A Talk With David Wise

A 30th Anniversary Interview

David Wise started working at TSR in 1990. He designed and edited all sorts of great products, particularly a number of Ravenloft titles and some of the early Planescape stuff. When I came to work at TSR in 1994, David was an editor working on Ravenloft products with Bill Connors and some Mystara stuff with Thomas Reid. (My earliest memories of David also have strong associations with Bill and Thomas.) He was the assistant creative director under Andria Hayday (I don't know if, at the time, that was an "official" position or not -- we called them "CD seconds" in those days) in the first product group that I was a part of. A "product group" consisted of all the editors and designers working on a particular line or lines under one manager -- the creative director. Andria's group handled Al-Qadim and Ravenloft at the time, as well as Mystara, although at that time no Mystara products had even come out yet.

But I digress.

It wasn't long before David became a CD himself and eventually was put in charge of the whole Research & Development department, called Creative Services in those days. In other words, all the designers and editors working on games at TSR worked for him.

David was a good manager. The kind who you felt didn't forget what it was like being "in the trenches," as it were. He understood what it meant to work on a game product as both a designer and an editor, and he knew what the people under him needed to have in order to get their jobs done.

It was my pleasure to ask David a few questions about his time at TSR and Wizards of the Coast here on the 30th anniversary of Dungeons & Dragons.

Monte Cook: How did you come to start playing D&D?

David Wise: I played a bit as a kid, during the 1970s, but I didn't get deeply into the game until my college years. I was invited to join a group that included TSR editor Anne Brown around 1982, and we played fairly regularly for the next eight-plus years.

Monte: How did you get the job at TSR? What were you doing before that?

David: In 1990, I had just earned my Master's degree in Creative Writing and was considering continuing onward for a doctoral degree in English Renaissance Drama so I could teach college-level courses. However, after my thesis was accepted, my major advisor and I went out for cocktails one evening, where after a few rounds he explained that professional school was little more than social politics and butt-kissing, to which he knew I had a natural resistance. Instead, he recommended that I find a job somewhere as an editor and publish a few books. Then, if I really wanted to, I could return to the University circuit, where they like to hire published writers as adjunct instructors. (I later learned that it was his custom to discourage his graduates from pursuing a career in academia, perhaps out of a vague personal distaste for his own profession.)

Later that week, I related the story to my AD&D group, whereupon Anne Brown told me that TSR was growing and looking for editors. Since the company was local, I certainly liked playing the game, and the job description fit my major advisor's advice, I decided to go for it. Anne arranged for my first freelance editing assignment, which I apparently completed to TSR's satisfaction, as I was immediately given another and then hired full time.

Monte: What were your impressions of TSR, both as a new hire and as you got to know your way around?

David: It was my first "real job," so I was scared to death for the first few months. [Vice President of Creative Services] Jim Ward had told me, as he told all new hires, that there would be a three-month probationary period, during which time I could be dismissed without cause or recourse, and I was absolutely positive that I wouldn't make it to three months and one day! Every "newbie" mistake I made felt like I was taunting the guillotine. I was desperate to impress Jim without appearing to be trying to impress him, which only resulted in irritating him and making me feel ever less secure about my future.

On the other hand, the creative staff welcomed me with open arms. They blanketed me in my cubicle with a dozen cans of Silly String on my first day, and people who had been highly respected names on some very cool books before I began work there -- Jeff Grubb, Zeb Cook, and quite a few others -- treated me like a member of the gang from day one. Our daily lunchtime games of Cosmic Encounter became better sustenance than anything I ate, and I made some of the best friends of my life. Those first, early years as an editor-turned-game-designer were Edenic: I thought I had found the key to eternal childhood, and at the same time my income had nearly tripled. What could be better?

TSR management was a puzzlement to me during those salad days (and I must confess there are facets of that administration which will always perplex me, even with a decade of management experience), but in our isolated, swaddled world away from the executive offices, we didn't need to understand what went on in the minds of business decision makers. In Creative Services, as our department was called back then, it was all good.

Monte: You transitioned from being an editor/designer to having a managerial position. How did that work, and what were the upsides and downsides of that change?

