Tag: Experience

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I Don’t Like Phones: Why I Ditched Them from D&D

phone on fire

I don’t like phones at the game table.

There. I’ve said it. Phones are a distraction, they fracture attention, and they undermine the very thing that, to my mind, makes tabletop roleplaying special: a group of people actively engaging with each other.

Dungeons & Dragons is not a single player experience with occasional multiplayer cutscenes. It is a shared act of imagination, built moment by moment through conversation, reactions, and collective focus. Phones pull at all three.

Attention Is the Real Resource

Every D&D table runs on attention. When everyone is present, listening, and responding, the game hums. Scenes flow. Jokes land. Tension builds. When phones come out, that attention leaks away.

A quick glance becomes a scroll. A scroll becomes checking messages. Suddenly someone needs the last thirty seconds repeated, or misses a crucial choice, or reacts half a beat too late. Multiply that by a few players and the game starts to feel sluggish, disjointed, and oddly flat.

It Feels Like Disengagement Because It Is

One of the hardest parts of running a game is reading the table. Are players interested? Confused? Excited? Bored? Phones muddy those signals. When a player is staring at a screen while someone else is roleplaying a heartfelt moment, it sends a message whether they intend it or not.

That message is: this isn’t worth my full attention.

Even if the player insists they are listening, the social signal remains. It affects the confidence of quieter players. It undercuts dramatic moments. Collaboration feels lopsided, like some people are rowing while others are checking notifications.

D&D is a conversation. Looking at your phone while someone is speaking in a normal conversation would be rude. The table should be no different.

Immersion Is Fragile

Roleplaying lives in a delicate space. One moment you’re a desperate adventurer descending into the darkened chasm with nothing but a sword and your trusty companions. The next moment a buzzing phone reminds you about tomorrow’s meeting or a meme you saw earlier. The spell breaks instantly.

Once immersion cracks, it takes effort to rebuild. Phones make that crack wider and more frequent. They anchor players back in the real world when the whole point of gathering is to step somewhere else together for a few hours.

This Is About Respect, Not Control

Banning phones is not about authority or nostalgia or pretending it’s 1985. It’s about respecting the time and effort everyone brings to the table.

The DM prepares.
Players show up.
Stories are built together.

Asking for phones to stay off the table is a way of saying: this time matters. These people matter. What we are creating together deserves our attention.

Presence Is the Point

At its best, D&D is rare in modern life. A group of people, in the same room, focused on each other, telling a story in real time. That kind of presence is increasingly hard to find and incredibly valuable.

So yes, I don’t like phones at the D&D table. Not because I hate technology, but because I love what happens when everyone is truly there.

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Not having fun at the D&D Table? No Worries

halfling not having fun with D&D

Dungeons & Dragons is built on fun—shared fun, collective fun, the kind of fun that turns into stories retold for years. But even the best table can have off nights. And sometimes, it goes deeper than that. Maybe the party dynamics have shifted, the story isn’t grabbing you, or perhaps you’re feeling sidelined. Maybe you’ve just had a rough week and the excitement isn’t sparking the way it normally does.

Here’s the thing: it’s okay not to be having fun. It happens to every player sooner or later. What matters is how you navigate that feeling—because D&D, at its heart, is a collaborative space, and collaboration thrives on communication.

Below are some practical steps to take if you find yourself staring at your character sheet thinking, “Why isn’t this working for me anymore?”

Take a Moment to Reflect on What’s Off

Before jumping into action, pause and ask yourself a few gentle questions:

  • Am I tired, stressed, or distracted from real life?
  • Is it the session that’s not fun, or the campaign as a whole?
  • Do I feel included and heard at the table?
  • Is my character still interesting to play?
  • Has the tone of the campaign drifted away from what I enjoy?

Sometimes the source is external—work pressure, family situations, burnout. Sometimes it’s internal to the game. Knowing which is which helps you decide your next step.

Talk to Your Dungeon Master (Honestly and Kindly)

A good DM isn’t just a storyteller—they’re a facilitator of fun. If something is missing for you, they genuinely want to know.

You don’t need to deliver a full critique; something simple works perfectly:

  • “Hey, I’m feeling a little left out recently. Can we find a way for my character to be more involved?”
  • “I think I’m not connecting with the story arc—could we explore something tied to my background?”
  • “I’m finding the tone more serious/silly than I expected. Any chance we can adjust the dial a bit?”

Most DMs will respond with enthusiasm and relief. But, they can’t fix what they don’t know.

Check In With the Group

Sometimes the issue isn’t DM-related at all—it’s table culture, pacing, or energy. You might notice:

  • A couple of players dominating the spotlight
  • Constant interruptions or side conversations
  • Clashing play styles (tactical vs. narrative, silly vs. serious, etc.)
  • The group drifting into habits that don’t work for you

A quick group conversation—maybe at the end of a session—can reset expectations and reaffirm what everyone enjoys. This is the tabletop version of team alignment in the workplace: shared goals, shared norms, shared fun.

Change Up Your Character

If the game itself is great but your character isn’t clicking anymore, don’t be afraid to pivot. You can:

  • Re-spec or rebuild your character
  • Introduce a new character entirely
  • Ask for a story moment that reinvigorates your current one (a rival, a revelation, a magic item, a moral dilemma)

Sometimes a fresh perspective is all it takes. D&D is a playground—go play.

