KAITLIN BELLAMY

When I was about fifteen, my dad sat me down before school one morning and asked me, "So, who's the boy?" I was not allowed to date until I was sixteen. I knew that. But for weeks now, I'd been up, dressed, and ready for school hours early. And I was (am) not a morning person. All of this added up to, in my parents' eyes, "Kaitlin is secretly sneaking out to meet a boy."

Oh, how I wished I were that cool. My father probably did, too. But no, the answer was much, much more frightening. Two words: HARVEST. MOON.

Every morning, I had been waking up at four AM, getting completely ready for my day, and scurrying downstairs to spend two blissful hours of uninterrupted game time before I had to go to school. And most of the time, that game was Harvest Moon. My first gaming addiction. Well, tied for first with the entire Neopets website and Spyro: Ripto's Rage.

To me, it was simple: when Mom was awake, my screen time was limited to half an hour a day. And, if she woke up and I was NOT completely ready for the day, she would FIND things for me to do. So I did everything in my power to make sure I was overly prepared. To make SURE there was nothing for her to find, nothing she could possibly invent for me to do before school. NOTHING that might take up my precious gaming time. Hence the makeup, when I didn't usually wear makeup. Bed was made, healthy breakfast was eaten, dog was fed (and often walked), and I was an all-around model citizen and perfect daughter. All in the name of gaming.

It's no secret that people can lose themselves in video games when they are experiencing depression or lack of fulfillment in their lives. In her memoir, You're Never Weird on the Internet (Almost), Felicia Day goes into great detail about her own World of Warcraft addiction. When she felt unsuccessful and lost as an actor, she turned a part-time gaming hobby into a full-time gaming alternative life.

We all know the danger. We have all seen the citcom cariactures that have lost touch with reality and drowned themselves in gaming. We've read internet articles about the dangers of too much screen time on our children and ourselves. But video games have saved my life, and given it purpose, time and time again.

When I first wrote this (originally for a journalism class, later published on a since-deleted literary website) I was stuck at home, recovering from a hosiptalizing knee injury. I was awaiting surgery. I was out of work. I could not walk without crutches, or get in and out of the shower safely without assistance. People had to come over and feed me, and I have never felt quite so pathetic in my life. Right after the injury, I was on the verge of becoming a semi-catatonic depression blob, never getting out of bed. I wasn't eating, even when people tried to bring me food. I slept all day. I wasn't even hydrating, because getting up to pee afterwards was just too exhausting on crutches.

And then, my boyfriend helped me downstairs one morning before he had to go to work. He turned on my console, and started up the game I had last left off on. Dragon Age: Origins -- Awakening.

It worked. I awakened.

The Dragon Age franchise has been my favorite video game series since I created my first Grey Warden in early 2010. I have fallen in love with the characters, the story, and the world. It has become my new Harvest Moon; the game that can literally get me out of bed in the morning. The next day, I figured out how to get myself downstairs for the first time in weeks, because nobody was home to help me, and the console was down there. Since my painkillers put me to sleep, I started drinking caffeine to keep myself awake and log more hours. Very soon, I was hydrating properly again. I was getting myself to and from the kitchen, not to mention other household necessaries. I started setting alarms to wake myself up at a normal hour in the morning. I started eating. I started sleeping regularly through the night, since I wasn't allowing my painkillers to force me to nap all day. Most importantly: I was out of bed, and happy.

I am a workaholic. At the time of my injury, I had thirteen different jobs, plus school, an active social life, and a collection of ridiculous hobbies. I have always been, as my dad used to call me, a "creature of chaos." I do not do well with a sedentary lifestyle. But, between medical bed rest and an entire apothecary of sleep-inducing medications, sedentary was forced upon me. Dragon Age kept the depression at bay, and gave me back a small sense of control and accomplishment.

And it's fairly simple to figure out why: there is measurable success. There are clearly defined quest lines and story progressions. There are battles to win, and every hour I spent in the game resulted in achievements and gained levels. But every hour my body spent healing? When I still couldn't even walk? (Insert eye roll and disgusted noise here.) How do you measure THAT?

