GM Blunders: Narrating (and sick children)

So, I learned this evening that if one's child is throwing up, one should pretty much call the game night and go home.

I also learned that no matter how bored the players seem, no matter how quiet it seems they are, they are NOT waiting for you to tell them a story, and they do NOT want you to just narrate and get it over with.

Perhaps I was too distracted by my son's distress to really focus on the game. Maybe I should have just called the game night entirely, and stayed home, so as not to inflict my son on everyone else. I didn't think of that, I confess, because he is having an allergy attack, nothing catching - but that does not excuse or change the fact that his cough is quite loud and he is feeling terrible. For that, I fail at being a thoughtful friend, because if I had asked first, perhaps the players would have requested that we not game.

I had planned out the evening's game, in some detail, or so I thought. But I failed to take into account (or failed to correctly evaluate) the dramatic potential of an emotionally distressed being. The interaction between the tragically pitiful phoenix, and the player characters, as the PCs tried to soothe and encourage the creature and convince it that life is worth living, was...terrible. It began to feel, from the GM's chair, like a really badly plotted Lifetime movie, or one of those cheesy after-school specials. And if I wasn't enjoying the interaction, I can't imagine how the players could be having any fun. Which frustrates me, but I do not know where I went wrong. It seemed like a good idea at the time, and I still can't see why the plan was so flawed as it played out. Perhaps my own lack of ability to bring such a tragedy to the table in a way that made the players want to react contributed to the problem.

Certainly the unexpected dragging out of the scene did not help. Casting magical fire upon the phoenix egg to bring it to the point of hatching, and bathing the newborn creature in more fire to aid its first hours of life, seemed like a brilliant plan. But the fact that this meant the PCs were casting for hours and hours - those that even had anything they could contribute, which was also a problem - things bogged down there.

They bogged down even worse once the phoenix began reacting to them, as my attempts to show them a frightened creature fell flat, and my further attempts to convey the creature's personality just made everything worse.

Finally, we called the game for the night; we didn't finish bringing the Phoenix back to life, and I for one felt frustrated and defeated. At least one of the players was also frustrated. There was a feeling that I was not letting anyone talk, and I was only narrating - again. It's been a problem in the past.

This issue makes me sting, at least partly because I don't think they'd feel that way if I was really paying attention to them. But at the same time, I feel indignant and hurt, because I was trying, really trying, to watch them for clues and signals that they wanted to say something. I confess I never saw that the bard wanted to speak up, and I must have run right over the top of that player. I also was told that I kept "saying no" to the players, apparently shooting down suggestions that they made. This confuses and hurts me even more, honestly, because I made a concerted effort to say "You don't know, you'll have to try it." I can't be more encouraging than that, or I'd be giving away the answers, wouldn't I?

There are times lately that I feel I should simply not speak during a session except to lay out exposition, voice NPCs, and answer direct questions from the players. It is not a nice feeling, for I am vain enough to like the sound of my own voice. And I feel like I'm no good at this damn game sometimes. But, I remind myself to take the criticism like an adult, and go on, and improve wherever I can see and understand what needs to be fixed.