you know what kicks ass?
creating. sending something out into the world straight from your heart and having people engage with it, respond to it, feel it the same way you do—or some other, new, glistening way that you didn’t even envision yourself. creating things, telling stories, establishes the texture of our lives. it shows us, and the people who listen to us, things we haven’t experienced, or will never experience, or that no one in history has ever experienced.
the most exciting stories are about things that don’t exist.
yes, things that exist are real, you can go and touch them, but who cares about that? things that don’t exist might be real one day too, and until then, they can inspire us. stories about real things can only re-examine the human condition, pore over what we already are until we’ve looked at that present and past from every angle. stories about unreal things offer new dimensions to the human condition that we would never otherwise have a chance to explore. they expand the world we live in. they show us other worlds. they don’t preach re-examination of what’s in front of us; they challenge us to imagine new ways to live, new viewpoints on the world, and in so doing they teach us how to think in ways we never otherwise would have.
realistic stories ruminate. rumination is okay. in moderation. implausible stories, or ones that are plausible but haven’t happened yet, create. they add to the human experience and human condition. they add the impossible, and they make it feel real, real enough to change us.
science fiction is a way to telepathically beam dreams into other people’s minds. it isn’t dry and commanding and smug like a manifesto. it’s an invitation to share in a dazzling, terrifying, heart-expanding thought, the kind that change people’s lives. my life’s been changed by thoughts like that. i bet yours has too. they’re the most important ones we can have.
tabletop roleplaying is an engine for sharing false realities. it’s more than a social gathering with nerd cred, more than a bunch of math you do to see how good you are at killing goblins. it’s an invitation to a whole group of people to become invested in an unreal world, one that all of you have authorial power over, to imagine a life radically unlike your own and make its choices for yourself. writing lets you tell stories. roleplaying lets you become a story.
so the question isn’t why i’m here, why i spend every waking moment thinking about these things, trying to master them. the question is how could i not?
and you’re here because you love invented things and imaginary worlds too. don’t try to deny it—if you didn’t, you would’ve clicked off the page before i finished my motive rant! and so you’re in luck. that stuff? that’s all i talk about. and this is where i talk about it. you’re an audience, an enthused audience no less, and so i love you on principle. welcome. i mean it.
you might be thinking, ash, your title is false advertising. i know nothing about your history, only what you presently care about. this doesn’t explain why we’re here at all.
the past is the prison from which the future must escape.
want to hear about roleplaying games?
want to read some sci-fi?
want to stage a prison break?
red-headed android 