"It comes from the Greek word for giant"

One of my favorite remembrances of Gary Gygax is this one at The Onion's pop culture site, the AV Club. Like the author I was one of the lonely thousands of kids for whom D&D was a mostly solitary escape. He captures the mix of gladness and melancholy I feel remembering the many hours I spent reading and re-reading the DMG and running Keep on the Borderlands as a solo adventure.

I was surprised at how much Gary's death affected me. I'd collected some 3rd Edition books, but I hadn't actually played D&D or any other role-playing game more than once in eighteen years. And while I had come to see how warm and generous Gary could be with his fans and admirers, I never met him, nor even interacted with him in one of the various online forums he visited. But the news stung. And more than that, it was a memento mori: the mysterious and distant oracle of my youth, the sage and scholar whose work I annotated, was simply a man, and was gone.

That's when I resolved to turn my lifelong, if intermittent, love for D&D and other games into something more than a solitary pursuit -- a few weeks later I started this blog, a month later I played in a pick-up game. Now I'm playing once or twice a week and hoping to run a Basic/Labyrinth Lord game at the local D&D meet-up. I have Gary to thank for that.

My Life as an Axe and Other Tales from the Sixth Grade

Noisms of Monsters & Manuals and SirLarkins of RPG Corner have both posted today about the dearth of truly excellent RPG fiction. I have nothing to add to that conversation -- aside from one Dragonlance book and the odd short story in Dragon I haven't read any fiction with direct RPG connections (though once or twice in my feverish youth I wrote my own game inspired short stories).

However, on the subject of the campaign background stories he wrote as a teenager, Noisms commented, "Most of them involved lots of severed limbs, blood...if I remember correctly." That sounds awful familiar. Only my stories weren't written for gaming purposes. No, they were for the creative writing unit in my 6th grade class at St. Joseph Elementary. I'm proud to say that with the stirring tale "My Life as an Axe" I single-handedly kick-started a fad among my classmates for violent splatter-gore. For a few weeks a classroom full of Catholic kids in tasteful uniforms was churning out head-chopping, vein-ripping, blood-spraying mayhem like we were auditioning for Fangoria. That we got to read our two page murderfests aloud in formal presentations only spurred us on.

To her credit our teacher handled it with utter composure. Never once was she ruffled, not even when the chirpy Summer (or was it her twin sister Daydream?) read aloud a tale that featured an unlucky time traveler getting bitten in half by a tyrannosaurus (I was extremely annoyed that the T. rex picked up its meal with its forearms before chomping it. I'm certain you will sympathize.). No, the late Mrs. Matasky tolerated our grade school Grand Guignol with mild amusement and a deflating unflappability. If she was shocked or disgusted by us she was far too stern and savvy to let on, and put the whole craze to a stop one afternoon by calmly instructing us to find a different subject. We did; we knew better than to test her patience.

In memoriam: Elmo

[My gaming readers can feel free to skip this if they like. It's an elegy I wrote for the coolest cat I've known, who died a year ago today, and I post it mainly for my wife and friends who read this page.]


Sir Walter Scott wrote, of dogs, "I have sometimes thought of the final cause of [their] having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race; for if we suffer so much [the loss] after an acquaintance of ten or twelve years, what would it be if they were to live double that time?"

Maybe so. But at the moment, fuck that guy. Elmo died almost a week ago at the age of only eight and it is stony comfort indeed to imagine a grief more sharp or a loss more aching if we had but had more time together.

He was a cat of outsized emotions: both fiery and 'fraidy, smart yet screwball, "one half boneless cuddler and one half manic nutcase," as I wrote a few weeks after he came to live with us. He raised so much hell the first month or two we had him we thought he was defective. He had a bit of a mean streak, it's true, yet in the end I have known no cat more loving or more eager for human companionship. He wasn't much one for being picked up and petted, but he was quick to find my lap when I settled down to read, or to scooch next to Anne when she knitted on weekend mornings. Hardly a night has passed in years that he did not sleep at my feet.

He ate, played, begged, bit, stretched and slept with gusto, damn, you bet. I sometimes feared he'd burn out quickly, so fiercely did he live. To our heartbreak this has proven true. Healthy and strong till almost the last, Elmo died on July 17th of acute renal failure. We gave him every chance we could, but an intense course of IV therapy could not flush his busted kidney, and on his second day in the hospital, after he gained two pounds of fluid in 12 hours, we said goodbye. He died without dignity, great patches of fur shaved, eyes red-rimmed and leaking, swollen like a balloon, till the vet came and let the life out of him. No dignity, but there is no small grace in the end of his suffering, no matter how much or how long ours might linger.

