Be a Creator, Not a Consumer

To say that I was a Star Wars fan during my childhood is something of an understatement. Children are, by nature, given to intense enthusiasms of all sorts, whether for dinosaurs or the planets or ancient Egypt – all of which I was, at various times, as utterly devoted as I was to George Lucas's 1977 space fantasy. During the period between 1977 and the release of The Empire Strikes Back in 1980, I lived and breathed Star Wars. I saw both movies in the theater multiple times, read every newspaper and magazine article about them that I could find, and (of course!) owned a disturbingly large amount of Star Wars-related merchandise. If I hadn't discovered Dungeons & Dragons, I daresay my zeal for the galaxy far, far away would likely have continued unabated well into the next decade.

Looking back on my youthful ardor from the vantage point of jaded middle age, I can't help but feel mildly embarrassed, though, as I already noted, such devotion is in the nature of children. And, to be fair, Star Wars enjoyed a cultural moment of the sort that doesn't happen everyday, so I hope I can be forgiven for being caught up in it. Furthermore, Star Wars was a genuinely good movie, one that simultaneously had a strong connection to earlier storytelling and did things that had never been done before, especially in the field of visual effects. In retrospect, I think it would been more remarkable if I hadn't become a fan of it.

I'm no longer much of a Star Wars fan. Aside from DVDs of the original movies, which I don't think I've actually watched in more than a decade, I don't think there's a single piece of Star Wars merchandise or memorabilia in my home. That's not out of dislike so much as disinterest. I still retain a residual affection for the 1977–1983 films, as I do for many other things I adored as a child, but I no longer devote much mental space – let alone closet space – to Star Wars. Were I to gain the ability to travel back in time and reveal this state of affairs to my younger self, I doubt he would believe me, so important was Star Wars to me as a child.

Even during those three or four years of my childhood, Star Wars wasn't my only interest, but it certainly occupied a pride of place that was immediately evident to anyone who spent more than a few minutes talking to me. Dungeons & Dragons – and roleplaying games more generally – eventually displaced it and indeed surpassed it in staying power. More than four decades after I first cracked open my beloved Holmes Basic Set, I'm still playing RPGs, whereas Star Wars (and lots of other childhood enthusiasms) are now very much in the rearview mirror. 

Allow me to reiterate: this isn't because of dislike on my part, let alone hatred, but largely because of disinterest. I simply don't find Star Wars all that compelling anymore and I suspect it has to do with the way that it's become little more than a brand rather than a vehicle for telling rollicking space fantasy adventures. Arguably, that's always been the case, as evidenced by the large number of Star Wars-branded products available for purchase as soon as the movie was released – a great many of which I proudly owned and displayed. Like a lot of children in the late 1970s, I demonstrated that I was a fan of Star Wars by owning a lot of Star Wars products.

I recall that, at the time, there were critics who complained that George Lucas had "ruined" cinema with the blockbuster success of Star Wars. In their opinion, movie studios would now prioritize crowd-pleasing spectacle over the more serious films that had characterized the early part of the decade. It's an old – and recurring – line of attack that isn't completely without merit. Nowadays, though, I tend to think that the true "sin" of Star Wars is not that it ushered in an era of "dumb" movies, but that it demonstrated just how lucrative merchandising it could be. 

One of the best things about roleplaying games is that, at base, they are vehicles for creating your own rollicking adventures with your friends. I sometimes think we don't recognize just how powerful a thing Gygax and Arneson unleashed upon the world almost half a century ago. There's a reason Greg Stafford likened RPGs to Pandora's Box in the dedication of RuneQuest. After the appearance of D&D, the world was forever changed, in ways both big and small. 

Roleplaying games gave their players the tools to make their own imaginary worlds. Once you had learned their rules, you had everything you could ever need to keep on creating for the rest of your life. This fact has long vexed RPG publishers who, understandably, want to keep selling products, but the truth is that there's absolutely no need to ever purchase anything else. That hasn't stopped game companies from trying to convince you otherwise, of course. If they couldn't get you to buy an adventure or a supplement or a rules expansion, then how about this T-shirt, maquette, or beach towel? Let's equate your hobby with your personal identity to make money!

It's a predictable script, one very similar to that employed by Star Wars merchandising over the years. While there's nothing inherently wrong with this – everyone needs to make a living somehow – it doesn't hold much attraction for me. Been there, done that, literally bought the T-shirt. From my perspective, this hobby is at its best when it's about creating, not simply consuming. If you're a roleplayer, then play – imagine a new setting, generate a character, write up an adventure. That's what makes this pastime so uniquely compelling, especially in a world that seems increasingly hostile to the liberation of the human spirit. Give free rein to your imagination and fight on.