#ttrpgwriter — Public Fediverse posts

Freedom Day September 2026.

Happy Birthday to Thunder Meep Kitten and Noche Moop Kitten.

Today we have cat pictures. They’ve grown so much since they were tiny little balls of fluff. We found them hungry, cold, and scared last October 19th. The Animal Rescue League guessed they were 2-3 weeks old. I bottle fed them I-don’t-remember times per day until they finally transitioned to regular food. Now they get the zoomies at least a couple of times per day when they’re not napping or getting into something.

Now for the rest of the story: Why I don’t fit into the grand dichotomy of TTRPG community.

It’s probably a good thing that I have four loving fur children. \They do keep my spirits up and when I’m lonely I can go pick on at least one of them. Lately I’ve chosen cats over people. Yes, I still need to find a therapist I can work with.

I know it sounds silly. We’re constantly at odds with each other over a game about elves with sticks. One camp we’ll call the Old School Renaissance, (Old School Revival, Resistance, Rebellion, R-whatever today.) The other side of the coin is what I call “The Cool Kids Club.” You know, those younger 5E players who follow the likes of Ginny Di, and who think old white guys like me “can’t leave fast enough for this hobby.” There’s actually a third and maybe some more outliers to this particular social dichotomy who get swept under the rug because we don’t fit neatly in either category.

I’m too liberal and open-minded for the OSR. The conservative right wingnuts what populate the OSR do not like my politics or my stance on LGBTQIA+ issues. I also don’t embrace old Dungeons & Dragons BECMI, !st Ed AD&D, 2nd Ed AD&D, Old School Essentials, Basic Fantasy, OSRIC, or Shadowdark like they’re old wayward pets who I haven’t seen in years. That’s not to say I don’t love those games and more, but my ethical and political stance negates any opinion I might have if X (Twitter) and YouTube are to be believed.

But I was unceremoniously ejected from the Cool Kids Club, too. Between Knigobi’s Discord server and a couple of other DungeonTubers I followed on there; I really got the impression that there’s not a place for me with the younger crowd. I found it especially ironic on BlueSky and Instagram when a white dude younger than I am was telling me I needed to get out of the hobby. (Just because I blocked you doesn’t mean I forgot you, Craig of Inspiration.) Your sentiment is going to age like warm cottage cheese and I’m still here, dude.

This dichotomy might possibly be hindering my YouTube growth.

I tried early on to capitalize on the new D&D5.5E Dungeon Master’s Guide before it came out by putting out some videos on why we need more Game Masters in the hobby and how it’s easy/fun to be a GM. In fact, I’ve been ahead of the curve on more than one topic on YouTube; just six months ahead in some cases. I mean, I come out with a video for new GMs. Ginny Di with her 935K subscribers does basically the same video only with more skits and cleavage than I have and gets thousands more views. Go figure.

I’ve been further shamed and ejected from the Cool Kids Club, demographics aside, because of my use and occasional defense of AI tools. This is a topic for a much larger discussion that neither side of the coin seems to want to engage with. We’ll circle back to in at a later date. The high personal cost of the AI debate has been painful to me. But dumpy old AI-loving me can’t compete with Diana of the Rose or Dadi from Mystic Arts, right? Who would you rather be friends with on YouTube or IRL?

At the same time I’ve done a few hot take views on trending topics such as the Jason Buhlman political comment disaster and more recently this WotC Dark Sun business. Usually the negative heat videos do better. I pop off on the Wizards of the Coast and Paizo stupidity because I think something needs to be said and because I am an old white guy from the Midwest flyover states. (I have not forgotten you, Tondro.)

I’m actually ashamed to admit that the Paizo video and some of the hotter takes have gotten better metrics than my regular TTRPG videos. Unfortunately it was a painful lesson that needs to be pointed out. Saying “I don’t want ______ (person, demographic, political group) buying my product” sounds exactly like “Don’t buy my product. I hate making money.” That’s why I popped off on that one. Maybe some aspiring game company president will hear my pleas and not go down the same stupid road.

I will also point out that at least on YouTube, any time someone quotes Mike Shea (Sly Flourish) or any other DungeonTuber shill from the WotC 12-member Council of Doom? Thumbs down, gone, deleted from Watch History to keep the algorithm from serving more crap. If I want Mike Shea’s opinion, I live in a state with lots of cows. I’ll go find the proper end of the bull and wait.

You already have thousands of DungeonTube subscribers and work for Wizards of the (bloody) Coast? Good for you. Want me to take you seriously regardless of what you’ve published? Make better career choices. Play stupid (LARP) games, get stupid experiences. Same thing goes for you, BOB!

So the depression is hitting pretty hard these days honestly.

It is what it is, as much as I hate that freakin phrase. I’m in the same boat as a handful of other guys on YouTube and all-over social media. I’m not in either OSR or 5.5E camp. Honestly both extremes are a bit much for me. Maybe it’s my various diagnosed and undiagnosed neurodiverse issues talking. I just feel like a man without a camp most days. I’m forever alone in whatever crowd I’m standing closest to.

It’s a good thing I enjoy solo roleplaying as much as I do. Just give me a good oracle and a few characters. It’s all fine and dandy. It’s all fine and dandy unless I’m at a convention. YouTube is kinda f’cked though.

I do YouTube for me at this point. I don’t know if it will ever get any kind of monetization going on there. I guess I’m just too determined to keep putting out videos. I don’t think Chin Pecker Maps (whatever it’s called) or anyone from that talent agency will ever be banging down my doors for sponsored ad space.

Rest assured, you belong here.

If you’re breathing air and you’re still with me at this point, you belong here. I want to get back to talking about games instead of real-world politics and religion. I would rather serve an audience that wants to hear weird world building takes or about some kooky Dragonbane monster I cooked up. I’d rather talk about the fun stuff instead of what dumb thing Wizards of the Coast did this time and what we can learn from it. Let’s talk about Dragonbane, Twilight Sword, mallards, cat folk, monsters, traps, treasure, locations, quests and maybe even some unrelated superhero stuff.

