Good Stories Make Bad Games, and Vice Versa

Inspiration for RPGs is often drawn from genre fiction - movies, books, TV shows, radio plays, whatever - and the opposite. Midkemia, by Raymond Feist, the Dragonlance books, The Expanse, all trade back and forth from games to fiction and back.

So why are games based on great, rewarding, clever work so often garbage? And why do the best games at the table often translate so poorly into story?

Slack. Great fiction, at least modern fiction, is tight. Every thread is terminated by the finale, questions are posed and then answered. When too many gaps exist in the logic or narrative sequence we can see the plot holes, or the story has too many starts and stops, or the narrative meanders and slows down. This narrative slack, though, is vital to games at the table. A game that has been pared down to only what's necessary feels railroaded, whether or not the players are exercising choice. Without diversions, misplaced jokes, scenes that drag and those that jump, a real live game at the table is going to feel tense, as if it's always under pressure.

The sharp divide comes from the difference in focal points between RPGs and fiction. In a piece of fiction every decision is made with the end in mind, in some respect. The narrative focus, choices in scenes, coincidences and characterization must all be written (directed, shot) with a finale or cliffhanger or pivotal scene in mind. The things that distract from that have to be cut. Everything must justify its existence in service to the plot or characters. The focal point of a game, however, is the present. Scenes are at their best not when they are set up for a future payoff - with some exceptions, you gotta lay clues and build tension sometimes - but when they are serving their own immediate purpose. Get to the action! Hand-wave the interstitial stuff, blue through scenes that don't make sense so that you can reach a new peak.

Finally, it's worth noting that serving these two distinct goals requires different sorts of thought about the writer-director's choices. In fiction we need foundations. A choice, an event, a scene must be supported. If a gunfight breaks out we need to know why, and who's involved, where the guns game from, what will happen afterward. We have to be able to at least rationalize why these things are happening in retrospect. If things don't hold up to gentle scrutiny it feels sloppy and nonsensical. Conversely, games are permitted a great deal more flexibility. Things can happen with minimal explication, understanding that scrutiny will be rewarded with further information. The question 'why?' is met with answers rather than absence. Because games are interactive there's always more space to expand, more answers to deliver, and so spending the time on those foundations is unnecessary until players take an interest. The GM can build the tracks as the train travels. Finished fiction, lacking that interactivity, must anticipate the readers' questions and provide answers while keeping things moving.

All of this seems obvious: games are interactive, books are not. Nevertheless, it's worth remembering for those conclusions above. When writing an adventure, leave space. Explain things only one layer deep, maybe two. Focus on the questions that might come up, but leave room for the table to answer them in play.

Games like Blades in the Dark (and, to an extent, Apocalypse World and its descendents) do this collaboratively, making these lessons core to the experience. Where questions come up the GM draws back the curtain, demystifying their role and asking "so what do we see in this room?" Whether or not it's this blunt, the GM's best invitation at the table is basically the same, "so what happens next?"