Words and Wonders: While I was Away

What I Learned About Storytelling While I Was Away

By T. Glenn Bane

I’ve been off the grid for about a month, buried in the flickering glow of horror marathons and late-night rewrites, polishing up my annual “13 Days of Halloween” movie review series. And let me tell you—when you spend that much time dissecting other people’s stories, you start to see the bones beneath the flesh. The good, the bad, and the downright baffling.

But more importantly, you start to see how those lessons can make your stories better—especially at the game table.

So, here are a few hard-earned truths I picked up while neck-deep in cinematic monsters, moody lighting, and plot twists that should’ve stayed buried. These are lessons for GMs and players alike—delivered in order of importance, straight from the editing room to your tabletop.

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#1: Know Your Players and Give Them What They Sat Down For

This one’s gospel. If your players came for action, then by thunder, give them action. If they want creeping dread and slow-burn horror, don’t hit them with a rom-com subplot about a lovesick lich. That’s not subversion—it’s sabotage.

Now, I’m not saying you can’t mix it up. A little romance in your action? Sure. A moment of levity in your horror? Absolutely. But always within the theme. Think of it like jazz—improvise, but stay in key. The worst films I reviewed this year were the ones that promised one thing and delivered another. Don’t bait-and-switch your players. They’ll notice. And they won’t come back.

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#2: Clues, Tension, and Suspense Must Build Toward Something Tangible

If your players hear a distant roar echoing across the jungle, they better meet the beast. If there’s a rhythmic ticking in the walls, it better lead to something—clockwork horror, a time bomb, something.

Sensory cues are promises. And promises must be kept. Otherwise, you’re just stringing your players along with no payoff. That’s not suspense—that’s frustration. And frustration kills immersion faster than a TPK.

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#3: Too Much of a Bad Thing Is… a Bad Thing

Look, I love a good challenge. But if every encounter is a meat grinder, every trap is a death sentence, and every beloved NPC gets gunned down like it’s open season, your players are going to burn out.

Some of the films I reviewed were so bleak, so relentlessly grim, that by the end I didn’t care who lived or died. Don’t do that to your table. Balance the bad with the good. Let them win. Let them hope. The payoff has to be worth the pain.

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#4: Create Variety in Your NPCs

Casting directors love their “types.” But when every character looks, sounds, and acts the same, the audience gets lost. Same goes for your game.

Make your NPCs distinct. Give them quirks, voices, goals. If they don’t serve the story, fade them into the background. But the ones who matter? Make them unforgettable. Your players should be able to say, “Oh yeah, that’s the one with the glass eye and the obsession with bees.” Not, “Wait, which one was that again?”

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#5: Finish What You Start

Loose ends are fine—if they’re intentional. But dropped plots, forgotten subplots, and unresolved arcs? That’s just sloppy. And it leaves your players feeling cheated.

If you introduce a mystery, solve it. If you tease a betrayal, deliver it. If you hint at a hidden past, reveal it. Don’t leave your players hanging unless you mean to—and even then, make it worth their while.

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#6: Pacing Is a Weapon—Use It Wisely

Some of the best films I watched this season knew exactly when to slow down and when to hit the gas. Your game should do the same. Use quiet moments to build tension. Use action to release it. Don’t be afraid to let your players breathe—but don’t let them get too comfortable, either.

Think of your session like a heartbeat. It should rise and fall. That rhythm is what keeps the story alive.

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#7: Let the Players Tell the Story, Too

This one’s for the GMs: you’re not the only storyteller at the table. Your players are co-authors. Give them room to shape the world, make choices, and leave their mark. The best games aren’t just about what you planned—they’re about what they did.

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So yeah, I’ve been away. But I wasn’t idle. I was learning. Watching. Sharpening the blade.

Now I’m back at the table, dice in hand, and I’ve got stories to tell. Better ones. Wilder ones. And I hope you do too.

Let’s roll.

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