Framing the Problem: Rotating Leaders and Spotlights

We’ve been experimenting with a rotating leader system in my Wednesday game. It’s a simple method for ensuring every player’s interests are addressed during play. The whole idea could be communicated in about a paragraph, but like any idea it exists in the shadow of other ideas which preceded it. Ergo, to make its utility clear, I’ll need to show how it differs from existing methods of dividing the spotlight. That will beg the question “why does Nick hate the concept of ‘spotlight’ so much?”, which begs the further question “what is ‘spotlight?'”

Let’s begin at the beginning.

In some TTRPG circles, a player is said to be “in the spotlight” when their character is the primary focus of attention. It doesn’t mean they’re the only one saying or doing anything, merely that they’re saying and doing the most interesting things right now. To use a very D&D-ish example: in a tavern brawl, the thief and magic user may participate, but the fighter will probably have the spotlight. Ostensibly, this is what everyone at the table wants. Being in the spotlight is fun, being out is less fun.

The term was created so that attention could be discussed as a commodity; with the goal of parceling it out fairly amongst all participants. This is both a mechanical concern (“Do this class’s abilities offer an equivalent number of spotlight opportunities to other classes?”) and a social concern for the group to adjudicate at the table. (“Sue has been in the spotlight a lot tonight. We should give Anne some time in the spotlight soon.”) The platonic ideal would be for everyone at the table to spend an equal amount of time describing themselves doing awesome stuff while the rest of the group plays supporting roles as they wait their turn.

At first glance, spotlight may seem to be a useful concept. A game of D&D is basically a conversation with 4+ participants. Like any conversation, only one person can have the whole group’s attention at a time. Everyone wants a chance to play, thus it makes sense to think of the group’s attention as a resource that needs to be managed. So…what’s my fuckin’ problem?

The Spotlight methodology harms the game in at least two ways. First, it discourages a comfortable atmosphere by seeking to control the social aspect of the game. Second, it alters the game’s focus to the point where I would say you’re not even playing the same game anymore.

To expound on my first point first: D&D is a party. It’s a bunch of people getting together to socialize and have a good time. Presumably, the people involved mostly like one another. As with any party, it’s a mess of socialization with an ebb and flow all its own. It’s flexible, responsive. The natural movements of the game are a beautiful thing.

Sometimes people will step on one another’s toes, but if you’re not playing with assholes, folks will generally try to be respectful of one another. If you are playing with assholes, you have deeper problems than any rule can fix. This attempt to use rules to protect oneself from the scary variable of “other people” is a consistent feature of some TTRPG circles, and I find it baffling. My parents kept my locked in the house for most of my primary education and intentionally sabotaged my childhood friendships. How is it I developed better social skills than…anyone?

Worse yet, the form chosen for this regulated socialization is one of the worst types of conversation that exist: the “waiting my turn” conversation. Everyone half-listening to each other, searching for their chance to interject. On the scale of enjoyable human contact, it ranks just barely above “listening to someone who appears to be willfully oblivious to all the hints you’re dropping that you need to leave.”

None of this is to say that groups concerned about sharing the spotlight will be awkward by necessity. People don’t forget how to be people because of badly written game advice, but that’s not an excuse for accepting bad advice uncritically. Nor is it the real issue. The far more substantive problem with spotlight thinking is the second one: altering the game’s focus.

D&D is a game about solving problems. The referee puts obstacles in the players’ path, and the players attempt to overcome those obstacles. Problem solving isn’t the only source of fun, but it is the primary source.

Attempting to ensure every character gets an equal share of the spotlight is incompatible with with that focus. If Maria is on a hot streak and does a great job coming up with solutions for every problem, she ought to be congratulated for her clever thinking, not chastised for hogging the spotlight. That’s what I mean when I say it shifts the focus of the game. It becomes about the characters, rather than the problems those characters tackle. It becomes a story game.

Which isn’t wrong. I have no beef with thespian games or the people who play them, BUT using the concepts of those games to understand D&D will produce bad results. Like trying to drive a nail with a screwdriver: it’s the wrong tool for the job.

I also don’t mean to say the referee shouldn’t be concerned if someone is being left out of the game. We should trust the group to be accommodating of one another, but the referee is the last line of defense to ensure everyone gets heard. I often tell my louder players to shut up so I can hear what my softer spoken players are trying to tell me.

Which brings us, finally, to the rotating leader thing that prompted this whole post. I’ve discussed before that as a campaign matures, it changes. At low levels, the referee can say “there’s adventure to the West of here,” and the players will all respond “Let’s go west!” Once the players have settled into the world the decision of where to go next stops being so simple. They’ve been around the block a few times and developed their own interests in the world along the way.  Lindsey wants to rid the world of slavery, Red wants to steal a giant robot, and Cathy wants to add a pool to the party’s stronghold.

As a rule, players are good about deciding what to do amongst themselves, but over time there’s a regression to the mean. Nobody ever gets to pursue the weird niche quest hooks that only they are interested in. After awhile that can really bum a person out.

A group of five people is never going to order a pizza covered in anchovies. The one person in the group who loves anchovies probably won’t even advocate for them, because they know it’s a weird niche thing that other people won’t like. At some point, though, that one person is going to think “Fuck, I haven’t had anchovies in like…five fuckin’ years. I’m just going to order a pizza and eat it all myself.” Except this is an analogy and it’s actually about D&D and you can’t play D&D all by yourself.

To combat this issue, I suggested to my group that anytime the question of what to do next arises, one player be designated to have the final say. Everyone is free to discuss and argue the issue as they normally would, but in the end that one player gets to decide what problem the party tackles next. The group then spends however many sessions it takes to reach a satisfactory conclusion to that pursuit, after which a new player becomes leader and decides on the party’s next goal.

It’s worth noting that aside from picking the group’s goal, the leader has no other explicit authority. They’re the final word on what the party does, not how the party does it. That said, they often serve as a kind of de facto party leader for the duration of the pursuit they chose, which is a nice side benefit. Also, would you believe this post took two agonizing days to sort together? I feel kinda pathetic about that.