In a Perfect World

In a perfect world, I never step on the back of your shoes. When it’s been a long day and you sigh with exasperation over one of my quirks, I catch your drift and apologize. I laugh when it’s appropriate, and I give silence when the situation requests it. I’m understanding, caring, and patient as you lay all your worries at my feet. I’m a man that’s perfectly satisfied with his calves, my shoulders, my arms, and my weight. I’m a woman, my hair is straight without a being straightened, it’s conditioned without showering that morning, and my face is always unblemished, regardless of what happened yesterday.

When you try and tell me something, I always understand, unless you don’t want me to, in which case I ask a caring, prompting question. I don’t do anything embarrassing, unless it’s on purpose, and when I do it, it can only improve other people’s opinion about me. I know when to make jokes and when to take jokes, and I’m always at a happy median for volume. I talk just enough, but if I’m on the quiet end, well, that’s of course just because I’m a reserved person; I’m confident enough in my own thoughts to not need the approval of you!

When danger arises, I have a heart of courage. I don’t hesitate to protect the weak, and I don’t boast in my own strength; I don’t have to. No obstacle stands too high for me, no enemy too strong for me, and any confrontation I avoid is simply because it’s ridiculous. Or perhaps it’s just a waste of my time, you know? If all current events were going through the Normandy’s computer, I would be the Commander Shepard of the world. I have no formal weapon training, but my natural talent renders me on par with an expert.

I never lose my wits in a fight, but I do level into an intense focus that I just can’t explain. I’m mortal, I’m human, I’m old, I’m young, I’m inexperienced, I’m not good with people, I’m a real lone wolf, I’m a man with plenty of things to hide—but nothing I do would ever suggest this. My actions and emotions are two separate entities; letting them mix is a dangerous recipe for failure. When I get tired, I don’t let it touch my body, and I certainly don’t make mistakes. I’m not lethargic, exhausted, lazy, or apathetic. Everything I do I do with passion.

Roleplay as a New Genre

So I typically reserve the first paragraph of my articles to talk about myself or the blog while introducing the new topic. I’ve felt for a while like black on black was kind of depressing for the blog, so now I’ve finally transferred it over to something a little brighter. Hopefully it represents the mood I have while writing this! Roleplay should be fun, exciting, and not dismal and tedious. But how? Sometimes it certainly doesn’t feel like it, as I’ve been so consistent on bringing up. Today I want to talk about an important element of this: roleplay should be new.

As I’ve pointed out in the past, roleplay offers a number of unique opportunities in and of itself; these things make roleplay a truly unique form of literary and narrative style. I’ve brought up in the past few articles that roleplay is unique because of its innate inclusion of other writers into what I would call a Shared Universe, where your literary additions to the story (hopefully) affect more characters than just your own.

I’ve talked too about how roleplay is unique because of where drama comes from—in the moment—a significant divide from the typical standard for fiction. Perhaps the closest comparison to another form of narrative is that done in theater or film, but ultimately the two are still different by a single notion: an entire roleplay thread or scene can be incredibly interesting and engaging while simultaneously having no climax. It’s not to say that climaxes have no place within roleplay, but in a sense this idea is immensely freeing for the roleplay style. Because drama (and the enjoyment from it) springs largely from in-the-moment actions, a climax is not required for a roleplay to be effective. For once, the writer actually has a choice.