I want to start working on cyberpunk/mecha stuff again. I realized the other day how much I miss the cyberpunk genre specifically. Plus I still have that cool idea for a space game floating about just waiting for some love. It doesn’t always have to be about elves with sticks, although if you thought the fantasy crowd was rough… Try finding players for a cyberpunk/mecha game sometime.

Regardless, thanks for being here. This month has been crazy. A couple of guys on YouTube gave me a lot to think about. Shout out to King Waspinator over at Total Party Skills and Grim Jim. I also have to mention the Boss, The OG GM as always because he gives me a lot to think about, too. Hopefully your weekend is going well. Here’s to October always being good for a laugh or two.

I say it every year, but I think 2026 bears repeating it. This year I intend to write more, read more, and discuss cool TTRPGs as well as supplements. Most of all, let’s just have more fun. Let’s explore. Let’s save the kingdom from the evil warlord. Let’s discuss all the fun stuff in gaming that we love.

With the world in the state it finds itself in today, please be kind. Please be considerate to one another even if we don’t agree. Lastly, please pursue the thing that brings you the most joy without harm to others. Thank you!

TTRPGs, the Cottage Industry.

Something I’ve said for years and it’s coming around on social discourse.

Okay, slight suspension of disbelief first. Forget Hasbro and Games Workshop exist, along with the handful of Hasbro’s pawns. (Paizo, Kobold Press, Renegade Game Studios, Ghostfire Gaming, and about half the stuff on D&D Beyond.) Let’s also disregard Chaosium (Call of Cthulhu.) Most of the rest of the TTRPG “Industry” as much as I hate to admit it, is often a lone operator or a small crew of people putting out a game line or two.

I now contend it’s more of a craft industry, at least from where I’m standing. It’s on me to create the product, edit it, lay it out, find/make art for it, and eventually take my product to market. DriveThruRPG is the only sort of middle agent involved. Then I have to market, advertise, pray, and possibly pay taxes. Fortunately I haven’t generated enough revenue to worry about the last part.

A true cottage industry has multiple households creating goods for a receiving agent as they did prior to the days of industrialization. We still see some situations like that today where people work freelance from home on various TTRPG offerings, usually for DMsGuild or even a game company from what we hear. The line between freelancer and independent artisan are blurry sometimes.

The next step up is similar to gainful employment.

There are a few people out there in the TTRPG industry who do creative work for a bona fide game company. It might still be run out of someone’s living room or garage, but it’s more of a legitimate endeavor. I’m thinking along the lines of people who have enjoyed hundreds of thousands of dollars or more on Kickstarter, but don’t have the office space or warehouse for their products.

Then from there I imagine the dream is a working office/warehouse space with something resembling a staff possibly. I don’t know if anyone would call it “living the dream,” but it is how a lot of TTRPG companies grew from a photocopy of the rules to full on production. The only difference nowadays is digital products and print-on-demand have made life slightly easier.

“You’ll never get rich selling games, kid.”

I’ve talked about this before and I think it’s starting to become clearer to me. Maybe there is some truth to it. Maybe my dream of making a comfortable living or at least steadily paying for my hobby using what I bring in on my own meager offerings is just that: a dream. I don’t know any more. I know a lot of the “greats” in the industry are still just barely getting by or minimally not living solely based on their TTRPG income.

The same can be said about YouTube. The creators who are making money, especially on the TTRPG end, are channels with 100K+ followers across multiple platforms. I noticed that Chimp-Peck-You maps or whatever the name is won’t touch anyone under 10K subscribers or 35K consistent views. (Yes I know what the real name is and who their talent agency is, too.) No one is breaking down my door to drop off a $5,000 custom wooden gaming table, either. But I’m not bitter…

YouTube is only going to get harder next year when the monetization requirements go from 1,000 subscribers and 4,000 watch hours to 8,000 watch hours. I’ll be surprised if they don’t up the subscriber counts eventually. It’s the age-old tale of the rich get richer, and the poor get screwed on YouTube.

The TTRPG industry as it is really isn’t much better than YouTube. Small independent creators only have so many options without getting rich on their own (Arcane Library) or getting picked up by one of the big companies like Hasbro. A lucky few might get to cut a deal with a small company like Monte Cook Games or Chaosium. Even then such deals are few and far between especially with the economy in shambles.

When does it go back to just being a hobby?

I’ve asked myself that question a couple of times recently. I don’t think I can ever go back to just being a GM for fun. I’m always going to want to tinker with rules; publish an add-on; make a new monster for people to tinker with; write an article; make a video; and so on. I don’t know if I can ever stop.

Making money is secondary to all the joy creating things brings me. Or at least that’s what I tell myself to keep going. I don’t think anything outside of my family means quite as much to me as gaming has over the years.

I tried for a while to just write some ICONS solo fiction just for me, but it rapidly grew back into exploring other games and systems. Pretty soon I started looking into opening licensing things again. Hi. Here we are, a dozen years later and I’m back to tinkering.

It’s just in my blood; I guess.

A project I started clear back in my D&D 3.5 era has been dragged through two editions of D&D and several other games. Now I’m working on a version of it for Dragonbane. At the rate we’re going I’ll be releasing it for Ruttigers or something. Who knows? It’s one of a handful of titles that I’ve been creating for years or at least conceptualizing this whole time.

Before that it was some things I had come up with for Big Eyes, Small Mouth that I never got to print. I’d also like to be the guy to resurrect Marauder 2107 and Roadstriker 2, but it probably won’t ever happen. Yes, I’m openly a sad little otaku who is more into the TTRPG end of anime. A guy can dream; I guess.

I can dream.

