The Hardest Part of Being a Game Master

(Or: How I Learned to Stop Worry and Love The Experience)

About two weeks ago the Pathfinder 2e campaign I was running had its first session. It was a continuation of a D&D campaign I had put on ice a couple of years back due to some personal issues, but I managed to put the work in to get it rolling again after the itch to run a game returned with a vengeance (alongside some gentle prodding from my players).

I had spent more time than I would like to admit prepping for it, and while I still felt it was more incomplete than I would’ve liked, it was in a state where, once we could properly schedule a session, we could begin.

But let’s jump back a little bit.

The first time I participated in anything related to the hobby was back in high school when a few of my friends had a game they would play afterschool in the open cafeteria area. Not knowing a damn thing about how it worked aside from the barest of ideas touched upon in cartoon parodies like Dexter’s Laboratory and the like (or that rather strange episode of Lizzie MacQuire where they equated to a cult, if I may open some memory vaults for a few people), I walked up out of the blue and asked if I could jump in. They humored me and said yes.

They handed me a character sheet — one I assume was from a different game — and let me futz about for about a half-an-hour before I had to go, but in that time I had managed to roll a 19 on a kick to the balls, climbed a mysterious rope I should not have, and got into a small argument with one of the NPCs. I am sure to some degree there were just trying to bear with my presence interrupting their game they were who-knows-how-many sessions into, but I honestly thought it was a blast even if I had no clue what I was doing.

I walked away wanting to do it again.

The hobby was always in my periphery in one way or another; hanging around in those nerdy circles always kind of assured me of that, but it wouldn’t be until years later that I would get a chance to actively take part. I had made attempts before then, but it never came to fruition, so I set the idea aside and moved onto other things.

I can’t remember if I got pulled into a D&D campaign as a replacement player first, or if my brother had started our Atomic Highway campaign before then, but at that point I was in my mid-twenties and kind of just catching up on what I felt was lost time. Hell, if I ended up working during our Sunday game, I would bring a laptop and a bluetooth earbud just to make sure I wouldn’t miss it, and it was some of the most fun I’ve ever had.

Most of what I played, like most people making their way into the hobby, was D&D 5e. Over a period of time I got incredibly familiar with the rules, was even making a lot of homebrew items, subclasses, etc. for my own amusement. So, at one point, I got it into my head that I wanted to start my own homebrew campaign. Some friends got onboard, two of which had never even played a TTRPG before, and we got underway

The prep took me, again, longer than I would like to admit, but at least with the excuse that I had never really done this before. I looked up how to design things like battlemaps and Dungeons, all the things that I felt were essential for a campaign. We had cities, gods, villains, etc. and four eager players. I figured I was set.

Folks. I was not set.

It wasn’t a bad experience; in fact I would like to think my players had a solid time for the most part, but it ended up being more me panicking than anything else, especially towards the end. They blew through certain things faster than I expected, did things I had not accounted for, etc; all those things that can make a DM sweat.

Slowly whatever length of rope I had given myself had slowly reached its end, and with my life kind of where it was at the time — in a spot where I had less time and will to do the work to properly prep continuous sessions — it became nothing more than me grasping at straws for several hours at a time.

To put it simply, I came in with an expectation of how things would go, they didn’t go that way, and I was woefully underprepared to improvise. It burnt me out way quicker than it should have and from that and other contributing factors, I had to put things on hold.

And they remained on hold for a long time.

-_-_-

Something that I constantly think about is how the TTRPG hobby has this strange absurd vision of how to “fun” right. Like, plenty of nerdy hobbies have videos that help you learn things, give you good entry points, and make easing into it a lot more palatable, and thank god for that. However, at least in my experience, I have a hard time thinking of one that has nearly as much advice pouring fourth from it as TTRPGs does. Even beyond advice for builds or what games to play, the absolute mountain of advice for GMs alone could probably fill a library. Storytelling, pacing, game theory, prepping, design, etc. etc. etc. its an endless well.

