To Play Is To Explode

On the Beauty of RPGs

To do real damage with an explosion, direct the blast. 

Or so I’ve been told. My father was reading The Anarchist’s Cookbook at one time, and that’s the kind of wisdom that a father passes on to his son. If true — and it sounds reasonable — it means that as impressive and dangerous as an uncontrolled explosion can be, the effect is diffused. Sound and fury, all that.

Which is why I say, to play is to explode. And a game is an explosive. We play all of the time. It is a natural reaction to the world around us, a proliferation of possibilities in an attempt to understand and interact. A game directs that play. It shapes the blast. And we can pack a game with metal salts so that it produces colors when it heats up, a lift charge, a timed fuse. Some games are fireworks. 

A pet peeve of mine is when people say that what makes RPGs beautiful — the beauty of RPGs — is that they are open-ended. Play is open-ended. It’s explosive by default. It is not until it is controlled, restricted, directed that it is effective.

The beauty of RPGs is the beauty of a firework — the attempt to impose shape and color and distance and timing on something powerful and chaotic and volatile. The beauty is not in its explosive nature. Otherwise, we wouldn’t want more than one type of firework. It’s in the explosive's design and how it explodes. 

To belabor the metaphor a little further (and to be a little playful): Not all fireworks need to be those ground-shakers that terrify our dogs and keep us up at night. I really don't care for them — the fireworks, I mean. They can be highly controlled, safe, and contained yet beautiful. Give me a close-ended RPG, a self-contained, well-defined experience. I’ll gladly light the match.

To play is to explode. Games are explosives.

They can dazzle. They can do damage.

Also, hey. I have a Kickstarter in prelaunch called Violent Delights. The image (below) is linked to it, and you can follow the campaign.