It's not the first time a video game has positively affected my life and encouraged out-of-game progress. In 2015, when Assassin's Creed: Syndicate was released, my physical health took a major upswing. I have always loved the AC games -- some more than others (Edward Kenway, you will always have my heart) -- and in the back of my mind I always wanted to be able to do what they did. Physically, I mean, not the assassinating. But it wasn't until Evie Frye came along that I got up and did something about it. I wanted to be her. And it was a motivation that didn't fade. I started going to the gym more regularly, and taking kickboxing classes. It motivated me so well that I actually started to noticeably lose weight, an issue I've struggled with for over fifteen years. In fact, the only thing that stopped me in that particular quest line was my aforementioned knee injury.

But there is not a single aspect of my life that gaming has not touched, and changed for the better. I became a voice actor and electronic puppeteer, which is how I make my living, because of my love for video games. They actually hired me at one of my favorite jobs because I knew how to handle different console controllers. My boyfriend and I bonded over our favorite franchises when we first started dating, and became deeply involved in our tabletop and roleplaying worlds as well. My writing has constantly been influenced by the amazing worlds and incredible characters I find in my favorite console worlds. Even in my family life, games have helped shape who I am. As a child, my older siblings only let me hang around when I showed interest in what they were playing. It was usually Wolfenstein or Lode Runner, and for years it was the closest contact I had to either of them on a day-to-day basis. I wasn't old enough to play yet, but oh how I longed to do what they did. In my heart, even then, I knew I was a gamer.

There is something about art that draws us in. Mankind has killed for paintings and sculptures. We idolize musicians, and have glamorous awards shows for film and television. Books take us into a new world we can visit over and over again, and classic poetry has survived since the age of Homer and The Odyssey. But there is something sorely overlooked about the particular immersive beauty that is video games.

It is important to have a life. But it's just as important, I think, to have an alt life. It is a built-in social circle, filled with friends you haven't met yet. It's not just a hobby, it's a life you can aspire to. Maybe you can't slay dragons in real life, but you can always be a hero. Maybe you can't actually sword fight in real life, but why not learn? Bring a little magic into your real, everyday life. Stand up for what you love.

I had a long, arduous recovery ahead of me, after my knee exploded. In fact, to this day I still have pain and weakness and healing to manage. But, because of Dragon Age, when my boyfriend came over after that to check on me, I didn't have to tell him all I did was sleep and mope around all day. My glow of success from fighting through Thedas had put the spark of determination back into my life. A spark that has never faded since, and has reminded me that I can, in fact, fight through the worst of times. I began to write a few scripts. Podcasts, a webseries, even revisited some of my dusty old novel ideas, one of which I'm still working on to this day. I threw myself into a few hands-on projects -- crafting in real life, guys! It's so much harder than in looks in the games!

Gaming woke my imagination back up, because that's what gaming is at its very core. Imagining. Even if you're playing a farmer, in a little mountain town with pixilated people and cows and truly impractical farming mechanics. I will always call that little mountain town home. It taught me to balance life and gaming, and always let one inspire the other. It taught me that it was okay to love a fictional world that took up more time than an average book or movie.

If I could go back to that fifteen year old girl, embarrassed that she was hiding a video game obsession instead of a cute boy, I would tell her, "Baby, it's all gonna turn out alright. Love what you love. And game on."

A few months ago, I published a blog post over at Random Encounter Productions about the art of storytelling, and how it relates to roleplaying in Dungeons & Dragons. I have always believed in the power of storytelling. It is so much more than simply words on a page or on a screen. The art of storytelling celebrates such a grand and ever-shifting piece of magic within all of us. Even as children, we want to tell our parents EVERYTHING that happened to us each day, as if it were some grand adventure. I have often said, if I could create my own major in school, I would absolutely try and earn a Masters in Storytelling. After all, I've spent my life checking all the boxes:
​

• Journalist
• Actor
• Writer
• Narrator
• Living History Interpreter
• Dungeons and Dragons Fanatic

That last one is what I'm most eager to discuss, as my aforementioned post on the REP blog made me realize just how much of Dungeons and Dragons has seeped into the way I tell my own stories today.

Let's start with the most basic building block of any story, OR any good D&D campaign: the CHARACTERS. Without good, interesting characters, even the most epic stories would fall flat. Without characters we care about in our fiction, we have no real reason to continue caring about the world. Without Frodo's worry over The Shire, he has no reason to take the ring to Mordor. Evil may continue to roam the countryside in the form of the Nazgul, but why would we ever become involved? The same holds true with any good D&D game: without our heroes, the world would not matter. We choose to play as these rangers and rogues and barbarians, in order to see the world through their eyes.