David: I guess my puzzlement about TSR management bore the seeds of my fall from innocence. I had a bad habit of wondering why things work the way they do, and how decisions get made, so I asked a lot of questions about process and departments outside Creative Services. On top of that, I've always had an eye for the "big picture," so I expressed my interests and curiosity to enough people, and soon I began to accumulate new responsibilities. First, I was offered the directorship of the Forgotten Realms line, and they threw in Ravenloft because they knew it was my favorite world. Then, when Tim Brown stepped down from his position as Director of Creative Services, Jim Ward offered the job to me, and I took it.

Almost immediately, I regretted the decision. As I sat in my first weekly upper-management meeting, I wondered what insanity had prompted me to accept Jim's offer. I even went to Tim, who was transitioning the responsibilities to me, and told him that I wanted to go back to my old job. He essentially told me it was too late, and there was no going back. I have a distant, sad memory of lying in bed and weeping at the terrible mistake I had made, trapping me in a hellish existence of my own making by willingly leaving paradise.

But Jim turned out to be a wonderful mentor and friend. When he saw that I still needed a creative outlet, he suggested that we work together on the Marvel Collectible Dice Game, which didn't specifically interest me but did allow me to grow closer to him in a hurry. (We've since co-written a book and remain close friends to this day.) Eventually, I came to see my job as one of protecting my staff from the Dilbert-esque absurdities of senior management, and I took the mission to heart. My primary purpose in professional life became to preserve the creative sanctuary that I loved and had been a part of, and that was very rewarding in its own rite.

Monte: Although you worked with TSR/Wizards of the Coast for a long time, when you think back, what's the most memorable period?

David: There were two periods. The first I have already mentioned, which was the time I spent as an editor and game designer. I was an integral part of the Kargat -- the Ravenloft team -- and I was forging some extremely close relationships. Everyday was playtime, and every night was party time. There were so many great friends around me in those early days -- Thomas Reid, Bill Connors, Colin McComb, Rich Baker, Andria Hayday, Bruce Heard, Steve Winter, and Karen Boomgarden, to name just a few -- but the entire department was like family.

The second period was during my time as a brand manager under Ryan Dancey, at Wizards of the Coast. We were creating a brand management team for the first time and launching 3rd Edition Dungeons & Dragons. Ryan was a maverick in upper management, with unconventional and brilliant ideas, no fear whatsoever, and a fierce loyalty to his staff that inspired zealous reciprocation. I went from being a creative with business responsibilities to a businessman with creative responsibilities under Ryan, and my whole comprehension of how the corporate world functions (and can function) underwent radical evolution with his stewardship. It was an amazing time of growth that made all my regrets about becoming a manager disappear forever.

Monte: What's the product (or products) you are most proud of still today, and what was the process like to work on it (or them)?

David: My very first assignment as a full-time editor was Van Richten's Guide to Vampires, and I was immediately smitten with the world and that particular series of products. I've had a part in the creation of every Van Richten's Guide, and in most cases I was a key player. People used to tease that I thought I was Van Richten, to which I replied, "The joke's on you; I am Van Richten." (Of course, that wasn't true, but I sure felt that way.) I am particularly proud of Van Richten's Guide to the Vistani and the short story I wrote about the good doctor, which prologues Tales of Ravenloft. I also loved producing the annual Ravenloft plays that were so popular at Gen Con.

Ravenloft was tightly managed by Bruce Nesmith, Bill Connors, Andria Hayday, and later Cindi Rice and Steve Miller, among others, as well as myself. We were very proprietary about the line, and our passion showed in the work and in the following that world enjoyed. Continuity was a major factor in our development, and it was a joy to immerse ourselves in the details.

Monte: You were the manager of the entire R&D team at TSR for quite a while. What was it like to be in charge of a bunch of unruly creatives?

David: As I mentioned earlier, I wasn't happy about the job at first, but I came to love it -- and the people whom I managed. "Unruliness" drove their creativity, so I embraced and nurtured it to the greatest extent possible. Jim Ward liked to play the "black hat" to my "white hat," so I had the pleasure of being fairly popular with my staff. (T'ed Stark once called me the "clown-pie boss:" When you screw up, you know you're going to get hit for it, but you also know it won't hurt that much." I took it as high praise.)

Monte: Tell us about the last days of TSR, and your personal eventual transition to Wizards.