When we stepped into his enclosure at Wisconsin Humane six years ago it was to look at another cat, but Elmo chose us. He crawled into my lap and, not gently, mashed my chin with his forehead and cheek and it was clear that there would be no other cat for us. This is no less true now that he is gone: he will always be my cat, the cat, to whom all others will be compared.

Road Runners, Swamp LARPing & Hannah Barbarians: Influences

James Raggi, he of the lamentably long blog title, has challenged his readers to list their gaming influences. I'm late to the podium and all the good answers are already taken, so here are some of my own haphazard influences.

As with many others Howard, Lewis, Lovecraft and Vance are definitely influences, especially the latter two. I cut my teeth on Conan and the Pevensies, and reread The Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath, The Dying Earth and the Cugel tales every couple years. I could also write about latter-day Lovecraftian Thomas Ligotti, or Julian May's Saga of Pliocene Exile, or Bradbury's October Country, or Zelazny's Chronicles of Amber. Perhaps I should say a word or two about Gygax's Dungeonland modules, EX1 and EX2, two of my long-time favorites.

But in truth many of my influences are quite a bit less high-falutin'. I've described my ideal D&D setting as a hybrid of Thundarr and Barbarella, and my current passion for Encounter Critical and Mutant Future brings that sort of pop culture bricolage surging to the fore. Rather than discuss five influences separately I'm just going to ramble about a bunch of things in the context of the TV and books I loved as a lad.

Swords & Saturdays / Hannah Barbarians
The earliest role-playing I can remember doing is racing around the house on Saturday mornings, hopped up on Cocoa Puffs, running at top speed from the back den to the living room at the front of the house only to stop on a dime, say "Beep beep!" and tear off again. Such is the foundation of my sophisticated gaming tastes.

Throughout my childhood I spent many a Saturday watching TV off and on all day long, and even now I'm inspired not just by the heroic adventure and strange monsters of the Herculoids, Jonny Quest, the Dungeons & Dragons cartoon and Thundarr, but also by the slapstick and surrealism of Pee Wee's Playhouse and Looney Toons. The day I figure out how to make the Freleng Door Gag work in a dungeon I'll be a very happy monkey.

If I could get away with it, many an afternoon would find me back in the den after lunch. The local stations had chopsocky movies, the Creature Feature on WXON-20 (which rocked the freak-out bit from Zepp's "Whole Lotta Love" during its bumper!) or the Chiller Thriller on WKBD-50. I soaked in everything from dubbed Shaw Brothers flicks to Hammer Films to Godzilla and a parade of other kaiju.

Dad's garage/The Salvation Army
Lest you think I spent all my free time sprawled in front of the idiot box or caroming off the walls, I should say that I've always been an avid reader as well*. Since so many of the pulp and fantasy legends who influence me have already been written about, let's talk about dime novels, trashy paperbacks, and hand-me-down books by hack writers.

I remember looking at the marvelous reading lists in Gygax's DMG and in Moldvay Basic, but I can't pretend they directed my reading much. In fact many of the books of my youth were fantasy, horror and sci-fi paperbacks I came by more or less randomly-- browsing yellowing books filed two deep on the shelves above my dad's tool cabinet in the garage, or the used books at the Salvation Army thrift shop or the paperback SF section at the library. I can't even tell you the authors or titles of most of these books. Probably just as well forgotten.

Nonetheless, for all the crummy cliched tales I read of lone American ninjas or post-apocalyptic soldiers, there were glints of gold among the dross. The swords and sorcery epic about a sea turtle cursed by an evil wizard into the body of a human warrior and questing to return to the ocean had a memorable high concept going for it if nothing else. Then there was the eerie yarn about a modern man who explores a series of tunnels connecting one tenement basement to another and ends up trapped in a cavernous svartalfheim beneath the earth. Or the one about a dystopian near future in which assassins compete in an annual international killing tournament that ends with a duel so absurd it's awesome: the last two standing square off in a frozen arena with battle axes and ice skates!**

Of special note is Steve Vance's (no relation to Jack) Planet of the Gawfs. I found this one at the SA thrift in a white label "generic" edition rather than the groovy cover shown here. The plot is as garish as the cover: a virus causes grotesque mutations in those it doesn't kill outright, and the surviving God AWful Freaks are exiled to a distant jungle planet, where Lord of the Flies shenanigans ensue. A few mutants manage to hijack a starship and return to earth to seek REVENGE! Was it a big steaming pile? Very possibly. But there's this: I haven't owned or read the book in 25 years and I can recall all of the above and a scene in which the starship's intercom is explained to a primitive mutant as "Magic talking box. Much ju ju." A work of art for the ages it ain't, but this kind of mutants and mayhem is just the gonzo ju ju I love in my games.


