Don't Be So Serious!
Sep. 26th, 2010 02:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sinanjuOr, Dreams About Role-Playing.
I dreamed a lot last night. Don't remember most of them now, except that they had something to do with conflicts. I do remember the end of the dream. I was engaged in a running combat with a bunch of other people. I was, of course, using my reality-manipulating powers (as I am wont to do in dreams, even when I'm not entirely lucid--I am aware that I can manipulate my environment, even though I don't quite grasp that it's a dream).
So at some point, the fight moves into a giant toy store (paging Dr. Freud), where we're running around in the aisles trying to find and ambush one another. At some point I spot the last of a bunch of toy lightsabres and I think, "Hey--a lightsabre. That has potential!" and make a grab for it. It gets yanked out of my reach for a moment, but I get my hands on it, and whoosh I light it up. I have some fun slicing game boxes and shelving with it, then go looking for an opponent.
I find one, someone I vaguely recognize, possibly from earlier in the dream or from other dreams. (Yes, I have a recurring cast of characters, don't you?) We play a cat and mouse game for a while, before he tries to dump a trash barrel full of water on me in classic "bucket of water propped on a door" style. I saw it coming and turned my lightsabre into an umbrella. He pops around the corner--and I spear him with my (again) lightsabre. We stand there looking at one another for a moment. I wiggle the handle of the lightsabre around on his chest, just making it clear that he's really most sincerely dead. At whch point he asks "What the hell is that supposed to be?"
And I tell him, "It's a lightsabre. A 1d6 HKA, NND..." and other Hero System gibberish. He seems kind of disappointed that he's out of action and has to sit out. So I tell him, "It's only 1d6," meaning he isn't dead, just badly wounded. "But I had to make sure you were down, 'cause you're dangerous." And he looks at me and says, "Yeah, because I'm a deadly prankster."
Well, now I feel bad. Maybe he's right, that I'm going overboard about making killing attacks when this is all supposed to be fun. So I suggest that maybe he's got some garish healing potions he could take, or maybe some preposterous healing foam he could apply to the burn wound that goes all the way through his torso, which would make him good as new immediately. "Just an idea," I say, as I wander off in search of more opponents with a less Kill Em All attitude in mind. Behind me, he seems to have brightened up considerably, and I suspect he'll be coming after me again as soon as he's done with his potion of healing.
...so what does this have to do with anything? Probably nothing. Or maybe it has to do with my Thursday gaming group, which has gotten remarkably bloodthirsty of late. More so than I like, but the campaign has just about run its course, so I haven't objected much. We'll be doing something else fairly soon.
Or maybe it has to do with my concluding that the novel I've been trying to write isn't working. After consulting with my Mastermind Group (i.e., my wife and a couple of writer friends), I have concluded that this isn't a case of self-doubt, but a justifiable appraisal of the project. That's not an easy decision--I worry that I'm fooling myself and it really is just self-doubt. But I really think I'm right.
I've been trying to cobble together a coherent story out of bits and pieces, all about the same character, any one of which I think works on its own, and might make a good short story with some work--but as a whole, it just has no core. So I'm shelving it. (Never delete anything. You might have a use for it one day.) I'll be working on a different story, one I've already started, and I intend to finish it by the end of October. It'll be a fairly short novel, but a novel nonetheless.
I dreamed a lot last night. Don't remember most of them now, except that they had something to do with conflicts. I do remember the end of the dream. I was engaged in a running combat with a bunch of other people. I was, of course, using my reality-manipulating powers (as I am wont to do in dreams, even when I'm not entirely lucid--I am aware that I can manipulate my environment, even though I don't quite grasp that it's a dream).
So at some point, the fight moves into a giant toy store (paging Dr. Freud), where we're running around in the aisles trying to find and ambush one another. At some point I spot the last of a bunch of toy lightsabres and I think, "Hey--a lightsabre. That has potential!" and make a grab for it. It gets yanked out of my reach for a moment, but I get my hands on it, and whoosh I light it up. I have some fun slicing game boxes and shelving with it, then go looking for an opponent.
I find one, someone I vaguely recognize, possibly from earlier in the dream or from other dreams. (Yes, I have a recurring cast of characters, don't you?) We play a cat and mouse game for a while, before he tries to dump a trash barrel full of water on me in classic "bucket of water propped on a door" style. I saw it coming and turned my lightsabre into an umbrella. He pops around the corner--and I spear him with my (again) lightsabre. We stand there looking at one another for a moment. I wiggle the handle of the lightsabre around on his chest, just making it clear that he's really most sincerely dead. At whch point he asks "What the hell is that supposed to be?"
And I tell him, "It's a lightsabre. A 1d6 HKA, NND..." and other Hero System gibberish. He seems kind of disappointed that he's out of action and has to sit out. So I tell him, "It's only 1d6," meaning he isn't dead, just badly wounded. "But I had to make sure you were down, 'cause you're dangerous." And he looks at me and says, "Yeah, because I'm a deadly prankster."
Well, now I feel bad. Maybe he's right, that I'm going overboard about making killing attacks when this is all supposed to be fun. So I suggest that maybe he's got some garish healing potions he could take, or maybe some preposterous healing foam he could apply to the burn wound that goes all the way through his torso, which would make him good as new immediately. "Just an idea," I say, as I wander off in search of more opponents with a less Kill Em All attitude in mind. Behind me, he seems to have brightened up considerably, and I suspect he'll be coming after me again as soon as he's done with his potion of healing.
...so what does this have to do with anything? Probably nothing. Or maybe it has to do with my Thursday gaming group, which has gotten remarkably bloodthirsty of late. More so than I like, but the campaign has just about run its course, so I haven't objected much. We'll be doing something else fairly soon.
Or maybe it has to do with my concluding that the novel I've been trying to write isn't working. After consulting with my Mastermind Group (i.e., my wife and a couple of writer friends), I have concluded that this isn't a case of self-doubt, but a justifiable appraisal of the project. That's not an easy decision--I worry that I'm fooling myself and it really is just self-doubt. But I really think I'm right.
I've been trying to cobble together a coherent story out of bits and pieces, all about the same character, any one of which I think works on its own, and might make a good short story with some work--but as a whole, it just has no core. So I'm shelving it. (Never delete anything. You might have a use for it one day.) I'll be working on a different story, one I've already started, and I intend to finish it by the end of October. It'll be a fairly short novel, but a novel nonetheless.