You Don't Need Dice: Pt.2

(Read 'Part One' here.)

Eventually I plucked up the courage to join in. I used the best typewriting I had, which mainly consisted of the correct capitalisation and an occasional comma. I made KurtCocaine walk over to one of the tougher looking characters and stare him right in the eye. And it had to be STARE HIM RIGHT IN THE EYE because, like my name, it made me sound cool and rebellious.

This other person, typing somewhere else in the world, wrote a brilliant descriptive paragraph about meeting Kurt’s gaze, giving a wry smirk and then punching him square in the face.

I wish I’d saved that paragraph somewhere because the effect it had on me was profound. To my credit, I typed back a hastily worded response about being punched in the face and falling over. I had enough sense to not try and make out I was all-powerful and untouchable. But I sat there dwelling over that response. This person, who’d never met me before and had no reason to acknowledge my ignorant intrusion on his game, had taken the time to respond to me. And it wasn’t just a ‘go away’ response. It was six or seven lines of good writing, crafted just for me to react to. I eventually sent the person a private message, asking a bunch of questions about the chat room I’d found myself in and thanking them for punching me in the face. The person responded by introducing himself as Frank, laughing about my excitement at being chinned and spent about thirty minutes explaining the general rules of the room. He also directed me to a forum which had been set up to support the game, introducing me to dozens more players.

The best part about the game was that there were very few rules at all. You couldn’t affect people without their permission, you couldn’t take the piss and create a character who was essentially God, and you couldn’t rip people off and imitate them. There was a combat system in place which did have quite a few stringent rules for the turn-based nature of it, but that was all. Anything else went. If you wanted a fire-breathing Jedi who rode a vampiric badger around, you could have one. If you wanted an undead mail-room clerk who occasionally ate a baby, you could have one. My imagination was limited so I initially made a barbarian-type character with a big sword and an even bigger beard. I remember typing the words rippling muscles a lot. I ran up that £300 pound phone bill I mentioned, but nobody ever questioned what I was doing with it.

I played and wrote in this game for about seven years.

Now think about that for a minute. Seven years. I reckon I accessed the rooms for around twenty hours a week from the ages of fourteen to sixteen, at which point I was allowed to bring the computer into my own room. Then my weekly access increased to about fifty hours. And also consider that everything was based in text. Character description. Narration. Dialogue. World building. Structure. The rules, the backgrounds and the accompanying prose. Every single thing about the game was written down and created through a keyboard. The players behind the characters became friends. Close friends. Two of them met up in real life, got married and had kids. I still know a few of the people from those days now, and have met several of them in real life. That was just in England; in America, where the majority of the players lived, people would travel hundreds of miles to meet up for lunch or hang out at each other’s places. I imagine quite a lot of us ‘roleplayed’ with each other for real... We were all teenagers, after all. I had two social lives, and I considered them equally important for a time. Those I went to school, worked and partied with – and those I knew solely through their writing.

It’s important to make a distinction there – this wasn’t a place to ‘escape reality’ or anything like that. I wrote about characters I enjoyed writing about in stories which interested me, but when I spoke to the other players I was still me. I was still Ben (Referred to as English Ben, since there were quite a few Bens involved). I purposely made sure I was truthful about what I was like in real life, so I didn’t make up a fake persona or present myself differently. I simply had to rely on my writing, which improved dramatically over those years.

So when it comes to ‘Read a lot and write a lot’, I used to believe I hadn’t written or read enough to qualify as an author. It held me back in attempting to write Queen of the World. I’d always written, but mainly in short stories or poems and the like. I’d always read, but within the genres I liked. I read fantasy by Gemmel, Eddings and Pratchett. I enjoyed horror by King, Herbert and Barker. I read a bit more here and there, but never ‘broadened my horizons’. I never read Chaucer, Austin or Hemmingway.

But then I realised that I had written and read HUGE amounts of text during those seven years. Maybe none of them were published or critically famous, but they were my age and they were of my level of competence at least. Many were better, especially in the beginning until I found my own style. Between twenty and fifty hours a week of writing for seven years to create worlds and stories with people from all across the world? I couldn’t begin to imagine how many hundreds of thousands of words I put down. We created together, became better writers together and learned from each other’s strengths and faults. We saw what was good and slipped it into our own input. We saw what looked pretty terrible or what jarred us out of our little bubbles of immersion, and we cut it from our posts.

In a nutshell: I learnt to write through applying my imagination to the ideas of others. That sounds like some kind of tagline I want to try and put into quotes, but it is a good for any self-help enthusiasts who need something inspiring. I don’t reckon anyone will look to me to teach them how to write, and my work probably won’t win any awards for technical application of the English language. But I did learn to tell a story. The only difference is that with Queen of the World I told it by myself instead of with others to guide me, but without those brilliant writers who welcomed me into that online world of text – now sadly defunct, since Yahoo decided that everyone who uses internet chatrooms is either a child or a sexual predator and closed all user created content – then I don’t think it would have ever been written.

So to anyone who ever heard of Tenaria: Thanks.

And remember that reading and writing comes from a large number of different places. Don’t limit yourself, and don’t be afraid to try something new.