Today & Maslow’s Yardstick

Chances are you’ve seen this graphic before. I believe it’s a pretty clear picture of why poverty hurts the entirety of human civilization, stunting potential contributions to our advancement as a species.

But that’s beside the point for this post. For me, today, it’s a personal yardstick. And this post is a journaling. Because (a) there’s no way I can manage an actual journal on paper, I’m apparently incapable of such privacy, and (b) my blog and Facebook history have proved to be effective tools for long-term self evaluation.

If you want to come along for the ride, that’s cool, I can use the companionship. But if not, that’s cool too, you should probably get out of the car here.

So, Maslow’s Hierarchy, starting from the bottom:

  • My physiological needs are fine, always have been, one of the perks of having been born a Middle Class white guy in 21st Century USA. Same with safety needs; same reasons.
  • Belongingness and love needs, I’m happy to say, are better than I feel I deserve. I use the word “feel” intentionally, because I’m intellectually aware that relationships are give-and-take, and I “think” I’m doing okay with the give part. But emotionally I feel like a drain on those relationships.
  • Esteem needs and self-actualization have been in a decline for a couple of decades, with a pretty steep nosedive over the past dozen years.

Those last few years of employment in educational publishing were brutal, taking me from heading up creation of an e-publishing department to bottom of the editing totem pole. From glowing praise from upper management (I recently found an old annual review letter in my records), to suspecting the only reason I still had a job was unwillingness to fire a long-term employee. All I can say is that I didn’t change; something else did. Call me unadaptable; I don’t think a history of success from factory to medic to LPN to teaching to game design back to teaching would agree.

Having left gaming as an occupation, by family necessity, a few years before taking that job, was its own hammer blow, with one attempt after another to revive that career thwarted. Maybe some other time I’ll explore the topic more in-depth, but for now, I can only say that whatever the creative field, it seems apparent that people follow properties more than they do the creators, something I’ve heard often from even some very big names. It’s worse with work-for-hire.

Even retired and self-publishing, as much as I’ve accomplished, in retrospect I see the nosedive increasingly apparent. I used to power through deadlines; now the very thought of a deadline is crippling. I believed it was the result of a focal seizure disorder; now I’m starting to think the disorder itself may be a manifestation of long-quashed anxiety.

Drawing this post to a close, I remind myself that its original intention was simply to record several weeks of ongoing, devastating “What does anything matter?” depression, and gratitude for a couple of hours when it lifted: Once with surprised smiles while viewing a video link Abraham Limpo Martinez shared, 30 minutes of calculating dice odds, the math involved, and how physically modeling them with dice glued together in shells goes from 2D to 3D to increasing dimensions of hypercubes; and once a Thursday night role-playing session with Steve Sullivan, Kifflie Scott, David Annandale, and my oldest friend, Jim Cotton. (I hope you lot don’t mind my mentioning you by name.) That session was mainly combat demonstrations, starting with Dracula’s three brides, then 20 of his gypsy minions, and then Dracula himself! The last with a perfectly Hammer film style conclusion, Sully apportating a stake for Dracula’s heart, on the same turn the Count summoned a cauldron of bats to drive the heroes away, allowing both sides to escape to fight another day. I better understood my own game design from that session, and learned a great recording trick from Sully!

That last paragraph is the m0st important for this record. The others are just prelude. If you’ve read through it all, here’s the point where I say “Thanks.” You’re one of the folks who help give my life meaning.

Playing the Oddball Options

For the past 20+ years, I’ve praised my friend Chuck Kallenbach for his part in Decipher’s Lord of the Rings TCG’s “noise” rule and 50/50 light/dark deck build. Someone brought the game up today, and I remembered what a pleasure it was play. To see in what ways different people addressed those in deck builds. I remember in particular a kick-ass band of dwarves deck a friend put together.

What I probably haven’t said is that I like to build decks that abuse the spirit of any TCG, mainly for the challenge of making an off-kilter deck work, partly just as recalcitrance, somewhat for surprise at the table.