*And lest you think I never went outside at all, be it known that I spent many an afternoon slogging through the wooded marsh behind our house, wielding a stout hardwood cudgel, battling my way through rotten limbs and thickets in lieu of legions of orcs. Yes, I was a solo LARPer, this is my shocking true tale.

**If you can identify any of these books, please leave a comment!

SEE ALSO: The ORIGINAL Illustrated Catalog Of ACME Products

SEE ALSO: Monster Index at GiantMonsterMovies.com

MP3: Phillip Johnston's Big Trouble, Powerhouse (Out of Print - Used CD)
MP3: The Moog Cookbook, Whole Lotta Love (Compact Disc - Download)

Playing D&D with my Dad

My dad was always indulgent with my D&D hobby. He surprised me with the Player's Handbook one day after work, and later the Monster Manual too. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders at the art project I made of my monster books. And though I have no clear memories of it I am certain he listened dozingly to many a character background and adventure idea.

I always bugged him to play, but it never came together. Sure, he took me to face the harsh mercies of our D&D playing parish priest, but as I recall Dad deferred to me as I metagamed my way desperately through a few rooms of the pater's dungeon ("The old woman offers you bread and salt." "Don't take it! She's probably a night hag!"). As much as I pestered him, we only sat down to play once.

Looking back, I was outmatched from the start. I was a nine year old daydreamer. My dad was -- and is still -- smart, intuitive and pragmatic. At one point he found a map written in a substitution code which I had laboriously devised. He glanced at it and said, "Here be treasure?" One of the characters I had made for him was a wizard, a homebrewed class based on Ged from A Wizard of Earthsea. I had thought nothing of giving the wizard the power of telekinesis at first level. The first and only combat of our game ended abruptly: "Ok, I use telekinesis to spray the orcs with all of the arrows in the fighter's quiver." My father, powergamer.

We never played again, but I'm thankful for that hour or two, a summer evening many years past, sitting on the porch after dinner playing D&D with Dad. Happy Father's Day, Pops.

How I Played the Game, Then & Now

I've been thinking about James Raggi's post from the other day, asking the question "Is this how D&D is supposed to be played?" One thing I know for sure? I never played it the right way!

I was about 8 years old when I started hearing about this cool game from a kid at school. Dungeons and Dragons. He didn't play himself. He just liked bragging about his older brother's god-killing rampage through the heavens and the hells. Fascinated, I asked for the Moldvay Basic set for Christmas, and dove right into it. What I did wrong was treating the game like a very elaborate kind of solitaire. I never found anyone else to game with!

I'm exaggerating, a little. But my strongest memories of the game are lonely. The hobby shop in town was devoted to model kits and trains, and had only a small selection of D&D books, modules, and minis. I tried going to a few open sessions at the local rec center but was always one of the youngest kids. The hazing I suffered might have been more friendly than I realized, but the eye-rolling over my painstakingly colored-in Monster Manual withered me. When an older player demanded my character draw from a Deck of Many Things before joining up with his party I just about cried. Yeah, I guess I was a pretty wimpy kid. I couldn't even catch a break from my confessor: the D&D playing junior priest at St Joe's took one glance at my halfling archer in leather armor and pronounced him "monster fodder." Faith, Hope and Charity my ass, Father Geoff!

I did play with some kids closer to my age, but we couldn't meet very often, and never finished a module, let alone develop an ongoing campaign. This was true in high school as well. All of my close friends were gamers, but it was a large and scattershot group. Mostly we rolled up new characters, played the start of an adventure and then broke off to shoot the shit and watch videos, never to pick up that particular scenario again. There were some pretty good runs through Pitz Burke and Legion of Gold and Tsojcanth, but the tales were never told in full.

So, yeah, I played wrong. I played with markers and crayons. I played by poring over the AD&D manuals, drawing maps, rolling up characters and running them through the Caves of Chaos or random-chart dungeonhacks. I played by making an analog spreadsheet on graph paper of all of the gods in Deities & Demigods along with their alignments, divine portfolios, favored colors, and symbols. I filled in the blanks in the artifact section of the DMG, assigning all of the powers minor, major and primary, and all of the effects malevolent and benign.

I wasn't playing the "right way," no, but I loved it. Coming back to RPGs after many years, I still find a lot of joy in the solitary aspects of the hobby, character making, rules-tinkering, adventure writing. But I'm not the shrinking lilac I was back in the day, nor the distracted teenager, and I'm ready to play to the fullest. Starting off easy, catching pick-up games when I can, while actively seeking a group to meet with regularly. I have my favorite games, but I'm open-minded: I just want to get together with some folks and throw some dice! In the short term I'll just be a player. In the long run, when I get the confidence to run a game, my plan is more diabolical. Look out! Or, look me up.