Writing for D&D

I do a lot of writing that never sees the light of day to the big wide world. It's consumed on an almost weekly basis by five people instead. I DM a group for a Fourth Edition D&D game, set in the world of Poisonroot but borrowing a lot of things from proper D&D (like races, dragons, magic, gods, planes...) We've been playing for over a year now, coming up on 18 months on and off. We can't meet every week; it's staggering that six busy professionals can get together anything like regularly, really. But we get together enough to see a story.

I love doing it. I really enjoy telling stories and being part of a bigger story makes me happy; I hope it makes the players happy too. Early on in the game I decided it would be useful to have a database that the players and I could add to, building up a picture of the world. It works for me in my writing as well; I can draw on some of the ideas and concepts used by the players.

Anyway, it's all there, free for everyone to read. Going on for eighty pages now, and I'm trying to add one every day or so to keep it up to date. I'm hoping that, as it's fleshed out, the players might add or change bits.

It's available here.

'tacs

We went to Denmark over New Year and it was amazing! We were guests of two of Sue's work friends, Mads and Mette, and while it was incredibly inspirational in all sorts of ways, I didn't get any writing done.
Travelling back gave me plenty of thinking time, though, and Sue had been asking why I didn't write any sci-fi. We've been reading The Player of Games by Iain M Banks, one of my favourite books, and the world he wrote was so vivid and full; something that I aspire to.

Anyway, I wrote this, set about twenty years into the future, thinking about one logical conclusion for the Google Glass tech available today.

Unedited, about 1 hour, while an episode of Star Trek Deep Space 9 played (not the greatest writing environment but I'll take what I can!)

I blinked to clear my vision as the ‘tac settled onto my eyeball. Its cold surface quickly warmed as I blinked again, then fished the second flimsy plastic ‘tac out of the container. I flicked it dry, pinned my eyelids back and gently laid it in.

As soon as the second ‘tac made contact, the log-on prompt appeared, pink and transluscent, about an arm’s length away. I tapped my password in and shuffled out of the bathroom.

“You done in there?” Mum shouted from her bedroom.

“Go for it,” I said, swiping the weather report out of the way. Fine, with a chance of showers later; smog warning level 3, pollen count low. Perfect.