In Thunder Castle’s Highlander, the build was “Casper, the Asthmatic Tax Accountant,” using every non-combat card I could to avoid an actual sword fight. (Thunder Castle’s members-only cards thwarted pretty much every deck that didn’t include them, making convention tournaments pointless, but this one was fun in casual play.)

In Chaosium’s Mythos it was “The Pass/Fail Education,” playing “Pass and End the Round” cards early each turn, to cycle through & find what I needed while leaving other players flat-footed. (Happily, Chaosium later printed a card to prevent that card’s abuse.) But my favorite build to play in that was “The Sorcerer John Henry,” based on the “Exploited Coal Miner” character. It used “Carter’s Clock” Item and “Create Time Warp” spell to return to the “Castle of the Great Ones on Kadath” during the battle phase each turn, so as to dump spell after spell on the table without Sanity loss. All because a friend remarked that it was nigh impossible to use magic to any effect in the game. This TSJH deck was a somewhat slow one get up and running, and it frequently lost to other decks for that reason, but when it had time to get the gears in place, it dominated the game.


In Vampire: The Eternal Struggle it was a friend’s deck I was in awe of, something he called “Little Princes,” built around a plethora of 1-point Caitiff cards, a buttload of political cards they got into play before anyone else had enough votes to stop them, and a hand grenade or two for when they got caught in a dark alley by an older vampire, to sacrifice their own lives so as to put the other into torpor.

In the Lord of the Rings TCG Chuck helped design, I built a deck I called “Smoke ‘Em if You Got ‘Em,” eschewing other fellowship members, to run just Aragorn and Frodo as party hoppers dashing from elven haven to haven, drinking up the wine and smoking up the pipeweed, then ducking out when the duo’s pursuers arrived. For flavor, the deck also included some smoking Gimli cards and Gandalf cards (they certainly weren’t efficient for achieving victory conditions). The dark half of the deck was all Uruk Hai, again inefficient, just so I could call that part “old Red Eye.”

Since those days in the late 90’s early 00’s, with TSR’s demise and life in general dispersing colleagues and friends across the US, I’ve not played much face-to-face with trading card games, so there’s not been the impetus to deep dive into oddball options in newer ones. But for nostalgia’s sake, I’m not really interested in doing so.

Nowadays I’m more apt to play a solo RPG or board game, not necessarily by necessity, but because the solo field is fascinating. Fortunately, tonight I’ve come upon some solo player’s rules for playing Mythos this way, and it’s time to give it a try. I hope to find something similar for V:TES, because absent those old friends, I do amuse myself.

GMing GMless

Photo by Allec Gomes on Unsplash

It was probably the COVID lockdown that gave solo role-playing such a boost. Or maybe that’s just when I stumbled upon this facet of the tabletop RPG hobby. In any case, I’m enthralled. (I wish it were an option back in the 80s, when our board game group first stumbled upon Dungeons & Dragons, and one night a week just wasn’t enough to meet my need.)

So what is solo roleplay?

Imagine you’re jonesing to role-play a favorite character or two (like I was back then), but there’s no one available to run an adventure as GM. In solo play, often referred to as GMless play, you improvise an adventure by using an oracle—typically a deck of cards, my favorite being GMA—as a prompt.

“What do I hear at the door?” my character asks. I make a skill roll to see if they can manage to listen through its planks. They succeed. I turn up a GMA card, and in the sensory details section there’s the “ping-ping-ping of cooling metal.” Time to put on my GM hat to improvise what that means in terms of the unfolding story. I figure it’s the cooling armor of a knight just roasted by the fire-breathing dragon my character has been hunting. As player, I decide to throw open the door. As GM, I ask the deck, “Is the dragon still here?” If the deck says, “Yes,” it’s time for a fight. If “No,” my character presses onward cautiously, aware that the dragon must be somewhere close.

As you can see, I’m shifting back and forth between player’s seat and GM’s. Which makes the term “GMless” something of a misnomer. Even the word “solo,” given how much fun it can be to do this with friends, each playing a character, and each suggesting what that ping-ping-ping could mean.

But what about published adventures?