There have been a couple of content creators that I look up to on YouTube lately who have stated what a shitshow the industry and even the hobby itself has become lately. I’m not giving up on the blog, YouTube, DriveThruRPG, or the hobby any time soon. Just because one well-known, overly hyped game is going down the tubes fast, doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t still out here in the struggle.

Sure, the YouTube algorithm is only favoring the Ginny Di’s of the world. Sure, Hasbro/WotC and all their puppet companies are “at the top” of the industry right now. We don’t need them. We never really did.

As long as I can still be a kid with a game, a photocopier (or digital these days,) and a dream- then by Universe, I ain’t going anywhere. Maybe I won’t be able to pass a gaming empire on to my kids someday. They’ll understand. I’m still doing what I love and nothing is going to change that.

That Conversation I Don’t Want To Have.

That conversation I never wanted to freakin have.

I’ve been sitting on this article for months. The first draft was well over 3,000 words, and the second draft wasn’t much shorter. Every time I started writing, I got angry, and every time I got angry, the article got longer. Somewhere along the way I realized I wasn’t really writing about AI anymore. I was writing about frustration, disappointment, and feeling like I had to defend my existence as a creator.

So let’s try this one more time.

Once upon a time, tabletop roleplaying games were built on newsletters, fanzines, pamphlets, and whatever else people could scrape together. Folks typed things up on typewriters, ran them through photocopiers, stapled them together, and shared them with anyone at the wargaming club willing to read them. The hobby wasn’t built by publishing companies; it was built by enthusiastic weirdos with fantastic ideas.

Fantasy art wasn’t readily available, and layout software didn’t exist. Nobody was arguing about AI because most of us were trying to figure out how to get enough copies made before the local copy shop closed or we got kicked out of the public library (Yes, that really happened.) The important thing was the idea; the adventure, the setting, the monster, the game.

Somewhere along the line, things changed.

Today, fantasy art is everywhere, layout software is available to almost anyone with a computer or a phone, and publishing has never been easier. Yet somehow the barriers to entry feel higher than ever. If you release a product today without art, if your cover isn’t eye-catching, or if your layout isn’t polished, people notice. Art has become an expectation.

I listened to a popular DungeonTuber the other day railing against typos and grammatical errors the other day. The same guy regularly doubles down against AI tools. Do you see where this causes me some cognitive dissonance?

That brings me to the problem.

I have quietly come to loggerheads with people I admire over AI art. I’ve watched creators get absolutely roasted for using it. I’ve watched friendships fracture, and I’ve watched communities divide themselves into camps that seem increasingly unwilling to listen to each other. I’ve mostly kept my mouth shut—not because I don’t have opinions (trust me, I do), but because I knew the moment I opened my mouth someone would assume I was attacking artists.

I’m not. Not even a little.

I think artists should be paid, and I think artists deserve respect. I think artists create things I could never create. I also think reality exists, and reality is where this discussion gets complicated.

I’m a small creator. I’m not running million-dollar crowdfunding campaigns, getting convention appearance fees, or selling tens of thousands of copies of products. I’m a guy trying to make third-party Dragonbane supplements at three in the morning while dealing with chronic pain, depression, family obligations, and whatever fresh disaster life has decided to throw at me this week.

Have you seen what professional fantasy art costs these days? Holy shit.

Good artists deserve every penny they earn. The problem isn’t the artist; the problem is that many small creators simply can’t afford those prices. A custom cover can easily cost hundreds of dollars, and interior artwork can climb into the thousands. That’s before layout, editing, promotion, or anything else enters the equation.

People often tell me to use stock art. Okay. Please show me where I can find stock art for a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex with gorilla arms, vulture wings, and a venomous tail. I’ll wait.

If I need a castle, a mountain, or a goat, stock art is wonderful. If I need a bizarre monster that exists only in the twisted recesses of my brain, the options become a lot more limited. That’s where AI entered my workflow; not because I hate artists, want artists to starve, and not because I’m trying to replace anyone. It’s because AI solved a problem that otherwise had no practical solution.

The choice wasn’t AI art versus commissioned art. The choice was AI art versus no art, and that’s a very different conversation.

There’s another aspect of this discussion that gets overlooked constantly: accessibility.

My friend, The OG GM, has dyslexia and other neurological challenges that can make writing and formatting difficult, which is a well-known fact to his friends, family, and strangers on the Internet. AI helps bridge some of those gaps. Sometimes it helps with spelling, sometimes it helps organize thoughts, and sometimes it helps transform rough ideas into something easier to work with. I help when I can, too. For free because that’s what friends do. Sometimes I wish I could help more.

What I’ve discovered is that a lot of neurodivergent people use AI in similar ways. They use it to reduce decision fatigue, organize schedules, draft emails, answer messages, summarize information, and break overwhelming tasks into manageable pieces. AI doesn’t make ADHD, or Autism disappear. It doesn’t magically solve anxiety, depression, dyslexia, or executive dysfunction. What it can do is remove a few obstacles and reduce a little friction, and for some people, that’s a bigger deal than critics seem willing to acknowledge.

Now before anyone starts sharpening pitchforks, let’s address the obvious concerns.

Some artists are losing work, and that’s real. Some companies are absolutely using AI to cut costs, and that’s real too. Some people are flooding storefronts with low-effort junk generated in five minutes. I’ve seen it, and you’ve seen it. Pretending those things aren’t happening would be dishonest. Likewise, concerns about energy usage and infrastructure deserve discussion. Every major technological shift comes with consequences, and none of those concerns are imaginary.

What frustrates me is the lack of nuance. The conversation often feels like it has only two positions: either AI is the greatest thing ever invented, or AI is destroying creativity forever. Reality rarely works that way. Most people end up somewhere in the middle. Most people aren’t trying to destroy art or artists; they’re simply trying to solve problems using the tools available to them.

The thing that concerns me most isn’t the technology; it’s the growing divide inside the TTRPG hobby. Communities are splitting apart, conventions are debating policies, creators are choosing sides, and people who probably agree on ninety percent of everything else suddenly can’t stand each other because of one issue. That’s sad, especially in a hobby built on imagination and collaboration.

