I’ve been playing life all wrong. But it’s OK, I worked it out.

Beginning in this, the year of our lord, 2026, I’m going to live like I DM. I’ve been a Dungeon Master at a TTRPG table for the better part of 10 years, and here are the things I have learned.

1. I am garbage at traditional preparation, even though I would really love to HAVE a lot of prep.
2. When I force myself to prep a lot, I rock up with galloping imposter syndrome, and the table does two weird things in a row and suddenly my prep is worthless. This frustrates me.
3. My table doesn’t turn up for my carefully crafted and detailed world lore available in a fancy tabbed binder. They turn up for the chaos, for the whimsy, and because we’re all on the spectrum and need someplace to unmask at the end of the week.

In the last six months or so, I have had something of a revelation at the table. I don’t really prep all that much anymore. My players and their characters tell me where they want to go, and that’s where we go. They telegraph to me what kind of adventure they want to have, and we do that. Often on the spur of the moment! I have no plot and precious little through line. What plot and throughline there is was developed at the table by the weird stuff my players do.

This change in practice and outlook has led to loving my time DMing a lot more than I used to. I’m more relaxed, the players can’t catch me off guard because there is no guard, and they’re building the crazy, unhinged world they want in real time while I throw tropes and memes at them. It’s working a treat.

In my professional existence, I am a burnout husk of an arts worker. I prepped too hard. I prepped, and I concentrated, and I predicted, and I suffered. All the ‘players’ at that table did crazy stuff I couldn’t predict, either. They wanted their own things, experienced life their own way, and my attempts to predict and shape the experience to everyone’s satisfaction just burned me out. It wasn’t possible. I was the wrong DM for that table, and they were all wrong for me.

But if that’s a prepping life, one with a module and guidelines and some kind of overarching plot, and that life doesn’t work, then what’s the alternative?

Abandoning the plot. Abandoning the through line and the plot points and all the things everyone says you’re meant to have for a good story. We’re letting that all go. Or more, we’re trusting that they’ll sort themselves out. There’s no such thing as a life without a through line, and it’s impossible to live without having some great plot moments… I just can’t plan for them. I have to let them happen.

The answer instead is to do what I’ve done at the table. Work out what KIND of story I want to be in. What kind of protagonist do I want to be? Then all I have to do is be that. Commit to the bit. The plot, the progression, the narrative, that stuff will all sort itself out. Life happens at every moment of every day; I don’t need to tell it how.

Building my protagonist

My protagonist is someone who loves reading and writing. Who believes in the power of people and stories. They have a bit of a tragic past, but that’s OK because they’re on solid ground now, with a found family and a support system, and they’re going to grow into someone who can, in turn, be a support system for others. So, when we meet our protagonist, what is she doing?

• Raising a neurodiverse family with a neurodiverse partner in a loving family situation that looks a bit unconventional, but weirdly works pretty well.
• Beginning again – going back to the last place her life made sense, which was when her primary identity had to do with a love of learning and stories. We’re a Uni student!
• Engaging with the quests in front of her, with a focus on having great experiences and leaving anything she touches a little better than she found it.

She’s hopeful. She’s experienced enough to know that she doesn’t have enough experience, and she’s determined. Not in a stubborn way, but in a quiet, unassailable way. We’re doing this. What that looks like isn’t necessarily under her control, but that’s alright, because she always gets to decide exactly what ‘this’ is.