Both poems speak to the heart, and both speakers – in different ways – bring gravitas to their recitations. After watching these and other videos in the series, a thought struck me. There is no guarantee a talented actor will bring equal talent to crafting the words that he speaks and performs. Likewise, there is no guarantee a talented writer will bring equal talent to giving life to those words through performance.

 

A good writer should write well. A good actor should perform well. A good roleplayer must do both.

 

On the face of it, I am not trying to make this an issue of talent. Is a poor roleplayer more talented than a good writer? Of course not. On the other hand, there is a time and place to have faith in quantity. Is someone who writes well and performs well more talented than someone who can only write well? Does simultaneously doing two things well require more talent than only doing one thing well? That's a judgment for each of us.

 

So why am I a roleplayer? Because I don't just want to write.

 

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What's Wrong with Roleplay

 

Part I: A Pseudo-Allegory

 

I enjoy poking around the web. And I like to read. So you might imagine how pleasantly surprised I was when I stumbled across Book-a-Minute, which caters to those who don't have the time or patience to read "Cliff's Notes."

 

To appreciate most of the jokes presented in these "ultra-condensed" books, you actually have to have read the book. That's less true for some than it is for others, especially those that poke fun at a particular author's "style."

 

Style is a funny thing, especially when it is applied to roleplay. When someone talks about his or her "style," it can sometimes be described as a code-word for "the annoying things I do that I think makes my play unique, but which in fact either makes it unbearable to others, doesn't separate it from anyone else's play nearly as much as I think it does, or both."

 

With that in mind, I give you the "ultra-condensed" version of Frank Herbert's Dune.

 

Dune

by Frank Herbert

(ultra-condensed by Christina Carlson)

 

Frank Herbert: I'm lots smarter than you are. I challenge you to understand even one of my paragraphs!

Reader: Gee, Frank Herbert is smart. I can't even find the plot. 

 

THE END

 

Draw your own conclusions . . .

​

Disclaimer

The above "ultra-condensed" version of Dune was taken from the website Book-a-Minute, and is being used without the permission of its creators, who hold all copyrights pertaining to the material shown. I make no claim to being the original creator of the above "ultra-condensed" book. It's still funny as Hell, though!

 

 

Part II: An Actual Conversation

 

I don't suppose I should be surprised that people are rude. But that doesn't explain why I am:

 

Envieux Vole [11:34 A.M.]:  Hi.

Diamond Stud XXX [11:34 A.M.]:  Morning.

Envieux Vole [11:34 A.M.]:  Up for some RP?

Diamond Stud XXX [11:35 A.M.]:  Did you have something specific in mind?

Envieux Vole [11:35 A.M.]:  Not really...playing a female.

Diamond Stud XXX [11:36 A.M.]:  Perhaps you could elaborate.  It might make one scenario more obvious than others.

Envieux Vole [11:37 A.M.]:  Elaborate on what? I said I have no ideas. I just know that I am going to be playing a female. Have any ideas of your own?

Envieux Vole [11:47 A.M.]:  ...

Diamond Stud XXX [11:50 A.M.]:  I guess I should have said something sooner, but I don't think that I'm interested in playing with you.  Enjoy your day.

 

In retrospect, maybe it was my fault for fishing for some participation. I'm sure someone out there will tell me.

 

 

Part III: I Remember Civility . . .

 

Another conversation. Since the morality police are something to fear around here, I will replace occurrences of a certain word that starts with "s" and ends with "lut" with Merriam-Webster's substitute of "a promiscuous woman." The gist is that my conversation partner was in a room advertising herself as "a promiscuous woman" looking for play. So I figured I'd ask:

 

 

Diamond Stud XXX [8:40 P.M.]:  I'm not trying to sound flippant or dis you at all. With that said, what's the angle? Garden-variety [promiscuous woman]? Professional [promiscuous woman] in the literal sense? Professional by day, [promiscuous woman]-by-night on the edges of decent society where someone is less likely to be caught leading a double life? I'm just trying to measure my possible "in" here. 

 

(The noteworthy point here is that almost 20 minutes pass with no response. We'll all be fine as long as you don't scroll back up and note that I let that last chick sit there for 10 minutes without a "response.")

 

Diamond Stud XXX [8:58 P.M.]:  Any number of other responses would have sufficed, but thanks for your "time" nonetheless. 

My itch [9:03 P.M.]:  I liked your approach, it made me laugh.  But I feel like being a bitch, and making you work for it.  If you have what it takes, you can take it out on my character.

Diamond Stud XXX [9:04 P.M.]:  Working for it is one thing. I'm always for that. But I can get it from people who don't throw in a dose of "bitch" to go with it. Thanks all the same.

 

 

Say yes. Say no. But for God's sake, keep the drama and the acrimony in the scene.

 

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"Virtue isn't always . . ."

