I’ve seen a lot of people make a lot of characters, and nothing is quite as infuriating as the Backstory Book, inevitably created by someone who gets frustrated because their backstory isn’t being used.

Let’s be clear: I’ve done this. Everyone has done this, at least a little.

Assuming the goal is Collaborative Play, and the backstory was written for the sake of collaborating, let’s break down some of the most common causes of the collaboration breakdown.

Just Too Much.

Some players (and GMs) have enough time to read an extra book or five, and can be motivated to do so. Most people… don’t have that kind of time.

Summarise. Make your backstory easy to read. Try out the Dresden RPG backstory page; it’s a masterwork in condensing a complex backstory into something quickly scannable (and easy to reference).

Coincidentally, the bottom-third of that sheet is for Guest Starring in Other People’s Backstories, which brings us to…

Unrelated to Anyone

If I had to pick a reason a backstory doesn’t get used, this is the singularly most common one. Writing a twelve-page backstory is forgivable, but only if it’s related to the rest of the game.

Backstories should be collaborative world-building. PCs should be working with each other and the GM to put shared characters and locations into their backstory, while also proposing novel world-parts as well. If everyone gets invested, then the experience is shared and the backstory gets used.

Worse, if you’ve already established the details, that prevents someone else from contributing! Your backstory has created Friction; now, not only does the GM have trouble creating novel NPCs for your character (they already have a mentor!), but now your GM needs to remember your specific NPC’s name, figure out how to play them in the way you’ve previously dictated, and most likely fail to live up to your expectations.

If the goal was creating detail, leave places in your backstory where someone can contribute. Otherwise, your backstory just becomes a way for you to talk more than other people, which leads us to…

Spotlight Theft

Session 1 is like a first date; not asking the other person about themself means there’s no second date.

No matter how interesting your story may be, it’s just frickin’ rude to only talk about yourself. Pass the mic around. Be Jack Burton in Big Trouble, Little China, not… whatever Tom Cruise was doing in The Last Samurai.

On a similar note, don’t No Sell other people’s backstories and descriptions. React. Let them world-build, and they’ll be willing to do the same for you.

A more specific, and more treacherous, version of spotlight theft is…

Trauma Dumping

Dramatic backstories where Bad Things Happened can make for complex characters who are interesting to interact with and tell stories about… or be one of the most invasive ways to upset someone during their happy hobby time.

First, read the room. Check-in during Session 0 for what can be On Screen, Alluded To, or Not In Play. Don’t break those limits. Don’t be a dick. Don’t wreck the vibe, otherwise the game is going to bust and… sure enough, no one’s reading your backstory.

Second, for the love of god, play your character. Traumatized people don’t talk about their trauma. There’s a few exceptions, but in general people repress instead of express. And definitely not to a random group of adventurers they just met in a tavern, or whatever the genre equivalent happens to be for your game. Show, Don’t Tell.

I’ve absolutely played terribly scarred characters. Over two and a half soul-harrowing years, I role-played the redemption arc of a devout Catholic who was born a plague hag, struggling to control terrible magics she prayed every morning for God to take away. I made everyone at the table cry during a single session. Twice.

After a year and a half of play. The first year of which I pretty much never talked about myself, because… repressed Catholics don’t talk about their personal struggles. If you want your backstory to land, let it play out naturally. Don’t front-load a trauma dump. Build the tension, invite people in.

Coincidentally, a good angsty character requires research and deliberate creation of tension and conflict, otherwise they’re…

Genuinely Uninteresting

Orphaned ninjas just don’t hit like they used to. Nor gruff paladins, nor drunk dwarves. Have depth, have nuance, create divided loyalties, do research, add complications. Do unexpected things. Playing a character who’s just a mash-up of your favorite TV Tropes rarely creates interesting, novel interactions, and thus is a dull character no one wants to hear more about.

(Coincidentally, if you can make TV Tropes McMashup interesting… you have enough skill this article isn’t primarily for you, but thanks for reading, my dude!)

Creating a character that makes interactions dull is the cardinal sin of character creation. Bad Paladins are especially guilty of this, because “I Refuse” is the exact opposite of “Yes, And”, as well as generally making people stop talking at the table. Don’t do that. Make a character that encourages others. And, ideally, catches people by surprise; you get double points if immediately afterwards they facepalm and say “I should have seen that coming”.

In Summary

Play with other people. Make characters that interact in interesting ways. Don’t steal the spotlight, don’t harsh the vibe, actively contribute. Let others be cool at your expense; be bad at stuff sometimes.

Work with other players to make an interesting game. And suddenly, people will want to hear more.