40. make your move, but . . .

We’re looking at the next two principles together because they are closely related:

Make your move, but misdirect.
Make your move, but never speak its name.

The reason for these moves is plainly stated in the text:

Of course the real reason why you choose a move exists in the real world. Somebody has her character go someplace new, somebody misses a roll, somebody hits a roll that calls for you to answer, everybody’s looking to you to say something, so you choose a move to make. Real-world reasons. However, misdirect: pretend that you’re making your move for reasons entirely within the game’s fiction instead (82-83).

The players never have real-world reasons to make their moves; they are always responding to and working within the Fiction. The MC, however, is only allowed to make her moves because of real-world reasons, but for the sake of the players, she must present those moves as part of the Fiction. “Misdirecting” is a way of “pretending” that the reason for the move comes from the Fiction instead of the real-world reasons.

Here’s the first example:

Maybe your move is to separate them, for instance; never say “you missed your roll, so you two get separated.” Instead, maybe say “you try to grab his gun”—this was the PC’s move—“but he kicks you down. While they’re stomping on you, they drag Damson away.” The effect’s the same, they’re separated, but you’ve cannily misrepresented the cause. Make like it’s the game’s fiction that chooses your move for you. This is easy if you always choose a move that the game’s fiction makes possible.

I find this phrasing very interesting. It could have easily said something like, “Choose a move that is closely related to what is happening in the fiction,” or, “let the fiction determine your move.” But no, pick whatever move you want, and then “make like” it’s the fiction that chose the move. Your job as MC is easier “if you always choose a move that the game’s fiction makes possible,” but that is not a requirement. I find the phrasing interesting because the text wants you to have no illusions as MC that what you are doing exists outside of the Fiction. It is important that you understand the process that is happening, that you are playing the game and not the other way around. I think this is the game designers telling the MC what honesty demands.

These two principles are cause and effect. The truth is that you’ve chosen a move and made it. Pretend, though, that there’s a fictional cause; pretend that it has a fictional effect (83).

And that’s the thrust of these principles. When these two principles are acted upon, the Fiction is seamlessly maintained for the players even as you are operating outside of it. Where your move comes from, what your move is called, what your move does—it’s all kept out of the conversation. The question that I keep coming back to as I look at the principles is this: why?

Yes, immersion, but as I said last time, I don’t believe that immersion for the players is an end in itself for the game. It might be a lovely benefit that players really enjoy, but it is not the ultimate goal.

I have been saying that since the players have to operate within the Fiction to trigger their moves, the MC’s principles are designed to surround the players with Fiction in order to make the players’ ability to operate within the Fiction that much easier and natural. I stand by that. But there’s still a why hidden in there, isn’t there? Why make the game work that way? What is gained by letting the players focus solely on the Fiction? The answer is, I think, in the way that story is created in Apocalypse World.

Every RPG creates a “story” at some point, even if it’s only in the retelling of what happened during game play. Some games rely on the GM bringing a “plot” to the table and having the players move their characters through it. Some games rely on rules to structure game play so that there is a beginning, middle, and end. Some games impose a kind of act structure to make sure there are a setup, a rising action, a crisis, and a resolution. All of these things are notably missing—even forbidden!—from Apocalypse World.

Instead, Apocalypse World takes a different path to create story. The players’ moves and the MC’s moves, when made in a fictional world bound by the principles in this chapter—all these things work together to create a narrative chain of events, a set of actions and reactions, causes and effects that will necessarily create a unique and incredible story. Neither the players nor the MC are encouraged to think of themes or overarching plots. If there is a willingness to have both the characters and world change due to this series of actions and reactions, then that story will naturally emerge without artificiality. All of the moves and principles of the MC, and all the moves available to the players, are designed to create the rhythms of that story, with highs and lows, successes and failures, and world-altering, character-changing drama.

Because the rules themselves are designed to create this kind of story through play, the only thing the players need to think about (and should think about) when they play is their character as she exists within the Fiction. The first four of these principles—barfing forth apocalypse, addressing the characters, making your move but misdirecting, and making your move without speaking its name—are all designed to let the players focus on what they need to for the game to play correctly: their characters as they exist within the Fiction. With this foundation set, the rest of the principles will dictate rules for how the world will respond to and be shaped by (and put pressure upon and shape in return) the characters.

This approach to creating narrative takes some time of course. This is why Apocalypse World is not typically a one-shot game, why the text says to expect things to really start flying around session 6. There is a cumulative power to letting this chemical interaction between characters and world brew and broil and react. After six sessions there are enough elements and enough history that everything is charged and crashing into each other. Let things bubble over, trust in the rules and principles, let the characters push, let the world push back, and play to find out what happens. That’s the goal and that is why these rules are established to let the players concentrate entirely on the Fiction of the moment.

Okay, this post is already ridiculously long, so let’s wrap up these two principles:

Together, the purpose of these two principles is to create an illusion for the players, not to hide your intentions from them. Certainly never to hide your NPCs’ actions, or developments in the characters’ world, from the players’ characters! No; always say what honesty demands. When it comes to what’s happening to and around the players’ characters, always be as honest as you can be.

Always say what honesty demands. You as the MC cannot fiddle with things behind the players’ backs. Your illusion is not one of dishonesty but for the sole purpose of letting the players focus on the Fiction. That honesty is an indispensible element of the MC’s rules because the world needs to react honestly to the character’s actions if the game is to create the kind of stories it is designed to create.