When Yer Heart’s Givin’ Out but Yer Hands Keep Preppin’
By Durven’s last tankard, I’ve watched more GMs grind themselves into dust than I can count. There ye are, sittin’ at yer forge of a desk, hammerin’ out maps, NPC voices, villain speeches, and encounter tables until yer eyes look like a ghoul’s lanterns. Yer heart’s already screamin’ for rest, but yer hands? They keep preppin’. Like a cursed ritual, ye just can’t stop.
I know the feelin’. One winter I prepped twelve sessions in advance — a whole arc with gods, demons, and a city that bled shadows. The party made it through… two. Then the rogue quit for “work commitments,” the barbarian vanished, and the bard moved across the realm. Me heart cracked like old stone. But me hands? They still scribbled plots no one would ever see. That, lad, is what it feels like when yer heart’s givin’ out but yer hands keep preppin’.
📌 Prep can be a blessing, but too much becomes a curse.
👉 That’s why Mike’s Tavern is here — to shake ye by the shoulders and remind ye that yer game’s worth more than piles o’ dead parchment.
The Trap of Endless Prep
Ye think prep will save the game, aye? That if ye just build enough maps or script enough speeches, the table won’t fall apart. But prep ain’t a cure-all. It’s a bandage, not a resurrection.
Over-preppin’ robs spontaneity. Players ain’t readin’ yer script. They’re goin’ off-road like those derailin’ fools.
It hides the real wound. Sometimes, it ain’t lack of prep. It’s players not carin’. All the notes in the world won’t fix that.
How to Break the Cycle
Set limits. Tell yerself, “I’ll prep only what fits on one page.” Anything beyond that is wasted ink until it’s needed.
Prep tools, not scripts. Instead of writin’ twelve pages of dialogue, prep motives, goals, and quirks. Let the rest come alive at the table.
Use yer players. Make them fill in the gaps. “What’s the name of the tavern ye enter?” Boom — now they’re part of the forge fire.
Burn the scraps. Aye, I’ve done it. Took a pile of unused prep and tossed it into the fireplace. Felt like slayin’ a demon. Ye don’t owe dead paper any more of yer soul.
When Prep Becomes Avoidance
Here’s the bitter ale, lad: sometimes endless prep is just fear in disguise. Fear that the table’ll fall apart if ye stop producin’. Fear that if ye rest, the game’ll die. But a GM who don’t rest becomes a ghost at his own table. And I promise ye — the players can tell.
By Brunlin’s missing eyebrow, stop killin’ yerself for folk who won’t even notice the difference between a two-page session and a twenty-page saga. Prep should serve ye, not the other way ‘round.
📌 Put Down the Quill Before It Breaks Yer Heart
👉 Don’t let endless prep steal yer joy. Learn to prep lighter, laugh louder, and lean on yer table. For more hard-won wisdom, check GM Wisdom, holler through the contact page, or remember what happened when session zero failed.
FAQ
Q: How much prep is enough?
A: Enough to give ye confidence walkin’ into the session — no more. A page of notes beats a binder ye’ll never use.
Q: Should I recycle unused prep?
A: Aye. Move it to future arcs, side quests, or new campaigns. Just don’t cling to it like a dead beard braid.
Q: How do I stop feelin’ guilty for “under-preppin’”?
A: Remember, lad — the players don’t see yer prep. They see the story ye weave at the table. If they’re smilin’, ye’ve done enough.