In order to play this game, in order to run this game, in order to feel ADEQUATE enough at this game to feel as if you are getting a decent amount from it, the depths you have to dive is almost hilarious. We buy these books filled with all this math and all these rules and the sheer level of excitement we get from it is already beyond belief, and then we need to watch all these videos to feel as if we are doing these tomes justice once a week for 3–4 hours over the course of years.

Now to be fair, people don’t need to watch those videos or read those articles in order to play the game, and I am positive plenty of done-so and had a grand ole’ time. Its, honestly, ridiculous that we get it in our heads that we ever have to, but also at the same time…

I get it.

When I get together with my friends to play this game, I want to give them the best experience I can. I could easily just fuck around and have just as good of a time, but there is a part of me that loves to understand whatever medium I am playing with. I like to know how it all works and why it effects people the way it does. Plus, I’ve had some great game masters who have managed to really pull me into the world and make me feel like I was a part of this huge story. I want to be able to do that for my players, and due to a bit of a competitive streak in me, maybe even try to do more, be better. Part of me wants to try and master this medium; be in its top 10% if possible.

So yeah, I looked up all the videos I could on how to do things better. Diagnosing why my previous attempt fell flat, how I could avoid doing it again. I felt I understood what my job at the table was way better than I did before, and going into it again, I felt far more confident about my abilities as a GM.

-_-_-

So, now, the game is back on track. This time around we jumped from four to six players, some replacing others who unfortunately could not return. It was an intimidating number, but fuck it, the more the merrier. They were excited and eager to play, having just got done with a Troika campaign run by my brother (who was now switching back into player position) and I was excited to bring something crunchier to the table.

The decision to switch to PF2e came around the time WotC was getting deep into its game of stepping on rakes. I had been eyeing the system for a little while, honestly, and even though I wasn’t as familiar with it was I was with D&D 5e, it had me way more excited, so it felt like a rather small hurdle to jump in order to play something I felt had what I really wanted in a game.

I also made sure communication between my players and I was as open and clear as possible; expectations, character motivations, etc., as well as making sure people were as familiar as they could be with the system before we got underway to try and minimize frustrations they would have with it while playing (though, of course, frustration is unavoidable at times, even with systems you are familiar with). As the first session approached, I honestly felt that things were going to perfectly.

It didn’t.

I mean, it didn’t go wrong. It was a fun time, the session hit a lot of solid high points, and it sent the band of merry adventurers on their way with plenty more still left for the second session than I had anticipated.

But… Just a simple truth; No matter how much you prepare, there is no such thing as perfect. I still had blind spots in my prepping, areas where I stumbled on things that felt rudimentary, and when it happened, it was frustrating, like ‘how did I drop the ball on something so simple?’

I sat on it a bit as the next week past, looking over what I had planned and seeing what I could do. I adjusted things, I reworked some ideas to be more allowing and when it came time to play, it went just fine. I was more prepared to pivot, change course, and deal with unforeseeable circumstances.

That’s when it really hit. Its honestly such a stupidly simple lesson, and I know with almost every single hobby I have taken interest in I have learned it time and time again, but the truth is…

Sometimes you just have to suck for a while. You can have all the advice in the world, and it honestly might help and make things easier, but truth is some pieces will never really crystalize in your mind until you experience them and really understand them, forming a sort of muscle memory.

That, to me, is the hardest part of being a Game Master; accepting that some of that skill only comes with time.

We are in a landscape where there is so much media of this hobby to take in that it can set a pretty unrealistic expectation for others and ourselves. Even beyond the so-called “Mercer Effect”, the presentation of the hobby has become incredibly slick, presented by people with years of experience in this field, and many others we may not be privvy to. We don’t see the time they spent honing their craft and, much like a lot of the internet, we get this impression that they are naturally that talented. They make it look so easy, and it feels like ‘oh, this is how I should be doing it’, which… honestly sucks.

I mean, I DO eventually want to get good at this, and part of that will require I scrutinize how I do things, how I prep, and how I execute a lot of my plans, but it will also take time, patience, and a gradual incline of expectations instead of this shelf where its immediately to high for me to reach and I end up spending more time lamenting than improving. So, give yourself permission to suck. Even if just for a little bit.

…

Oh wait, no; scheduling is the hardest part of being a Game Master. Fuck!