Bagpipes in the sky

First, an update: the first draft of the new book is at 115000 words and counting. I already know some bits that won’t make it through the first edit, but that’s okay. The job of the first draft is not to be good, but to exist; I can make it good later.

I would be further along in the draft but I do have moments, from time to time, when I’m stuck staring at the outline, reading “x happens next” and realising I have no idea how the hell x is going to happen next.

These moments of uncertainty are curable. All it takes is a few minutes/hours/days of staring at the ceiling. This is a vital part of the writing process, and if you see a writer doing this, you should give them snacks. It just takes time for the imagination to finally happily offer up the solution I’ve been looking for.

One of the best things for the imagination, I think, is gaming. Computer games, board games, tabletop games, anything where you and some like-minded people can imagine a shared narrative of some sort.

For instance, I play D&D with the same group of lunatics gentlemen I’ve been playing with for 30 years. Or maybe closer to 40. Good lord, have I known them that long? What’s wrong with me? How wonderful. Anyway, we know each other well enough that we can drop pretense and common sense and just run with whatever mad idea comes along. I’m usually the DM/storyteller/referee/victim, and it’s a joy to let it happen, this free-flowing collaborative improv adventure. I’ve sometimes thought it would make a fun podcast, but then I remember what sort of people we are, and realise this is exactly how you get on a list. You know, a List. With the Authorities.

Through the screwed-up magic of AI-generated transcripts, here are some things people said during our last game. For context (for all the good that will do) they were at the top of a towering spire, rescuing a knight by interrupting a cult ritual, and the Baddies(TM) were coming up the stairs to beat them up.

I’m not sure what we’re talking about anymore, and that’s fine.

[The knight] was up on the roof taking part in maybe a tiny little drug-fueled ritual.

Are you stabbing Melody or are you stabbing Hilly?

I have no idea; I’ll stab, though.

You’re in a spiral staircase inside a stone tower, and you’re taking a swing with a halberd? It’s like, what, eight feet long for Christ’s sake.

The new Ronco pocket halberd! You can take it fishing! You can take it to the cottage!

This is a weapon safety problem, clearly.

[Your die roll is] …going to be with disadvantage because there is, at the moment, considerable evidence that, in fact, treachery is underway.

[praying] Oh, whoever I worship, stand by to help me bullshit people.

You have a stoned, nearly naked knight in your arms, as one does.

It’s a good job that we had such a great plan that nothing could go wrong.

Well, I almost feel like pulling out the bagpipes and starting to play.

[soon thereafter] …from across the valley, you can hear the first few bars of ‘Highland Lassie’ for no apparent reason.

So I have to admit, jumping off the tower while playing the bagpipes… I have spotted an opportunity for failure.

Yeah, no, this is all perfectly normal.

Beautiful, happy evening… [with] the wind rushing past you, the wall of the spire rushing past you, down below the rocks getting closer and closer. Oh, … and the majestic squeal of the lament on the bagpipes.

Could I have a perception check for everyone, please? Because reasons.

Sure.

[rolls dice] That sucks.

I’m too busy playing the bagpipes. I got no fucking idea what’s going on.

Well, this pile of bones at the bottom [of the tower] … is starting to change my opinion on things.

The drawbridge was up, in the closed or ‘fuck off’ position.

[a party member has a familiar: an owl created by a failed necromantic spell]

It’s like someone dropped him, and he just sort of lands like a pile of rags on your shoulder and splatters necromatic goo down your clothes. And then … the ball of rags just slowly, and you can tell it’s like with great suffering and effort, reconstitutes itself into more or less an owl shape, and looks at you and dribbles necromantic fluid from its mouth and eyes.

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

I’m still trying to figure out whether [the DM] saw this coming.

[me, the DM] No. No, I did not. My two leading possibilities were: either you’re going to start World War III in a stairwell…

It’s doable.

[me] The other possibility is that someone would weave a tale of bullshit of such magnificence that … they would escort you from the tower like heroes.

They wound up doing neither of those things, but inventing a third, even weirder, tale of nonsense and bad choices. I can’t wait to find out what happens next!