
Being a role-playing-game dungeon master, you have to be familiar with how to absorb and implement the many, many game-playing books that are published to help you keep the adventure humming along towards epic goals. I have to admit to being a book addict. That is true for all books, but particularly game books. I collect them obsessively. I still troll Half Price Books looking for old and out-of-print D&D books and other game books.
Every role-playing game has certain necessary basic books. There is a book full of advice for the game master. It will tell you how to run an adventure and how to plan or map-out your events. There is a guide book for players that advises them on how to create a character, develop that character over time, and how to use the rules to create success. There is also usually some kind of enemies compendium, a monster book, filled with the characters you will have to defeat, slay, or outwit during the course of the adventure. Then there are game supplements that provide detailed settings, often complete with maps. They can give you non-player characters, adventure seeds, extra statistics, and sometimes additional useful tables. Equipment books are a thing as well.
I have a huge collection of Dungeons & Dragons books going back to TSR and continuing through their current publisher, Wizards of the Coast. I have practically every Call of Cthulhu book, a game system to turn H.P. Lovecraft’s horror fiction into RPG adventures. I have almost all of the Talislanta books, a D&D-like game with no elves, dwarves, or humans in their game. I have practically everything put out by Game Designers’ Workshop for Traveller. I have a few books from the Rifts RPG, a time-and-dimension bending science fiction game. I have practically all of the Star Wars RPG books. I have a lot of Star Trek books. I have some G.U.R.P.S. books (Generic Universal Role Playing System), some d20 RPG books, and many other odd books, including a boxed set of Rocky and Bullwinkle’s RPG, complete with hand puppets.
So, please don’t file paperwork on me with the authorities who put insane people in white jackets with extra long sleeves. I am a collector who suffers from hoarding disorder. And I love books. I just can’t help it.



























Writing the Critical Scene
It is a novel I started writing in 1998 with an idea I first got in 1976. So I have been working on this book for either 20 years, or 32 years, depending on when you want to credit the actual work to have started.
It got it’s theme from the fact that I was sexually assaulted when I was ten in 1966, and the feeling the repressed memory of the trauma caused in me whenever I asked myself the question, “Am I a monster?”
Unfortunately the answer to that question, for practically everybody, is, “Sometimes yes.”
Psychological damage sticks with you for the rest of your life. It makes you flinch at things that other people don’t. More than once I must have confused both my mother and old girlfriends when I was compelled to wriggle out of hugs and physical contacts by panic. I felt unlovable. I felt like a monster. And for a lot of that time, I didn’t know why. But it is a novel critical for me to write. Pain needs to become art in order to completely go away. I need to imprison the feelings and ideas in a book.
I am now at the point in that novel where I must write the scenes at the crisis point, the high point of the action, and I have to control the flinching. I have to control the reactions I could so easily fall into. It is critical that I get the scene right. The success or failure of the whole novel is at stake.
I have played it over and over in the cinema in my head a thousand times… several thousand times. It is difficult. But it is there. Soon I will have it down, crystallized in words. It make take considerable time to publish it, though, because editing it will be at least as hard as writing it. And I seriously have to get it right.
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Filed under commentary, Depression, feeling sorry for myself, horror writing, monsters, novel, NOVEL WRITING, Paffooney
Tagged as The Baby Werewolf