Why I’d Rather Tell a Good Story

There’s a moment in almost every board game where things get quiet.

Everyone’s squinting at their cards. Calculating their next six moves. Optimizing their economy. You can feel the tension in the room, not from suspense or drama, but from the silent pressure to play perfectly.

And that’s fine, sometimes.

But me?
I’d rather build an army of zombies and send them into a glorious, doomed battle just because it’s cool.

Because sometimes, I’m not here to win. I’m here to tell a story.

When Games Forget to Leave Room for Fun

A lot of modern games are beautifully designed. They’re sleek, strategic, and endlessly deep. However, somewhere between the asymmetric powers and the perfectly balanced victory tracks, something gets lost.

Player interaction turns into point denial.
Conversation fades into calculation.
Fun becomes efficiency.

At the end of the game, even if you win, you don’t always feel like you experienced something. You just outscored your friends.

That can be satisfying. Even so, it rarely feels meaningful.

Why Collaborative Storytelling Hits Different

Now let’s flip it.

Imagine a game where your choices don’t just earn you points. Instead, they shape the world.
Where the spotlight moves from player to player, not just to take turns, but to tell parts of a shared tale.
Where you remember what happened, not because it gave you a bonus, but because it made you feel something.

That’s collaborative storytelling.

It’s not about scripting the perfect scene. Rather, it’s about leaving space for everyone at the table to surprise each other.
It’s about creating something messy and brilliant together.

You Don’t Need Shared Backstories or Scripted Drama

This isn’t about forcing players to roleplay or write essays about their characters’ childhoods.

The best connections happen during play.
For example, it might be a quiet moment during a snowstorm.
Or helping someone up after a failed roll.
Or making a wild, ridiculous choice just to see what happens next.

Some of the strongest bonds in games come from shared moments, not pre-written ones.

You Also Don’t Have to Choose Between Story and Strategy

Mechanics and narrative aren’t enemies. In fact, they can complement each other beautifully.

Some games, like Grit and Resolve, find clever ways to tie resources to storytelling. Want to help a teammate? Spend a point. Want to change the stakes of a scene? Use your character’s traits to justify it. Because of this, the mechanics support the story rather than crowd it out.

Even in a crunchy game, you can still leave space for drama, laughter, and strange little side quests. You can still pause to say, “You know what? I know it’s not optimal, but this is what my character would do.”

And those are the moments everyone talks about afterward.

So Maybe I Don’t Win the Game

Maybe I lose track of my engine.
Maybe I don’t min-max the way I should.
Maybe I miss the victory by five points.

But maybe I built a weird traveling circus.
Maybe I made friends with a ghost.
Maybe I made a choice that made the whole table go quiet.

And that, to me, is the win that matters.

The Real Point of Playing

At the end of the day, games are a reason to gather. They’re a way to connect. A way to escape the world and enter a new one together.

If that means sacrificing a little strategy to make room for surprise, creativity, and connection, I’m all in.

Because I’ll forget how many points I scored.
But I won’t forget the story we told.