary: Convolution is wonderful; being a guest is great; and I hope I get to do it again, and again, for many years to come.

Thanks, Convolution! See you next year!

On Tradition

(You’re singing it too now, aren’t you?)

I have beat this drum into ragged oblivion: I am a creature of habit and ritual. I like having rituals for when I start a new project, when I end a new project, when the seasons change; it’s something that I thrive on and that makes me feel good. It’s why I buy Christmas presents every year, no matter how small; it’s why I have long-sleeved shirts I change into as soon as the autumn days allow me to do that without turning into a rotisserie chicken. Lately, though, some of those rituals are threatened.

I’m an American citizen. That means I was raised with a lot of traditions that revolve around…oh yes…food. Easter ham. Fourth of July barbecues. Christmas dinner. Thanksgiving literally every calorie within arm’s reach. Birthday cake. Oh, God, birthday cake.

And now I’m diabetic.

I can live with being diabetic; it’s a lifestyle, and as long as I live that lifestyle, I will see few to no issues with it, and what issues do crop up I will deal with, knowing I am supported by my friends and my family. But it does mean so many things I am used to doing to mark the passage of time are now health concerns. My rituals have been disrupted, and this year when the fall equinox showed up on my calendar, I got hit right between the eyes with this fact.

Where was my chicken breast on top of roast potatoes and brussels sprouts?

Where were my “cheat day” pumpkin spice lattes?

What was I going to do about my Halloween candy?

I brought this to Sonya, partially to warn her that I may be a bit maudlin as the autumn leaves start to fall, and partially to say: what are we going to do? And Sonya, being wonderful, helped me figure it out. Tastes had to be substituted — but diabetes can’t take away smells, or feelings. Or books.

So the next day, I bought a couple scented candles — “Cinnamon Apple” and “Cozy by the Fire.” Good smells to last until December and the need for pine and cranberry and mint.

We agreed September would be our mystery month — a month to watch Poirot and Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries as we curl up against the mounting dark. A month to read questioning and mysterious books, or maybe some Chandler to chase my monthly allowance of whiskey. A month to drink cinnamon or vanilla tisane after dinner and try to guess the answer before our dear Hercule can manage it.

October? October can be horror month. We can do All Hallow’s Read, as so many do now, and we can watch scary movies and haunting TV shows. We can put out pumpkins and plastic skeletons, and on the big night itself we can eat apples and cocoa almonds and play Arkham Horror.

December is the home our favorite holiday, and it doesn’t have to be about food. It can be about A Muppet Christmas Carol, and Die Hard, and peppermint tea, and giving gifts to the people we love. (I have something special planned for my friends this year that I hope is very well-received.) It can be about playing one of the Christmas playsets for Fiasco.

That gets us through the coldest months, back around to spring and short sleeves. We’re thinking of trying the Norwegian Paaskekrim for Easter, and sugar-free cooling drinks in the summer. We’re thinking about how to celebrate my writing successes now that drinking is not so much an option, how to ring in birthdays and new years and anniversaries.

I know this seems like a frivolous post, but this thinking, this planning, means a lot to me. This means we’re not letting something bad rule our lives. It means I’m with someone who cares enough about my love of ritual to want to indulge in it with me. And that, more than any crime novel or any apple candle, is what matters about ritual; it marks that you care about something enough to do something to mark it.

And no disease will ever take that from me.