Maybe instead of pure improv, I’m dying to play a published adventure about a dragon, in which the book says exactly where the beast is, and what my character encounters along the way? How can I role-play my character’s reaction to that dungeon door, when I already know what’s waiting? How can I decide whether they’d take the time to check for a trap, when each moment risks another roll on a random encounters table, possibly bringing a band of goblins or giant beetle or something?

Let the oracle deck decide. Let’s say the published adventure has a pit trap here. As a GM I ask, “Does my character pause to check for traps? I think the odds are good that they would.” I turn up a card, and if the “Good odds” prompt says, “No,” they move on, triggering the trap. I can only hope their roll to not fall in succeeds.

Can I “Dual Wield” the two?

Once you realize that an oracle deck can serve either purpose, it’s pretty easy to swap hats mid-play. As in this example of my playing a published adventure.

The story opens with the PCs being asked to take on a scouting mission for a refugee camp plagued by undead. Their job is to find the source and destroy it. The book says that the refugee leader tells the PCs, “Unless you have a skill we need here in camp, you must take on this mission to earn your keep.” It’s assumed that the PCs take the mission, but the scene is something that I’d role-play through if running this for friends, so why not for myself?

I’m playing four characters: an archer, two soldiers, and a thief. I’m sure the first three, by nature, will gladly take on the mission. And I know the thief will try to talk his way out of it. But unless he goes, there’s no adventure.

My thief suggests, “I know how to read and write, so I could act as a scribe.” As GM I have to counter this, and I decide the refugee leader responds, “We don’t need a scribe. I can do that myself.” My thief says, “I’m a pretty good cook.” “We have plenty of cooks.” My thief, “Well, I can sing and tell some great stories to keep up morale!” “We don’t need stories of past deeds. We need a present end to this undead menace.”

My thief acquiesces, and the adventure continues.

Later, while the heroes are traveling across an enormous battlefield toward a pair of ruined towers that might hold a clue, a random encounter roll says “There’s a small scouting band of orcs and goblins on the horizon.”

I figure the two soldiers say, “We’re not here to fight orcs and goblins, so unless they attack, we should leave them alone.” But my archer has some elven blood in his lineage and despises the creatures, so he argues passionately, “I’m sworn to slay them on sight! Even if no one else will go with me, I must!” Knowing the thief, I figure he’ll hold his tongue to see which way the wind blows.

I’m ambivalent as to whether the two soldiers are willing to sidetrack to battle the orc and goblin band, knowing it’ll likely weaken the party, when they should be saving their strength for the undead mystery. So I draw a card, and the answer is “No, but…” As GM I think about what that might mean and decide the soldiers argue, “Let’s focus on solving this undead mystery first, and after that, if we’re still alive, we’ll help you track down those orcs and goblins.”

Back in player mode, I settle into the archer’s personality again and figure he’d acquiesce to that. If I weren’t certain, I’d have drawn another card to make his decision.

Onward they ride toward the mysterious towers, the archer seething at having left the orcs and goblins breathing. Right about now, another random encounter has a ghoul pop up from behind a bush. In character as both player and GM, I decide the archer is caught off guard, but allow the other three characters a roll for surprise. Because that’s what seems like the most fun!

11 Years and Counting


Kinda hard to believe this was 11 years ago, or in some ways that it was only 11 years ago. It was my first self-published card game, Invasion of the Saucer People. A Kickstarter paid to replace this retro stock art with new illustrations by an old friend and GDW colleague, Bradley K. McDevitt.

In the 11 years since, a lot of very kind people have encouraged and supported that one-man publishing hobby, resulting in …

  • 8 more card games and 2 booster packs;
  • 3 roleplaying games with 45 supplements;
  • a bunch of fanged smiley doubledice;
  • 7 Halloween anthologies:
  • 22 books of poetry and fiction by other writers; and
  • a novel in sonnets by yours truly.

With that support, 20 of the RPG titles are DriveThruRPG Best Sellers at one level or another, as are 2 of the card games on DriveThruCards.

I suck at business, so it mainly just pays for art. But I love to write and design, to see other people enjoy it, and to maybe help them publish something of their own. It’s been a good 11 years so far, with no sign of stopping. Thank you for your part in making it happen.