Many years ago, a session I was running ended in a heated argument.  My friend shouted at me, “If you want to tell us a story, write it down!  We’ll read it!” before flipping the table and storming out.

It was harsh.  It hurt.  Given his delivery, it would have been easy to blame my friend in

stead of sitting in the truth of his words.  Easy, but wrong.

You see, there is one glaring, enormous mistake you can make as Game Master.  I believe it is the most egregious sin of those in our calling.  Nothing will destroy player morale faster, and it’s remarkably easy to do.  I’ve done it dozens of times.  Heck, even knowing what I know now, and actively planning against it, I’ll probably do it again.  

Don’t.

It’ll kill your campaign.

I’m talking about railroading.

Railroading

Railroading, to the layman, is when you run a session or a campaign with a pre-ordained destination in mind and then pigeonhole the party into it.  The players are there, rolling dice, fighting monsters, gathering treasure, making and executing plans but it’s all running along the tracks to the next station.  It doesn’t really matter what the heroes do, because you already know the ending.

Imagine, the villain’s masterfully laid trap snaps shut!  There is no escape!  Suddenly the wizard pulls out their immovable rod.  They wedge it into the closing door and activate it, holding it open.  This is your moment of truth.  What do you do?

If your answer is “break the immovable rod, chop off the wizard’s hand in the process, and keep going with your brilliant plans,” then you, like me, are an idiot.  I did that.  I’m aware.  It’s not my proudest moment.

When the party gets the train to jump the tracks we have to be ready for it.  And I’m not talking about the bard getting drunk and burning down the tavern (although, who are we to judge… that could get interesting).  Your players are going to smash your best laid plans, and take your train offroading.  We can’t just let them do this; we have to encourage it.

Your Players’ Stories are More Important than Yours

This is the very crux of the issue, and while it is a harsh reality the best GMs use it to their advantage.  As Game Master it isn’t your job to tell the story.  That’s your player’s job.  Your job is to create the world, populate it, and invent conflict.  If you’re also the one resolving that conflict, then my friends’ advice of “go write a book” might apply to you too.

It’s your party’s characters who matter.  Your friends are gathered around the table (or the voice chat server) to experience their character’s story, and that character is the only leverage they have to interact with the badass world you’ve created.  If you take away that leverage, they’re essentially trapped, listening to you improv your way through your next great novel idea.  It could be an absolutely brilliant plot, but your players will still feel let down if you cut them out of it.  This story is supposed to be about them, after all.

Katniss Everdeen is always stepping in it in the Hunger Games.  Ned Stark gets dragged into the Game of Thrones.  Frodo doesn’t sit on the sidelines twiddling his thumbs.  Your players want to be the main characters of your campaign, not witnesses to it.  Center them.

Killing your Darlings

Those of you with a background in writing will be familiar with this concept.  The edgier version, “killing your babies” is attributed to Ernest Hemmingway, and it’s damn good advice.  It essentially means that you’re too close to the thing.  The reason you’re keeping your favorite element/character in your story is because it’s your favorite, not necessarily because it’s good.  It holds emotional value to you personally, and probably not to the story itself.

So how does that apply here?  You’re going to create a villain that you love, if you haven’t already.  They’re diabolical, and their motivation is perfect.  They’re a masterpiece, and the party loves to hate them.  You’ve got it all planned out, over the next ten sessions, and then WHAM!  Quick thinking on the ranger’s part, a grapple check from the barbarian, with a few lucky rolls of the dice, and your masterpiece’s head is rolling around on the floor like your favorite d20.

The impulse here is to save your villain.  You are the GM after all, it’s within your power.  Why not?  What’s the harm?  “The blow isn’t enough to slay him,” you shout, teleporting him to safety.  Sure, you’ve just saved the next few sessions, but at what cost?  The party just pulled off something amazing.  If this story’s any good, it has to reflect that.  Give them the win.  Rewrite your next sessions.

So how do we avoid it, or worst case, fix it once we’ve messed it up?

Own your mistakes.

See, the failing springs from the fact that we care passionately about the campaigns we run.  We need them to be fun, fresh, and exciting.  We put a huge amount of time, and care, along with our hearts and souls into the worlds, the villains, and the conflicts we create.  We try so hard to make our campaigns a great experience that we forget we’re not the only person involved.

If and when you mess this up, admit to it.  Go find the player who’s upset that you wrote them out of the story and come clean.  Tell them you understand where they’re coming from, and that you’ll do better next time.  Walk through some options moving forward, up to and including ret-conning your ill advised attempt to maintain control of the narrative.

Remember that there are four (sometimes fewer, but usually more) other people involved in this story.  The party has just as much at stake, if not more than you do.  You owe it to them to let them thrive at the expense of your plans.  That or get devoured by flesh-eating zombies at the expense of your plans.  Take your pick.