The truth is AI isn’t going away. Search engines use it, Microsoft Word uses it, WordPress uses it, customer service departments use it, and my dentist’s office uses it after hours. Most people interact with AI every day whether they realize it or not. Technology changes, people adapt, and nobody is rushing to bring back eight-track tapes or demanding a return to typewriters. The world keeps moving forward.

That doesn’t mean every technological change is good, but it does mean some of them become permanent. Sewing machines still exist, but they don’t closely resemble the ones from a hundred years ago.

My position is pretty simple.

Creators who want to make everything by hand should absolutely do so. Creators who want to hire artists should absolutely do so. Customers should absolutely support the creators they believe in. I have no interest in telling anyone what tools they should use; I just want the same courtesy in return.

I’ve been in this hobby for decades. I’ve written for small publications, and I’ve watched entire eras of gaming come and go. The one thing I’ve always loved about tabletop roleplaying games is that anyone could create something. Anyone could write an adventure, build a world, invent a monster, and contribute. That spirit is worth protecting.

You don’t have to agree with my choices. You don’t have to like AI, and you don’t have to use it. But I do believe people should be free to create using the tools available to them, especially when those tools help overcome barriers that might otherwise prevent them from creating at all.

At the end of the day, I’d rather spend my time creating worlds than fighting culture wars. The hobby is big enough for all of us, or at least I’d like to believe it is.

Additional Notes:

A few people commented on some things I forgot to mention. Sorry. I’ll try to be more thorough.

I offer an art-free, text-only document along with all of my PDFs. Don’t like AI art? Just download printer-friendly version.

Also, I’m a big fan of ethical AI use. I never claim something AI did as my own. If it doesn’t have my artist tag that I’ve been using since 1988 on it, It’s probably AI or it’s got the artist credits listed on it. I always disclose AI use on DriveThru because I need to maintain a healthy working relationship with them and the rest of the world.

Last (for now,) I’m not ever advocating for what I would consider AI slop. The people out there who pump out 3-5 supplements per day written and illustrated by AI with little-no editing with no regard for ethics are putting out slop. But one or a few AI illustrations in my 1-3 third-party Dragonbane supplements per year really don’t qualify as slop in my opinion. I do all my own writing, editing, layout, advertising, print-friendly version, and taking all the grief. That’s me.

Thanks to everyone who pointed out those oversights.

That Conversation I Don’t Want To Have.

That conversation I never wanted to freakin have.

I’ve been sitting on this article for months. The first draft was well over 3,000 words, and the second draft wasn’t much shorter. Every time I started writing, I got angry, and every time I got angry, the article got longer. Somewhere along the way I realized I wasn’t really writing about AI anymore. I was writing about frustration, disappointment, and feeling like I had to defend my existence as a creator.

So let’s try this one more time.

Once upon a time, tabletop roleplaying games were built on newsletters, fanzines, pamphlets, and whatever else people could scrape together. Folks typed things up on typewriters, ran them through photocopiers, stapled them together, and shared them with anyone at the wargaming club willing to read them. The hobby wasn’t built by publishing companies; it was built by enthusiastic weirdos with fantastic ideas.

Fantasy art wasn’t readily available, and layout software didn’t exist. Nobody was arguing about AI because most of us were trying to figure out how to get enough copies made before the local copy shop closed or we got kicked out of the public library (Yes, that really happened.) The important thing was the idea; the adventure, the setting, the monster, the game.

Somewhere along the line, things changed.

Today, fantasy art is everywhere, layout software is available to almost anyone with a computer or a phone, and publishing has never been easier. Yet somehow the barriers to entry feel higher than ever. If you release a product today without art, if your cover isn’t eye-catching, or if your layout isn’t polished, people notice. Art has become an expectation.

I listened to a popular DungeonTuber the other day railing against typos and grammatical errors the other day. The same guy regularly doubles down against AI tools. Do you see where this causes me some cognitive dissonance?

That brings me to the problem.

I have quietly come to loggerheads with people I admire over AI art. I’ve watched creators get absolutely roasted for using it. I’ve watched friendships fracture, and I’ve watched communities divide themselves into camps that seem increasingly unwilling to listen to each other. I’ve mostly kept my mouth shut—not because I don’t have opinions (trust me, I do), but because I knew the moment I opened my mouth someone would assume I was attacking artists.

I’m not. Not even a little.

I think artists should be paid, and I think artists deserve respect. I think artists create things I could never create. I also think reality exists, and reality is where this discussion gets complicated.

I’m a small creator. I’m not running million-dollar crowdfunding campaigns, getting convention appearance fees, or selling tens of thousands of copies of products. I’m a guy trying to make third-party Dragonbane supplements at three in the morning while dealing with chronic pain, depression, family obligations, and whatever fresh disaster life has decided to throw at me this week.

Have you seen what professional fantasy art costs these days? Holy shit.

Good artists deserve every penny they earn. The problem isn’t the artist; the problem is that many small creators simply can’t afford those prices. A custom cover can easily cost hundreds of dollars, and interior artwork can climb into the thousands. That’s before layout, editing, promotion, or anything else enters the equation.

People often tell me to use stock art. Okay. Please show me where I can find stock art for a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex with gorilla arms, vulture wings, and a venomous tail. I’ll wait.

If I need a castle, a mountain, or a goat, stock art is wonderful. If I need a bizarre monster that exists only in the twisted recesses of my brain, the options become a lot more limited. That’s where AI entered my workflow; not because I hate artists, want artists to starve, and not because I’m trying to replace anyone. It’s because AI solved a problem that otherwise had no practical solution.

The choice wasn’t AI art versus commissioned art. The choice was AI art versus no art, and that’s a very different conversation.

There’s another aspect of this discussion that gets overlooked constantly: accessibility.

