My experiences at Dundracon this past weekend have left me a little more introspective than normal. Which is saying a lot, considering I spend a lot of time in my own head as it is.

To sum up if you haven’t already read, I ran two games this weekend. One was a fun and funny game of Shambles. I could describe the plot to any GM in about four sentences and they could put the scenario together on the fly and run it for at least 4 hours. The other was a custom job, a horror scenario with mature themes, that would take a great deal of explaining, setup and prep, none of which would involve learning the system (which is essentially LAFFs, the same system from Shambles). Players left both games with high spirits, having had a good time, yet I view the first game as a smashing success, and the second game as an unmitigated disaster.

What I can’t decide, is why I feel that way, even now.

The scenario was advertised as being “heavy role-play”, and before the scenario started I indicated that this was the case. Without going into specifics about the scenario, it was written such that the characters were gradually learning and remembering things, in some cases by experiencing visceral and violent moments of altered reality. These things were printed on individual note cards and given to the players throughout the game. In the beginning, the players dug into the roles a little, but at a certain point, the idea of role-playing through memories went completely out of the window, so far so that whenever something new was handed out, rather than reading the note card and having the character respond, the players would read the note card and then just pass it on to the person sitting next to them, sometimes without even responding or indicating a character reaction. In some cases, they did this even when the card indicated something that was physically happening to the character, rather than something that was observed or remembered. This practice began while I was doing a consult outside the room, and by the time I came back in (only a couple minutes later) the note cards were already being passed around.

As a GM, and in particular as a GM who usually only runs at conventions, I’m accustomed to Things Not Going According To Plan. As a player I’ve frequently caused things to go in unexpected directions. I’m used to that. They definitely took the game in unexpected directions, which I found exciting and intriguing. So that wasn’t something that bothered me.

And I’ve had the occasional game where the players just weren’t buying what I was selling, so to speak. I know what that feels like. It feels like I’ve failed to successfully engage them, and I either make adjustments on the fly, or accept that it’s not working. This wasn’t really that either.

Looking back over the session, I can see where I could have made some decisions that would have helped to adjust things a little better, but that’s easy to do from here, a couple days later. Having run the game a couple times before, I always find ways to tune it a little better. But I’m not really bothered by thinking about the things I may have done “wrong” in the session.

What’s been eating at me, is why I feel like the session was an “unmitigated disaster” despite the fact that everyone had a great time, or at said they did in a believable fashion.

If I write or run a game, and someone enjoys it, isn’t that a win?

Shouldn’t I be measuring the success of a gaming session based on the enjoyment of everyone involved? I’m pretty sure that if the answer to that question is “No” then all I’m really doing as a GM is partaking in some sort of dice-driven onanistic “love me” party. If I say “Yes” then is the game is a success even if the GM hates running it? That somehow seems unfair – but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.

It can’t be about achieving goals, passing objectives, beating the bad guy, and gaining experience. At least, not completely. For some, any session where they get to level up is a good one. But I can’t think it’s really that simple. Sometimes you lose, terribly, and enjoy the ride. Sometimes you get to the end, and it wasn’t worth your time. So it can’t be this.

I know there’s not some neat answer, some magic formula that I’m missing here. And I’m certainly not covering any new ground here. In the end, like everything else, it’s a judgment call. Some games, it’s easy to say “That was a good gaming session,” while sometimes you find yourself adding the words “except for…” to the end. When it goes good, it’s easy. When it goes bad, it’s easy.

In this case, I think I can only figure it out with metaphor. And I feel like a 50′s wife who spent hours slaving over a hot stove, set a nice table, and watched her husband come in the door and eat the roast with his bare hands in the kitchen.

Which leads me to the only reasonable conclusion : if that’s how I’m going to feel when the players don’t play the game my way, I should start wearing an apron when I’m behind the screen. And possibly stockings.

Game sessions are good because they are. Sometimes, they aren’t. This last game session was good, just not so good for me, and not the kind of good that I wanted it to be. That’s going to happen. If I can’t handle that, then I shouldn’t be a GM. Or, I should wear stockings and an apron. Either would probably solve the problem.