​But the glorious thing about D&D character creation (if you're doing it right ... power players need not apply) is that all of the classes are inherently flawed. By nature, a Warlock has made a pact for their soul. Backstory is written in, because what sort of person would sell themselves for power? Clerics and Paladins are often torn between doing what is right and doing what is best. Rogues cannot be sneaky AND heavily-armored. Now, there are ways around every rule, and there will always be players who stat their characters in such a way that they have NO WEAKNESSES. That is perfectly fine, and I do not fault those players. Sometimes, you just want to be a demigod in your escapist tabletop fantasy. More power to you! However, I would argue that there's power in a "dump stat." There is built-in creativity and roleplay in embracing something your character is NOT good at!

​Too often in our own stories, we forget to give our main characters flaws. And, whether at the table or on the page, those flaws are usually the thing that has the chance to make them the most interesting. The most relate-able. The most real. The moment I started thinking of my book characters as playable D&D classes, they became much easier to write, and so much better to read. They were no longer epic warriors who could just do anything, they were Human Fighters, with a low Charisma stat: getting the job done, but maybe a little harsh with people. Because when you play D&D for long enough, you stop being afraid of the flaws. So stop being afraid to give your book characters real flaws and weaknesses!​ They don't always need to have flawless skin, perfect teeth, or thick and flowing hair. The princes don't always need to be charming, and not every damsel in distress is a golden-haired, corset-waisted goddess. Your hunters can be bad at simple household tasks. Your roguish charmers can be terrible at actual fighting, just really sweet talkers. Give us reasons to care, and reasons to relate.

In a D&D campaign, it's easy to feel like your actions don't have consequences. This often leads to the "murder hobo" mentality of "HEY I can do anything I want! LET'S KILL PEOPLE AND TAKE THEIR STUFF!" I don't know about the other players out there, but for me? That's the LAZIEST approach to a campaign ever. And a lot of Dungeon Masters agree. So, a GOOD one will take those instincts and fold in real consequences in-game. Very quickly, players learn that yes, they CAN burn down the village and rob everybody, but they'll spend several game sessions after that running from the law, breaking out of prison, or being executed and having to roll up a new character.

It's an idea we need to remember for our writing as well: YOUR CHARACTERS ARE NOT ALONE! Nobody exists entirely in a vacuum, or if they do it's VERY difficult to make an interesting story about them. For those of you planning on bringing up classics such as I Am Legend or famous episodes of The Twilight Zone, sit down and be quiet. There are exceptions to EVERY rule, and it is your choice if you wish to pursue them in your own art. Clearly, I'm discussing other things, so let's just let those go for now :) 

Layering the world around your characters is vital for keeping any long-running tabletop campaign going. Who is in charge? Who do you shop from? Do they turn you away or raise the prices on you if you're a troublemaker? If your adventuring party become criminals instead of heroes, how much does it change how townsfolk react to your presence? Are they excited to see you, or terrified? All of these things can be applied to our fiction in much the same way. Take time to think about every action your characters take. Every choice, every possible consequence. Maybe while they're saving the world, they are fairly destructive. Yes, they are doing a good thing, but how will the people react?

This example is perfectly executed in Disney's The Incredibles: superheroes being pushed into hiding because their exploits are, while good, very dangerous. In fact, many of the best superhero stories center around the main character having to hide because of society. Whether they think it will make them a target, endanger the people they love, or they simply aren't allowed to reveal themselves because of some social or political reason, that external influence from the rest of the world is crucial to the survival of their story.

Remember the people as you write your own. Stop and think how your main character's actions are going to ripple out and change the lives of citizens they may never even meet. This mentality allows the world to grow into something much larger, more complicated, and more engaging to read about.

For those of you who aren't familiar, there is a moment in any D&D game that can make or break your character: rolling a Natural 1. Natural 1, at most tables, is a critical failure. You have made a mistake. Your blade misses. You fall. You lose a body part. All of these things can help shape your character's story from then on, in a way you couldn't have possibly imagined because these things aren't planned. The great thing about rolling the dice and letting them decide your fate is reacting to it. Will my character learn how to go on without a leg? Will they still adventure? Or is it time to retire them into a life of barkeeping somewhere, and roll up somebody new?