David: I was one of the victims of "Black Friday," December 20, 1996. In the months leading up to that major layoff, Jim Ward resigned from the company because he couldn't bring himself to participate in what he considered an unnecessary action. That left me essentially alone, with no buffer between me and [company owner] Lorraine Williams, who was not in a good mood about Jim's departure. And despite Jim's reservations about the necessity of downsizing, it was a terrible time for TSR, whose debt load had soared beyond its income. It was a cold and snowy day when Lorraine handed me my severance package and kicked me out of the building, but I took my dog hiking and felt better than I had in recent memory.

For the next few months, I was convinced that I had left the gaming industry behind forever, and I was feeling pretty good about it. Then I ran into Tim Brown one day, who offered me some freelance work designing Traveller games. Before I knew it, I accepted the job and really enjoyed it, making me realize how much I missed the business. Then Wizards acquired TSR, and one of the nicest things that ever happened to me occurred: There formed a line of Creative Services employees at [Wizards president] Peter Adkison's door, telling him that I had been unjustly let go and that he really needed to rehire me, which he promptly did. I may have wept for misery when I first got that management job, but now I wept for joy.

Monte: Please share with us a funny or interesting story about your time working on D&D.

David: I'll tell you about the time I wrote almost a quarter-million words about AD&D, for which I was fully paid but which never saw publication . . . and I did it all in 12 weeks . . . while continuing to work full time as a game editor. TSR got involved with a British magazine called Orbis, which publishes 36-issue series of periodicals about individual subjects -- in my case, all about AD&D. Each issue carried 18,000 to 20,000 words and was divided into specific sections, each covering the same topic every time. I love to write, and I was thoroughly delighted to be writing fantasy for a living. However, the release schedule was one issue per week, and the publisher wanted to move from the word processor to the printed page in the shortest amount of time possible, so that was the schedule I got: 18,000-plus words per week, as a side job, while I continued my regular duties as an editor. I did get some help writing along the way, but I still wrote damn near all of it.

Those who have written for a living will cringe at the thought of 18,000 words per week, for 12 weeks in a row, with or without another job. Throughout those three months, I went to work in the morning, came straight home nine hours later, went directly into my home office, and wrote until bedtime. On the weekends, I put in eight to ten hours each day. My birthday arrived around Issue 8, and my wife organized a surprise party for me, including a Milwaukee Brewers game with all my TSR buddies: We went to the game, I spent nine innings fretting about how much writing I had to do, we went home for cake, and everybody immediately left afterward so I could get back to work. What a summer!

Why wasn't it published? Because the first issue went to press, and when we received some pre-sale samples, we discovered that the Orbis editors had changed some of the material, essentially Anglicizing the text so it wouldn't sound like it was written by an American. A disagreement arose over editorial control, and Lorraine Williams' basic management style was always "my way or the highway." In short, the deal feel apart and the magazine never saw the light of day. I was paid for my services and that was the end of it.

Here's the kicker: As we parted ways, my editor Wolfgang Baur bade his Orbis counterparts farewell and remarked what a shame it was that we had worked so hard to meet all those deadlines, only to have the project go down the drain. "Oh, we never expected you to hit those deadlines," they responded. "We only set them up so aggressively because we like to keep our writers moving forward. We were quite impressed by the rate at which you Yanks produced the material. . . ."

Monte: What have you been doing since you left Wizards of the Coast?

David: I left Wizards in order to return home to Wisconsin. Both my wife and I deeply missed our friends and family, but we also missed Wisconsin, itself: the four seasons, the great hiking and camping, the Midwestern culture, of course the cheese, and so on. When I returned home, I thought I would try to get into nonprofit arts administration, as theatre had been an early love in my life. (It's why I love roleplaying games!) I spent a short time with the Skylight Opera Theatre, in Milwaukee, as the assistant to the managing director, and then became the managing director of a small theatre company called Bialystock & Bloom. Unfortunately, "nonprofit" often applies as much to the people who work in the field as it does to the field itself, so I left the industry after two years, in search of a living wage. The good news is that, during my tenure in the theatre community, I found a new gaming group among the local professional actors.

Today, I'm an account executive at a marketing/communications firm just north of Milwaukee. I play D&D on Tuesday nights, and life after Wizards is just grand.

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