My friend, The OG GM, has dyslexia and other neurological challenges that can make writing and formatting difficult, which is a well-known fact to his friends, family, and strangers on the Internet. AI helps bridge some of those gaps. Sometimes it helps with spelling, sometimes it helps organize thoughts, and sometimes it helps transform rough ideas into something easier to work with. I help when I can, too. For free because that’s what friends do. Sometimes I wish I could help more.

What I’ve discovered is that a lot of neurodivergent people use AI in similar ways. They use it to reduce decision fatigue, organize schedules, draft emails, answer messages, summarize information, and break overwhelming tasks into manageable pieces. AI doesn’t make ADHD, or Autism disappear. It doesn’t magically solve anxiety, depression, dyslexia, or executive dysfunction. What it can do is remove a few obstacles and reduce a little friction, and for some people, that’s a bigger deal than critics seem willing to acknowledge.

Now before anyone starts sharpening pitchforks, let’s address the obvious concerns.

Some artists are losing work, and that’s real. Some companies are absolutely using AI to cut costs, and that’s real too. Some people are flooding storefronts with low-effort junk generated in five minutes. I’ve seen it, and you’ve seen it. Pretending those things aren’t happening would be dishonest. Likewise, concerns about energy usage and infrastructure deserve discussion. Every major technological shift comes with consequences, and none of those concerns are imaginary.

What frustrates me is the lack of nuance. The conversation often feels like it has only two positions: either AI is the greatest thing ever invented, or AI is destroying creativity forever. Reality rarely works that way. Most people end up somewhere in the middle. Most people aren’t trying to destroy art or artists; they’re simply trying to solve problems using the tools available to them.

The thing that concerns me most isn’t the technology; it’s the growing divide inside the TTRPG hobby. Communities are splitting apart, conventions are debating policies, creators are choosing sides, and people who probably agree on ninety percent of everything else suddenly can’t stand each other because of one issue. That’s sad, especially in a hobby built on imagination and collaboration.

The truth is AI isn’t going away. Search engines use it, Microsoft Word uses it, WordPress uses it, customer service departments use it, and my dentist’s office uses it after hours. Most people interact with AI every day whether they realize it or not. Technology changes, people adapt, and nobody is rushing to bring back eight-track tapes or demanding a return to typewriters. The world keeps moving forward.

That doesn’t mean every technological change is good, but it does mean some of them become permanent. Sewing machines still exist, but they don’t closely resemble the ones from a hundred years ago.

My position is pretty simple.

Creators who want to make everything by hand should absolutely do so. Creators who want to hire artists should absolutely do so. Customers should absolutely support the creators they believe in. I have no interest in telling anyone what tools they should use; I just want the same courtesy in return.

I’ve been in this hobby for decades. I’ve written for small publications, and I’ve watched entire eras of gaming come and go. The one thing I’ve always loved about tabletop roleplaying games is that anyone could create something. Anyone could write an adventure, build a world, invent a monster, and contribute. That spirit is worth protecting.

You don’t have to agree with my choices. You don’t have to like AI, and you don’t have to use it. But I do believe people should be free to create using the tools available to them, especially when those tools help overcome barriers that might otherwise prevent them from creating at all.

At the end of the day, I’d rather spend my time creating worlds than fighting culture wars. The hobby is big enough for all of us, or at least I’d like to believe it is.

That Conversation I Don’t Want To Have.

That conversation I never wanted to freakin have.

I’ve been sitting on this article for months. The first draft was well over 3,000 words, and the second draft wasn’t much shorter. Every time I started writing, I got angry, and every time I got angry, the article got longer. Somewhere along the way I realized I wasn’t really writing about AI anymore. I was writing about frustration, disappointment, and feeling like I had to defend my existence as a creator.

So let’s try this one more time.

Once upon a time, tabletop roleplaying games were built on newsletters, fanzines, pamphlets, and whatever else people could scrape together. Folks typed things up on typewriters, ran them through photocopiers, stapled them together, and shared them with anyone at the wargaming club willing to read them. The hobby wasn’t built by publishing companies; it was built by enthusiastic weirdos with fantastic ideas.

Fantasy art wasn’t readily available, and layout software didn’t exist. Nobody was arguing about AI because most of us were trying to figure out how to get enough copies made before the local copy shop closed or we got kicked out of the public library (Yes, that really happened.) The important thing was the idea; the adventure, the setting, the monster, the game.

Somewhere along the line, things changed.

Today, fantasy art is everywhere, layout software is available to almost anyone with a computer or a phone, and publishing has never been easier. Yet somehow the barriers to entry feel higher than ever. If you release a product today without art, if your cover isn’t eye-catching, or if your layout isn’t polished, people notice. Art has become an expectation.

I listened to a popular DungeonTuber the other day railing against typos and grammatical errors the other day. The same guy regularly doubles down against AI tools. Do you see where this causes me some cognitive dissonance?

That brings me to the problem.

I have quietly come to loggerheads with people I admire over AI art. I’ve watched creators get absolutely roasted for using it. I’ve watched friendships fracture, and I’ve watched communities divide themselves into camps that seem increasingly unwilling to listen to each other. I’ve mostly kept my mouth shut—not because I don’t have opinions (trust me, I do), but because I knew the moment I opened my mouth someone would assume I was attacking artists.

I’m not. Not even a little.

I think artists should be paid, and I think artists deserve respect. I think artists create things I could never create. I also think reality exists, and reality is where this discussion gets complicated.

I’m a small creator. I’m not running million-dollar crowdfunding campaigns, getting convention appearance fees, or selling tens of thousands of copies of products. I’m a guy trying to make third-party Dragonbane supplements at three in the morning while dealing with chronic pain, depression, family obligations, and whatever fresh disaster life has decided to throw at me this week.

Have you seen what professional fantasy art costs these days? Holy shit.