While our books are generally not as chaotic and unplanned as a D&D campaign (I say "generally" because many of us out here are writers of pure improvisation) there's still something lovely to be gleaned from this: my character doesn't always have to succeed.  In fact, it is often so much more interesting if they don't. It may feel catastrophic to lose the person you were trying to save. To be scarred. To fail. But here's the beautiful thing about in-game failures: we get to build new quests around them. Lost a leg? Let's find a wizard who can make me a new one of wood. Castle burned down in the midst of war? The King is now a refugee, and we have to find a new home for an entire ruling family. Not to mention, there's that whole war thing going on ...

Our books are allowed to follow failures. Sure, we usually want the hero to win in the end, at least in my genre. But how they get there can be twisted and unclear.  They may lose the love of their life to somebody else, and that love story may not untangle itself for several books. They might fail to save one of their companions, and deal with the loss. Heroes are not only heroes because they win. Their heroism is bigger than that, or it should be. They are heroes because they keep trying.  They get back up. They learn to walk again. They fight when the odds are against them. So, set something against them! Even if they are eventually meant to come out on top, reminding the readers that there's a chance they could fail is never a bad thing. The failures make the successes that much richer.

Fantasy authors have heard for YEARS about finding a "price" or "rules" of magic. It is a topic I could attempt to tackle in an entire SERIES of posts, and I'm sure I will someday, but today is not THAT day. There are plenty of other people who have explained it better, and discussing the exact nuances of the prices of magic is a complicated topic. However, the great news is that D&D has already BUILT IN rules of magic! Not only that, but the rules shift and change depending on what type of magic you studied. Which, if you think about it, is so much better than just one set rule for all magic everywhere.

In Dungeons & Dragons, if I play a Wizard, I have studied from books. I am a normal person, who simply went to school to learn. As a Sorcerer, however, something inside me simply has that spark of magical power and potential. There are different flavors of magic, just like there are different flavors of art, music, woodworking, and writing in the real world. Why should magic be confined to one set of rules, if people are using it differently?  Not only that, but each class has a built-in chart explaining how much magic they can use in a day, and how strong of a spell they would be capable of.

This tabletop way of looking at not just magic, but all talents, opened my eyes as a writer. For instance: my hunter, learning to shoot his weapon in the woods to feed his family, is going to learn to handle a bow and arrow differently than a soldier learning to shoot target practice in combat training. Same ultimate end, but very different ways of getting there.

The rules in D&D don't only address magic and skills, but sleep. Eating. Sickness. The day-to-day routine things we often don't stop to think about when we write. We want our characters to run off into the sunset with their bags packed and adventure in their hearts.

But has your character ever had to run off with such a bag hanging off their shoulders? Camping equipment is very heavy. Swords are heavy. Food, bedding, clothes ... if your main character isn't a seasoned adventurer, all of these things may be more exhausting than you think about. And that's where D&D comes back into the picture: they also have rules for ALL OF IT. Any condition that might befall someone on a quest, and the repercussions associated with it.

• Carrying too much? You can become encumbered, which slows down your walking speed.
• Not sleeping enough? You might be exhausted, which gives you a penalty to many in-game checks and combat abilities. As a bonus, you cannot sleep through the night comfortably in heavy plate armor. So your knight, being woken up at camp and having to fight off raiders in the middle of the night, is suddenly in a very different combat situation than they are used to.
• Hurt in battle? Take a lingering injury, which could do anything from make you uncomfortable to be around (think limbs with gaping wounds or hideous scars) to forcing you to stay still and be healed for weeks.

The list goes on and on. And it is well worth looking into. The rules of tabletop gaming simplify those little things we forget to ask ourselves as writers, and break them down into quantifiable, manageable consequences. From injury charts to lists of magic items, the handbooks for D&D are a nearly inexhaustible source of inspiration. Take advantage of them.

There is something almost Homeric about sitting down with your friends and telling an epic, improvised story. I like to imagine Homer sat his friends around a fire while he spun tales of Odysseus and his quest. But you can circle yourselves around a tabletop, some paper, and a set of dice with much the same end in mind. And, if you don't have a group of fellow storytellers right now? Don't fret. The art of storytelling is bigger than all of us, and the rules of roleplay are adaptable even by yourself. It's time to start looking at your book like a game. So pick up a die, and roll.