# Why Story Arcs Don’t Work LLMS index: [llms.txt](/dvw/en/llms.txt) --- Most narrative art forms are passive, in that the audience doesn’t participate directly in their creation. An author may be creating a novel to speak to a particular group of people, but can only estimate how they will respond, and thus how the novel should be changed as a result of this imagined response. In virtual worlds, the audience can in theory participate to the point of collaboration. Are they part of the work? Are they part of the production? Are they neither, or can they be both [^41]? In most virtual worlds, the dialogue between designer and player is indirect. Players can influence production from the beta test onward, but as individuals only in very minor ways. Some virtual worlds do go as far as to give the player body control over the actual programming, but most don’t. The fact that LambdaMOO famously introduced this has created a false impression among researchers that the practice is widespread. It is not. Commercial virtual worlds in particular would consider this degree of player involvement in production insane. Players may be part of production within the context of the virtual world, but not of the virtual world itself. It is the question of whether players are part of the work that is more contentious. As I mentioned earlier, I don’t regard the objectification of players as by definition a bad thing; after all, I don’t expect road construction engineers to look on me as anything other than a driving statistic, so if a designer looks on me as a bandwidth statistic at some point, fair enough. The objection comes when this is done inappropriately; in particular, players do not like being thought of as components of someone else’s art installation. If a virtual world is advertised as being such, they can hardly complain, of course (any more than can an actor in a play); indeed, it may be that over time players gain a maturity and understanding that allows them to appreciate the skill of the storyteller more fully. They would then become more akin to an improvisational theater group rather than players of virtual worlds, though. Sure, there’s a place for this kind of art, but it’s not a place that appeals to the reasons players play. Designers who want virtual worlds to have storylines usually cite from the following reasons: - It keeps people playing, because they want to find out what happens next. - The virtual world seems richer, more immersive, and more vibrant. - New content can be introduced that would be fiction-breaking otherwise—for example, a new race of lizard people. - Pre-planned, higher-level content can be released in a controlled manner. - It provides cover for nerfs and bug-fixes. - It lets players know they haven’t been forgotten. - It demonstrates the design team’s creative credentials. - It helps market the virtual world. - There is increased opportunity for tie-in books and other merchandise, arising from having more intellectual properties. - It’s de rigeur. These look reasonable enough, but there are some serious flaws: - Either the player is impotent or the arc is derailable. - You can follow the story without playing. I know a former Asheron’s Call player who got wrapped up in the story but not the world; she now follows it from web sites. - People don’t like coming in on a narrative after it has started. - Players like to create stuff of their own more than they like to see what other people have created—whatever its artistic merits. - Explorers don’t mind new content being added, but dislike having to check over changed old content. They much prefer to be told explicitly what changes have been made, rather than having to deduce them from some piece of story. - Player actions are limited by future storyline considerations. You can’t build here because there’ll be a castle on this spot four months from now. - The more story that designers add to a virtual world, the less world there is, because the world is constrained by the story [^42]. - What happens when the story arc ends? Everyone quits and plays some other game? Or does the arc never end? - Players’ destinies are not under their control, nor can they ever be. A hero’s journey in such circumstances is nonsensical. Even without these objections, there are practical difficulties concerned with writing a narrative for virtual worlds. Stories in most cultures of the world traditionally follow the classical three-act structure of beginning, middle, and end. As noted previously, if you try this for a virtual world it means there’s an end. This is fine if the story is one of many stories that make up a player’s experience, but it’s not good if the virtual world is itself the story. The three-act structure is replaced by a recursive structure instead: - A single, beatable individual is identified as the enemy. It’s not the police state that’s trying to crush you, it’s one particular member of the secret police. - You identify the enemy, collect the plot tokens, and defeat them. But they were just a pawn, controlled by the real enemy! - Variant: They aren’t really dead! They come back bigger and stronger! - Recurse. This is the conspiracy theory approach: When in doubt, widen the conspiracy. Eventually, the whole world ends up as a conspiracy and then you have nowhere to go. It’s a narrative trap. Oh well, you can cross that bridge when you come to it. Designer-level narrative has a place in virtual worlds, as a method of delivering content, information, and/or meaning. It is very good for presenting and identifying symbols. It is hopeless for presenting and identifying choice. Sparks, yes; arcs, no. The fact is, any virtual world that places designer-driven story above players’ personal stories is a prison. This is why story arcs don’t work. [^41]: In which case, it is interesting to speculate how they might symbolize themselves. [^42]: I do mean story here, not fiction. A virtual world based on a book can be incredibly detailed, so long as it adheres only to the fiction and not the story.