Good artists deserve every penny they earn. The problem isn’t the artist; the problem is that many small creators simply can’t afford those prices. A custom cover can easily cost hundreds of dollars, and interior artwork can climb into the thousands. That’s before layout, editing, promotion, or anything else enters the equation.

People often tell me to use stock art. Okay. Please show me where I can find stock art for a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex with gorilla arms, vulture wings, and a venomous tail. I’ll wait.

If I need a castle, a mountain, or a goat, stock art is wonderful. If I need a bizarre monster that exists only in the twisted recesses of my brain, the options become a lot more limited. That’s where AI entered my workflow; not because I hate artists, want artists to starve, and not because I’m trying to replace anyone. It’s because AI solved a problem that otherwise had no practical solution.

The choice wasn’t AI art versus commissioned art. The choice was AI art versus no art, and that’s a very different conversation.

There’s another aspect of this discussion that gets overlooked constantly: accessibility.

My friend, The OG GM, has dyslexia and other neurological challenges that can make writing and formatting difficult, which is a well-known fact to his friends, family, and strangers on the Internet. AI helps bridge some of those gaps. Sometimes it helps with spelling, sometimes it helps organize thoughts, and sometimes it helps transform rough ideas into something easier to work with. I help when I can, too. For free because that’s what friends do. Sometimes I wish I could help more.

What I’ve discovered is that a lot of neurodivergent people use AI in similar ways. They use it to reduce decision fatigue, organize schedules, draft emails, answer messages, summarize information, and break overwhelming tasks into manageable pieces. AI doesn’t make ADHD, or Autism disappear. It doesn’t magically solve anxiety, depression, dyslexia, or executive dysfunction. What it can do is remove a few obstacles and reduce a little friction, and for some people, that’s a bigger deal than critics seem willing to acknowledge.

Now before anyone starts sharpening pitchforks, let’s address the obvious concerns.

Some artists are losing work, and that’s real. Some companies are absolutely using AI to cut costs, and that’s real too. Some people are flooding storefronts with low-effort junk generated in five minutes. I’ve seen it, and you’ve seen it. Pretending those things aren’t happening would be dishonest. Likewise, concerns about energy usage and infrastructure deserve discussion. Every major technological shift comes with consequences, and none of those concerns are imaginary.

What frustrates me is the lack of nuance. The conversation often feels like it has only two positions: either AI is the greatest thing ever invented, or AI is destroying creativity forever. Reality rarely works that way. Most people end up somewhere in the middle. Most people aren’t trying to destroy art or artists; they’re simply trying to solve problems using the tools available to them.

The thing that concerns me most isn’t the technology; it’s the growing divide inside the TTRPG hobby. Communities are splitting apart, conventions are debating policies, creators are choosing sides, and people who probably agree on ninety percent of everything else suddenly can’t stand each other because of one issue. That’s sad, especially in a hobby built on imagination and collaboration.

The truth is AI isn’t going away. Search engines use it, Microsoft Word uses it, WordPress uses it, customer service departments use it, and my dentist’s office uses it after hours. Most people interact with AI every day whether they realize it or not. Technology changes, people adapt, and nobody is rushing to bring back eight-track tapes or demanding a return to typewriters. The world keeps moving forward.

That doesn’t mean every technological change is good, but it does mean some of them become permanent. Sewing machines still exist, but they don’t closely resemble the ones from a hundred years ago.

My position is pretty simple.

Creators who want to make everything by hand should absolutely do so. Creators who want to hire artists should absolutely do so. Customers should absolutely support the creators they believe in. I have no interest in telling anyone what tools they should use; I just want the same courtesy in return.

I’ve been in this hobby for decades. I’ve written for small publications, and I’ve watched entire eras of gaming come and go. The one thing I’ve always loved about tabletop roleplaying games is that anyone could create something. Anyone could write an adventure, build a world, invent a monster, and contribute. That spirit is worth protecting.

You don’t have to agree with my choices. You don’t have to like AI, and you don’t have to use it. But I do believe people should be free to create using the tools available to them, especially when those tools help overcome barriers that might otherwise prevent them from creating at all.

At the end of the day, I’d rather spend my time creating worlds than fighting culture wars. The hobby is big enough for all of us, or at least I’d like to believe it is.

That Conversation I Don’t Want To Have.

That conversation I never wanted to freakin have.

I’ve been sitting on this article for months. The first draft was well over 3,000 words, and the second draft wasn’t much shorter. Every time I started writing, I got angry, and every time I got angry, the article got longer. Somewhere along the way I realized I wasn’t really writing about AI anymore. I was writing about frustration, disappointment, and feeling like I had to defend my existence as a creator.

So let’s try this one more time.

Once upon a time, tabletop roleplaying games were built on newsletters, fanzines, pamphlets, and whatever else people could scrape together. Folks typed things up on typewriters, ran them through photocopiers, stapled them together, and shared them with anyone at the wargaming club willing to read them. The hobby wasn’t built by publishing companies; it was built by enthusiastic weirdos with fantastic ideas.

Fantasy art wasn’t readily available, and layout software didn’t exist. Nobody was arguing about AI because most of us were trying to figure out how to get enough copies made before the local copy shop closed or we got kicked out of the public library (Yes, that really happened.) The important thing was the idea; the adventure, the setting, the monster, the game.

Somewhere along the line, things changed.

Today, fantasy art is everywhere, layout software is available to almost anyone with a computer or a phone, and publishing has never been easier. Yet somehow the barriers to entry feel higher than ever. If you release a product today without art, if your cover isn’t eye-catching, or if your layout isn’t polished, people notice. Art has become an expectation.

I listened to a popular DungeonTuber the other day railing against typos and grammatical errors the other day. The same guy regularly doubles down against AI tools. Do you see where this causes me some cognitive dissonance?

That brings me to the problem.

