There was a discussion on the Mastering Dungeons Discord overnight about TTRPG editors and the different types that are involved in the production of big budget books. I have some pretty hot thoughts on the topic, so I figured I’d jot some of them down before getting to work on my own writing.

The Void. “Some sort of pressure must exist; the artist exists because the world is not perfect. Art would be useless if the world were perfect, as man wouldn’t look for harmony but would simply live in it. Art is born out of an ill-designed world.” ― Andrei Tarkovsky

I’m not familiar with his work, but somewhere along the line I came across that quote from the Russian filmmaker, or more likely it came across me, and it stuck, even though I don’t completely agree. I think it tells half the story. It describes the fundamental act of creation. There is a void, and it insists on being filled by those who are aware of it.

Yochai Gal said something similar on Between Two Cairns, that he writes adventures because he sees a void, and when the void is filled, he will stop. I’ve wondered recently if we’re approaching that point, as The Best list grows ever longer over on Ten Foot Pole. At some point we will have more top-shelf RPG adventures than a person can play in their lifetime. What do we do then?

How Much Art. But I said Tarkovsky’s quote only tells half the story, and that’s because of my own personal definition of art. I find it useful to think of art as any attempt to bridge the uncrossable chasm between human consciousnesses. We live in our own heads, we experience the world through our senses and from the perspectives that we’ve developed over out lifetimes, and we can never perfectly communicate to another person what we truly think or feel, or why. But we can try with art. So I propose that we make things both because we see a void to be filled, and because we desire to be understood.

What Does This Have to Do With Dungeon Editors? A large part of the aforementioned discussion of editors was of their value to creators, and I don’t mean to deny that. I’ve been fortunate to hand most of my work off to someone else who then ironed out the creases and made it acceptable for public consumption. But my goal is always to give them as close to a perfectly finished manuscript as possible. And that’s because my creative process relies heavily on criticism.

When I read adventures, it’s always with a critical eye. I’m incessantly asking, “could I use this? Would I want to? Why, or why not?” I analyze the failings of the material as well as the strengths of the structure that the creative dressing is laid upon. This sort of criticism can yield insights into what works, and what doesn’t. Once that insight is attained, it’s a fairly simple thing to take that structure and apply your own creative efforts to it.

And that’s what I think sometimes happens when people make amateurish work that has no apparent understanding of structure or presentation or what a game master benefits from at the table. It’s not that they needed a developmental editor, or to understand that, “you deal damage, but you suffer a condition” (or at least you used to, 2024 did strange things to 5e’s syntax). They need to develop their own critical sense of what works and of what is useful. You don’t need an editor for that. You need to read while thinking about what you’re reading.

But sure, an editor can help down the line, that’s not my point. Develop your own critical faculties first. Make things with purpose.

Draw Steel! I’m doing some writing for the game Draw Steel right now, and I’ve had to get up to speed on the game quite rapidly. Part of that is understanding how the game is played, but the other part is getting a handle on what needs to be conveyed to the director so that they can run an enjoyable game for everyone at the table. There are some fascinating critiques on Reddit from people who go into depth about what their experiences were like playing the game. They give so much insight into what works and is fun and what the pain points are. I’m very appreciative of everyone who’s taken the time to write one of these reports up.

“Don’t Think About It, Do It, Do It.” I had the Rollins Band version of the Pink Fairies song “Do It” in my head all night, which does not make for restful sleep, believe it or not. But it will get you out of bed in the morning ready to go.

I saw another discussion on Reddit this week that opened with, “why don’t modern metal bands record without click tracks like bands in the ‘80s?” And the common response was, “they would have to be impossibly good musicians to do that,” which is both absurd on its face and in my own experience. I’ve played on a pile of records and we never used click tracks. We weren’t great musicians. But instead of practicing scales to a metronome, we focused on the fundamentals of that artistic communication I eluded to earlier. We could play with each other, and it was all in the service of expressing the energy we felt and conveying it to the listener. While other people were practicing and waiting to be told that now they could be in a band and write, record, and tour, we just got out there and did it. And some of it was good and some wasn’t, but it was always an experiment, a continuing attempt to fill the void and let others know what we thought and felt.

So don’t wait until you can afford five types of editors or someone offers to publish your work. Just read critically and do it.