Well this is interesting. I’ve lost my ability to write.
I used to write more or less a couple of years ago. Whenever inspiration struck, I wrote a small story, or began to write a longer one. The ones that I finished were quite funny, at least to me and few of the people I showed them to thought so. But lately, when I’ve tried to write something, I just manage a few sentences. And I think I know why.
I’ve switched media from writing to roleplaying.
After I played Deus Ex Human Revolution, I wanted to make a conspiracy story in a Star Wars setting. I made it into a roleplaying scenario and played it last summer. Then I happened upon X-Wing’s soundtrack and wanted to make story about life in a Rebel starfighter group. I made it into a roleplaying scenario and am playing it semi-steadily. I had an inspiration about a tale of a dragon seeking to either transcend or accept her nature as a magnificent bastard. I played it in a short game of Shock. After playing Spec Ops: The Line, I wanted to make my own version of a descent-into-madness-scenario, and now I have been trying to find players for a one-shot.
Writing feels a bit clinical, and not nearly as organic as a good roleplaying session. Players refine the story, filling it with details I wouldn’t have patience for. I still enjoy a good written story (though I haven’t read anything for ages), I enjoy a game even more. And I love the way the game master and the players can weave the story and the game toghether into an experience.
The only thing that annoys me is the fact that games are temporary. While a book (or rather, a text file) can last for ages, a game exists only once, for only a few choice individuals, and then dissolves into memories. My contributions to this world are insignificant at best when looked at either temporal or spatial scale, and that makes me feel insignificant. But then again, does that matter? In the grandest scale, does anything truly matter?
Well, that went depressing depressingly fast. I’ll get back to work.