I have quietly come to loggerheads with people I admire over AI art. I’ve watched creators get absolutely roasted for using it. I’ve watched friendships fracture, and I’ve watched communities divide themselves into camps that seem increasingly unwilling to listen to each other. I’ve mostly kept my mouth shut—not because I don’t have opinions (trust me, I do), but because I knew the moment I opened my mouth someone would assume I was attacking artists.

I’m not. Not even a little.

I think artists should be paid, and I think artists deserve respect. I think artists create things I could never create. I also think reality exists, and reality is where this discussion gets complicated.

I’m a small creator. I’m not running million-dollar crowdfunding campaigns, getting convention appearance fees, or selling tens of thousands of copies of products. I’m a guy trying to make third-party Dragonbane supplements at three in the morning while dealing with chronic pain, depression, family obligations, and whatever fresh disaster life has decided to throw at me this week.

Have you seen what professional fantasy art costs these days? Holy shit.

Good artists deserve every penny they earn. The problem isn’t the artist; the problem is that many small creators simply can’t afford those prices. A custom cover can easily cost hundreds of dollars, and interior artwork can climb into the thousands. That’s before layout, editing, promotion, or anything else enters the equation.

People often tell me to use stock art. Okay. Please show me where I can find stock art for a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex with gorilla arms, vulture wings, and a venomous tail. I’ll wait.

If I need a castle, a mountain, or a goat, stock art is wonderful. If I need a bizarre monster that exists only in the twisted recesses of my brain, the options become a lot more limited. That’s where AI entered my workflow; not because I hate artists, want artists to starve, and not because I’m trying to replace anyone. It’s because AI solved a problem that otherwise had no practical solution.

The choice wasn’t AI art versus commissioned art. The choice was AI art versus no art, and that’s a very different conversation.

There’s another aspect of this discussion that gets overlooked constantly: accessibility.

My friend, The OG GM, has dyslexia and other neurological challenges that can make writing and formatting difficult, which is a well-known fact to his friends, family, and strangers on the Internet. AI helps bridge some of those gaps. Sometimes it helps with spelling, sometimes it helps organize thoughts, and sometimes it helps transform rough ideas into something easier to work with. I help when I can, too. For free because that’s what friends do. Sometimes I wish I could help more.

What I’ve discovered is that a lot of neurodivergent people use AI in similar ways. They use it to reduce decision fatigue, organize schedules, draft emails, answer messages, summarize information, and break overwhelming tasks into manageable pieces. AI doesn’t make ADHD, or Autism disappear. It doesn’t magically solve anxiety, depression, dyslexia, or executive dysfunction. What it can do is remove a few obstacles and reduce a little friction, and for some people, that’s a bigger deal than critics seem willing to acknowledge.

Now before anyone starts sharpening pitchforks, let’s address the obvious concerns.

Some artists are losing work, and that’s real. Some companies are absolutely using AI to cut costs, and that’s real too. Some people are flooding storefronts with low-effort junk generated in five minutes. I’ve seen it, and you’ve seen it. Pretending those things aren’t happening would be dishonest. Likewise, concerns about energy usage and infrastructure deserve discussion. Every major technological shift comes with consequences, and none of those concerns are imaginary.

What frustrates me is the lack of nuance. The conversation often feels like it has only two positions: either AI is the greatest thing ever invented, or AI is destroying creativity forever. Reality rarely works that way. Most people end up somewhere in the middle. Most people aren’t trying to destroy art or artists; they’re simply trying to solve problems using the tools available to them.

The thing that concerns me most isn’t the technology; it’s the growing divide inside the TTRPG hobby. Communities are splitting apart, conventions are debating policies, creators are choosing sides, and people who probably agree on ninety percent of everything else suddenly can’t stand each other because of one issue. That’s sad, especially in a hobby built on imagination and collaboration.

The truth is AI isn’t going away. Search engines use it, Microsoft Word uses it, WordPress uses it, customer service departments use it, and my dentist’s office uses it after hours. Most people interact with AI every day whether they realize it or not. Technology changes, people adapt, and nobody is rushing to bring back eight-track tapes or demanding a return to typewriters. The world keeps moving forward.

That doesn’t mean every technological change is good, but it does mean some of them become permanent. Sewing machines still exist, but they don’t closely resemble the ones from a hundred years ago.

My position is pretty simple.

Creators who want to make everything by hand should absolutely do so. Creators who want to hire artists should absolutely do so. Customers should absolutely support the creators they believe in. I have no interest in telling anyone what tools they should use; I just want the same courtesy in return.

I’ve been in this hobby for decades. I’ve written for small publications, and I’ve watched entire eras of gaming come and go. The one thing I’ve always loved about tabletop roleplaying games is that anyone could create something. Anyone could write an adventure, build a world, invent a monster, and contribute. That spirit is worth protecting.

You don’t have to agree with my choices. You don’t have to like AI, and you don’t have to use it. But I do believe people should be free to create using the tools available to them, especially when those tools help overcome barriers that might otherwise prevent them from creating at all.

At the end of the day, I’d rather spend my time creating worlds than fighting culture wars. The hobby is big enough for all of us, or at least I’d like to believe it is.

That Conversation I Don’t Want To Have.

That conversation I never wanted to freakin have.

I’ve been sitting on this article for months. The first draft was well over 3,000 words, and the second draft wasn’t much shorter. Every time I started writing, I got angry, and every time I got angry, the article got longer. Somewhere along the way I realized I wasn’t really writing about AI anymore. I was writing about frustration, disappointment, and feeling like I had to defend my existence as a creator.

So let’s try this one more time.

Once upon a time, tabletop roleplaying games were built on newsletters, fanzines, pamphlets, and whatever else people could scrape together. Folks typed things up on typewriters, ran them through photocopiers, stapled them together, and shared them with anyone at the wargaming club willing to read them. The hobby wasn’t built by publishing companies; it was built by enthusiastic weirdos with fantastic ideas.