 

One of the democratic institutions of Ancient Athens involved an annual process whereby the demos could expel a citizen for ten years. In the sixth month of the civil calendar, the question of whether or not to exile someone was put to the Ecclesia; if the assembly voted Yes, citizens voted in a second election two months later. If enough citizens voted in the second election, the person receiving the most votes had to leave Athens within ten days under pain of death. Officially, there was no stigma attached to being exiled – the citizen suffered no loss of status or property – and after ten years, he could return to the city without penalty.

 

Citizens scratched the name of the person they wished to exile on shards of pottery, which in Ancient Athens were plentiful and cheap enough to serve as ballots. The Greek word for these potshards – ostraka – gives us the word ostracism, which also named the Athenian process.

 

In 482 B.C., an Athenian named Aristides was ostracized. Aristides was a military leader and statesman whose behavior earned him the nickname "The Just." According to one story, an illiterate voter who did not know Aristides approached him with an ostrakon and asked him for help in writing the name of Aristides on it.

 

Aristides asked the man, "What wrong has Aristides done to you?"

 

"He has done me no wrong – I don't even know him," the man replied. "But I am sick and tired of hearing him called 'The Just' everywhere I go."

 

Aristides was so taken aback by the explanation that he complied with the request and scratched his own name into the potshard without another word or protest.

 

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Roleplay Allegories, Courtesy of Taoism

 

Huizi said to Zhuangzi, "I have a large tree, which men call the Ailantus. Its trunk swells out to a large size, but is not fit for a carpenter to apply his line to it. Its smaller branches are knotted and crooked, so that the disk and square cannot be used on them. Though planted on the wayside, a builder would not turn his head to look at it. Now your words, Sir, are great, but of no use — all unite in putting them away from them."

 

Zhuangzi replied, "Have you never seen a wildcat or a weasel? There it lies, crouching and low, till the wanderer approaches. East and west it leaps about, avoiding neither what is high nor what is low, till it is caught in a trap, or dies in a net. Again there is the Yak, so large that it is like a cloud hanging in the sky. It is large indeed, but it cannot catch mice. You, Sir, have a large tree and are troubled because it is of no use — why do you not plant it in a tract where there is nothing else, or in a wide and barren wild? There you might saunter idly by its side, or in the enjoyment of untroubled case sleep beneath it. Neither bill nor axe would shorten its existence – there would be nothing to injure it. What is there in its uselessness to cause you distress?"

 

Zhuangzi, Chapter 1

 

 

When Zhuangzi was at an interview with Duke Ai of Lu, the latter said, "In Lu we have many scholars, Sir, but few of your school."

 

Zhuangzi replied, "In Lu there are but few scholars."

 

The Duke said, "Look at the number who wear scholars' robes. How can you say they are few?"

 

Zhuangzi answered, "Scholars who wear round hats know the seasons of Heaven. Scholars who wear square shoes know the shape of Earth. And scholars who loosely gird themselves are ready to decide whatever questions may arise. But scholars who have Tao do not necessarily wear robes; neither does the wearing of robes necessarily mean that a scholar has Tao. If your Highness does not think so, why not issue an order through the Middle Kingdom, making death the punishment for all who wear the robes without having the Tao?"

 

Thereupon Duke Ai circulated this mandate for five days, the result being that not a single man in Lu dared to don scholars' robes, with the exception of one old man who, thus arrayed, took his stand at the Duke's gate.

 

The Duke summoned him to the presence, and asked him many questions on politics, trying to entangle him, but in vain.

 

Then Zhuangzi said, "If there is only one scholar in Lu, surely that is not many."

 

Zhuangzi, Chapter 21

 

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A Roleplay Allegory, Courtesy of the Marketplace

 

In the marketplace that is online writing and role-playing, you happen upon one particular booth. There's nothing special about the booth itself – all around you, there are thousands that are (at least, superficially) just like it. This booth happens to be packed with crates upon crates of oranges.

 

You think to yourself, "Well, I love oranges, and I've never bought oranges from this vendor. So I think I'll buy some here." You approach the market vendor with that purpose in mind.

 

"You've got some lovely oranges here." Polite small talk? Sure, but it's also the truth. Of course, there are some people who like to jump right to the negotiation and still others who want to proceed right to the sale. But sometimes the first time warrants caution.

 

"They certainly are. I picked them myself. I even planned out this display." Obviously, the seller is proud of what's being offered.

 

"Alright, I'm sold." It wasn't exactly a hard task, since you were already in the mood. "I'll take some oranges."

 

What you hear next leaves you confused – to say the least: "What?! I'm not selling oranges. What makes you think I'm selling oranges?"

 

"Oh. I just thought these were your oranges, and . . ."

 

"They are my oranges." For reasons that aren't obvious, the vendor starts to become impatient.

 

"Well this is a market, so I figured you were here to sell something, but . . ."

 

"I am here to sell something. And these are my oranges. But I'm not selling oranges. In fact, I'm offended you'd even think that I'm selling oranges." With that, the booth disappears, quite as though it had never been there in the first place.

 

 

What's the moral? This is the Internet – there are no morals. What's the lesson? You figure it out.

 

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