Writing is a weird gig. A lot of people want to do it. A lot of people want to get better at it. And when you do it for a job, you will consistently feel like you’re the worst person ever. Or, worse, you’ll feel like you’re the best person who’s ever done it and then hit a real wall of disappointment when your steampunk romance doesn’t light up the lists.
Your novel, “A Clockwork Soul: Heart Of Gears” should’ve done better, but at least you’re able to attempt to hawk the movie rights. They won’t pay as much for the movie rights as you want, but it’ll look good when you’re writing the sequel, “A Clockwork Heart: Soul of Gears.” I swear, without Googling, I can already bet that one of these titles must already exist for ten unrelated books.
The thing is, learning to make big word page do good fun is as hard as it is frustrating. There are hundreds and thousands of books and video series and podcasts intended to make you a better writer. Usually, these all involve pushing a specific technique that worked well for the writer or host of the podcast. Maybe this is a way to break down the story or create characters or world build or outline. Story squares and cards and boxes and beats and circles and cycles.
All of it can work if it works for you. All of it can feel like the world is openly mocking you when it doesn’t. That’s the fun thing about writing: there’s no right way to do it! And by “fun thing,” I mean “constant state of anxiety that everyone will know you’re a phony.”
I’ve also struggled with becoming a better writer. I’m lucky enough to do this for a living, but I’m not delusional: this career is an ephemeral bird made out of shadows. At any point, the industry could go, “Remember that phony thing you mentioned being anxious about? It’s true! Get out!”
And they’d be correct. I would need to leave. I’d close up shop, move to a small town, start my life over, open a bar, become something of a beloved local figure, and then mysteriously die in a fire. But until then, I know I need to keep working on my writing. And - of all the instructional materials and speeches and strategy cards - I’ve found that solo tabletop roleplaying games have made me a better writer.
Now, I’m not playing solo tabletop roleplaying gamesbecauseI want to be a better writer. I’m playing solo TTRPGs because I’m lonely and want to feel something, anything. Plus, I’ve spent most of my existence living behind a veil of sad imagination that turns everything into a cartoon; might as well make use of it.
While people have offered, between my schedule and my shattered social psyche, it’s really hard to put aside a regular set of hours every week that I can play a long termD&D gamewith friends. OrVampire: The Masqueradeif they were real friends. But I love these games. I like the physicality of the experience. I like the map drawing and the journal making and the surprises. All of which is present in soloTTRPGs. Sort of.
Solo RPGs come in a few forms. But without diving too deep, a fair amount rely on some combination of writing prompts, map-making, and random tables. Some have only one of those, some have a fair amount of all, some use another system entirely. The prompts and maps and random tables are what make it a ‘game’, although most solo TTRPGs books are pretty clear that you should just play them however the hell you want. Because you’re all alone. Forever. And ever. And ever. Plus, it’s your experience, so it doesn’t matter.
Which is also why they make me a better writer. As I’m playing these games, I’m pitting myself as a Dungeon Master against myself as a player. Of course, rolling a bunch of dice orpulling a bunch of tarot cardsstill randomizes the experience. But it also allows me tothinkabout what’s happening and whether or not it’s actuallyfun. When a random table dice roll tells me I found a dead body in a treasure chest, it’s surprising while still allowing me to consider it as a beat of the story. I’m forced to think about why it would be there, what my character would do, if it makes any sense. In short, it tricks my brain into taking on the role of the creator and the audience at the same time.
Here’s where I’m supposed to listsome solo TTRPGsto try. There are a lot of them. If you’re into more traditional games likeCall of Cthulhu, there are solo modules. Recently, I’ve enjoyed Quill, Ronin, Beloved, Ironsworn, and I’m currently getting into Thousand Year Old Vampire and Star Trek Adventures: Captain’s Log. Most of these are very cheap. Hell, a lot of solo TTRPGs are community-made and completely free. And since you’re the only one playing them, it doesn’t matter! Adjust it all to your liking! Ignore some rules and keep others!
This sounds stupid, but writing itself is stupid! It is, as a million people have thought they were the first to say, just solo roleplaying. But it’s solo roleplaying without rules and structure. If that works for you, great! I’m happy you’re happy. That said, if you feel stuck inside your own head or wish there was a way to test your story ideas without needing to go through the terror of inviting people over, solo TTRPGs are pretty good.
When you are confronting some vampire lord and - as a player - feel their randomized treasure or room or motivation are bad, it forces you to think about why and solve it. Or it surprises you and gives you ideas on where to go.
I’m not saying that solo TTRPGs are a way towritestories. Although they can be and I’m sure they definitely are. But at the very least, they’re a way to be creative by yourself without doing all the work.