Fantasy art wasn’t readily available, and layout software didn’t exist. Nobody was arguing about AI because most of us were trying to figure out how to get enough copies made before the local copy shop closed or we got kicked out of the public library (Yes, that really happened.) The important thing was the idea; the adventure, the setting, the monster, the game.

Somewhere along the line, things changed.

Today, fantasy art is everywhere, layout software is available to almost anyone with a computer or a phone, and publishing has never been easier. Yet somehow the barriers to entry feel higher than ever. If you release a product today without art, if your cover isn’t eye-catching, or if your layout isn’t polished, people notice. Art has become an expectation.

I listened to a popular DungeonTuber the other day railing against typos and grammatical errors the other day. The same guy regularly doubles down against AI tools. Do you see where this causes me some cognitive dissonance?

That brings me to the problem.

I have quietly come to loggerheads with people I admire over AI art. I’ve watched creators get absolutely roasted for using it. I’ve watched friendships fracture, and I’ve watched communities divide themselves into camps that seem increasingly unwilling to listen to each other. I’ve mostly kept my mouth shut—not because I don’t have opinions (trust me, I do), but because I knew the moment I opened my mouth someone would assume I was attacking artists.

I’m not. Not even a little.

I think artists should be paid, and I think artists deserve respect. I think artists create things I could never create. I also think reality exists, and reality is where this discussion gets complicated.

I’m a small creator. I’m not running million-dollar crowdfunding campaigns, getting convention appearance fees, or selling tens of thousands of copies of products. I’m a guy trying to make third-party Dragonbane supplements at three in the morning while dealing with chronic pain, depression, family obligations, and whatever fresh disaster life has decided to throw at me this week.

Have you seen what professional fantasy art costs these days? Holy shit.

Good artists deserve every penny they earn. The problem isn’t the artist; the problem is that many small creators simply can’t afford those prices. A custom cover can easily cost hundreds of dollars, and interior artwork can climb into the thousands. That’s before layout, editing, promotion, or anything else enters the equation.

People often tell me to use stock art. Okay. Please show me where I can find stock art for a giant Tyrannosaurus Rex with gorilla arms, vulture wings, and a venomous tail. I’ll wait.

If I need a castle, a mountain, or a goat, stock art is wonderful. If I need a bizarre monster that exists only in the twisted recesses of my brain, the options become a lot more limited. That’s where AI entered my workflow; not because I hate artists, want artists to starve, and not because I’m trying to replace anyone. It’s because AI solved a problem that otherwise had no practical solution.

The choice wasn’t AI art versus commissioned art. The choice was AI art versus no art, and that’s a very different conversation.

There’s another aspect of this discussion that gets overlooked constantly: accessibility.

My friend, The OG GM, has dyslexia and other neurological challenges that can make writing and formatting difficult, which is a well-known fact to his friends, family, and strangers on the Internet. AI helps bridge some of those gaps. Sometimes it helps with spelling, sometimes it helps organize thoughts, and sometimes it helps transform rough ideas into something easier to work with. I help when I can, too. For free because that’s what friends do. Sometimes I wish I could help more.

What I’ve discovered is that a lot of neurodivergent people use AI in similar ways. They use it to reduce decision fatigue, organize schedules, draft emails, answer messages, summarize information, and break overwhelming tasks into manageable pieces. AI doesn’t make ADHD, or Autism disappear. It doesn’t magically solve anxiety, depression, dyslexia, or executive dysfunction. What it can do is remove a few obstacles and reduce a little friction, and for some people, that’s a bigger deal than critics seem willing to acknowledge.

Now before anyone starts sharpening pitchforks, let’s address the obvious concerns.

Some artists are losing work, and that’s real. Some companies are absolutely using AI to cut costs, and that’s real too. Some people are flooding storefronts with low-effort junk generated in five minutes. I’ve seen it, and you’ve seen it. Pretending those things aren’t happening would be dishonest. Likewise, concerns about energy usage and infrastructure deserve discussion. Every major technological shift comes with consequences, and none of those concerns are imaginary.

What frustrates me is the lack of nuance. The conversation often feels like it has only two positions: either AI is the greatest thing ever invented, or AI is destroying creativity forever. Reality rarely works that way. Most people end up somewhere in the middle. Most people aren’t trying to destroy art or artists; they’re simply trying to solve problems using the tools available to them.

The thing that concerns me most isn’t the technology; it’s the growing divide inside the TTRPG hobby. Communities are splitting apart, conventions are debating policies, creators are choosing sides, and people who probably agree on ninety percent of everything else suddenly can’t stand each other because of one issue. That’s sad, especially in a hobby built on imagination and collaboration.

The truth is AI isn’t going away. Search engines use it, Microsoft Word uses it, WordPress uses it, customer service departments use it, and my dentist’s office uses it after hours. Most people interact with AI every day whether they realize it or not. Technology changes, people adapt, and nobody is rushing to bring back eight-track tapes or demanding a return to typewriters. The world keeps moving forward.

That doesn’t mean every technological change is good, but it does mean some of them become permanent. Sewing machines still exist, but they don’t closely resemble the ones from a hundred years ago.

My position is pretty simple.

Creators who want to make everything by hand should absolutely do so. Creators who want to hire artists should absolutely do so. Customers should absolutely support the creators they believe in. I have no interest in telling anyone what tools they should use; I just want the same courtesy in return.

I’ve been in this hobby for decades. I’ve written for small publications, and I’ve watched entire eras of gaming come and go. The one thing I’ve always loved about tabletop roleplaying games is that anyone could create something. Anyone could write an adventure, build a world, invent a monster, and contribute. That spirit is worth protecting.

You don’t have to agree with my choices. You don’t have to like AI, and you don’t have to use it. But I do believe people should be free to create using the tools available to them, especially when those tools help overcome barriers that might otherwise prevent them from creating at all.

At the end of the day, I’d rather spend my time creating worlds than fighting culture wars. The hobby is big enough for all of us, or at least I’d like to believe it is.