Consider Taking a Short Break

It’s 100% valid to step back temporarily.

If you’re overwhelmed or burnt out, you might just need a pause. This doesn’t mean quitting; it just means recognising your limits. D&D, like any hobby, should feel energising more often than it feels draining.

Talk to your group and work out a graceful in-story reason your character disappears briefly. You’ll likely return refreshed and excited.

If It Really Isn’t Working… It’s Okay to Step Away

This is the hardest option, but sometimes it’s the right one.

Not every table is the right table for every player. If the tone, style, or personalities don’t mesh with what you need, you’re allowed to bow out—kindly, respectfully, and without guilt.

Leaving a game doesn’t mean you’ve failed. In fact, it means you’re choosing joy and respecting both your own time and the group’s.

Remember Why You Play

At its core, D&D is about:

  • Collaboration
  • Creativity
  • Connection
  • Escapism
  • Shared stories

If you’re missing any of these, it’s worth taking steps to find them again. Your fun matters. Your presence at the table matters. And you deserve a gaming experience that lifts you up.

Whether it’s a small tweak, a conversation, a character change, or a new table entirely—there is always a path back to joy.

Remember that the aim of D&D isn’t just to play. It’s to play together. And sometimes, playing together means speaking up so everyone—including you—can have the fun we’re all here for.

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Live First, Dungeon Master Better

whitewater rafting in close up

In a podcast interview that I listened to years ago, Ed Greenwood (creator of forgotten Realms) dropped a deceptively simple truth about being a great Dungeon Master that has stayed with me ever since. To paraphrase: you have to experience life.

Not read more rulebooks. Not collect more minis. Not memorise another setting sourcebook.

Experience life.

He talked about travelling the world. Riding horses bareback. Firing a bow and arrow. Feeling wind, fear, exhaustion and exhilaration. The things that leave marks on your body and stories in your bones. Those experiences, Greenwood suggested, are what let you portray strange worlds and extraordinary moments at the tabletop with authenticity.

The longer I’ve run D&D, the more I’ve realised how right he is.

Ed Greenwood, creator of Forgotten Realms

Reality Is the Best Sourcebook

Fantasy worlds feel real when they’re grounded in the senses. The crunch of gravel under boots. The way cold creeps into your joints. The smell of stagnant water that makes you hesitate before stepping forward. These aren’t things you invent from nothing. They’re memories, lightly disguised.

I’ve climbed mountains and know what it’s like to tiredly trudge through snow. I’ve hiked through terrain so beautiful it makes you slow down just to stare. I’ve rafted and canoed down rough rivers where the line between control and chaos is a single bad decision. I’ve camped next to mosquito riddled swamps and explored ancient castles. I’ve ridden a profoundly uncomfortable horse and learned exactly how long “a short ride” can feel.

Every one of those moments has shown up at my table. Not as a literal retelling, but as texture.

When players trudge through a flooded jungle, I know how heavy wet clothes feel after hours. When they’re exhausted after a forced march, I know how decision-making degrades when you’re tired, sore, and hungry. When they hesitate at a raging river crossing, I remember how loud fast water really is, and how small it makes you feel.

Culture, Conflict, and Perspective

Travel does more than provide scenery. It shifts perspective.

Exploring different countries and cultures teaches you that there is never just one way to do things. Customs that seem strange at first make perfect sense once you understand the values behind them. That lesson is gold for worldbuilding. Suddenly your fantasy cultures stop being “humans but with hats” and start feeling internally consistent, even when they’re alien.

Joining the army reserves taught me something else entirely: how groups function under pressure. How authority feels from the inside. How boredom, fear, camaraderie, and dark humour coexist. That experience reshaped how I run military orders, mercenary companies, and disciplined enemies. It also changed how I portray leadership, loyalty, and the cost of following orders.

Again, not as autobiography. But as understanding the essence of situations.

Experience Creates Empathy

The more life you live, the easier it becomes to inhabit other perspectives. You’ve been cold, scared, lost, uncomfortable, elated, overwhelmed. That emotional library lets you respond to player choices in ways that feel human, even when the NPC isn’t.

A terrified goblin negotiates differently if you remember fear.
A weary guard sounds different if you’ve pulled a long watch.
A triumphant victory rings truer if you know what hard-earned success feels like.

Players sense that difference. They might not articulate it, but they feel it. The world reacts in ways that make sense because it’s been filtered through lived experience rather than pure imagination.

The Invitation

This isn’t a call to quit your job and backpack across the world, though if you can, fantastic. It’s a reminder that inspiration isn’t confined to your desk, your bookshelf, or your VTT assets folder.

Get out there and experience life.

Try things that are mildly uncomfortable. Learn a skill you’re bad at. Travel somewhere unfamiliar, even if it’s just a few hours away. Spend a night outside. Talk to people whose lives look nothing like yours. Pay attention to how it feels to be tired, excited, nervous, and out of your depth.

Then bring that back to the table.

Your worlds will feel stranger, richer, and more believable not because you imagined harder, but because you lived more. And in the end, that might be the most powerful DM tool of all.