I think the first thing I have to admit before even getting into these readings is this. If my mother heard the words Dungeons and Dragons growing up, I would have been in immediate danger. Not metaphorical danger. Real danger.
So when I sat down to read “4 Reasons to Start Playing Dungeons and Dragons with Your Colleagues,” I had to laugh a little at myself. Everything I had been taught to believe about D&D, dark, strange, maybe even “demonic,” was immediately undone by something much simpler and much more familiar. Storytelling. Community. Imagination. That shift felt similar to what I have been experiencing lately with AI.
Tommy Truong’s blog reframes D&D not as some isolated hobby, but as a collaborative and almost professional space. The idea that a group of people come together, each bringing different strengths, to build a story in real time feels deeply human. It reminded me of my classroom in ways I did not expect. The student who is more creative finds their place in backstory and character. The more analytical student thrives in strategy and problem solving. No one succeeds alone. The story only works because everyone is shaping it together. That idea that collaboration is everything stayed with me.
When I pair that reading with “Why AI Dungeon Is Not the AI Dungeon Master You’re Looking For,” the contrast becomes really clear. The second piece makes an important distinction. AI can generate a story, but it struggles to hold a world. There are no real rules and no real stakes unless you decide there are. There is no weight behind decisions and no true consequences. That is where something clicked for me.
What makes D&D meaningful is not just the storytelling. It is the structure underneath it. The rules. The unpredictability. The fact that you can fail. Your character has limits and your choices matter because they are not guaranteed to work. There is something about that tension between creativity and constraint that makes the experience feel real.
AI, at least in the ways described in the reading, removes that tension. It becomes a kind of choose your own adventure where the outcome bends too easily. The story continues, but without resistance. Without friction. And that friction matters.
It brings me back to the classroom. To writing. To the research papers I am currently grading where some students are trying to use AI to smooth over the process and make it easier and faster. In doing so, they remove the very thing that gives their work weight. The struggle to find a source that actually exists. The moment of realizing their argument does not quite make sense yet. The revision that hurts a little because it requires them to think differently. D&D, ironically, seems to protect that struggle.
There is also something powerful about the idea of fictional security from the first reading. In a fictional world, you can try on different identities, take risks, fail safely, and learn from it. That feels incredibly relevant for students as writers. They need spaces where they can experiment with voice, argument, and perspective without immediately outsourcing that process to AI.
I do not think this is about rejecting AI altogether. The second reading points out that AI can do certain things well such as generating story elements, supporting lore, and offering creative prompts. But it cannot replace the role of the Dungeon Master. The human who holds the world together, enforces the rules, adapts in real time, and responds in a way that feels alive. That feels important to name.
I keep thinking about my initial reaction to Dungeons and Dragons as something forbidden and misunderstood. Now I am realizing that what was once labeled as demonic is actually deeply communal and rooted in storytelling traditions that bring people together. Maybe the same is true in reverse for AI.
Something that feels innovative and efficient can also distance us from each other if we are not careful. If we let it replace the human elements instead of supporting them. So now I am sitting with this intersection.
A game I was not allowed to play growing up is teaching me about collaboration, risk, and storytelling. A tool that is everywhere in my students’ lives is forcing me to ask what parts of that storytelling we are willing to give up.
If Dungeons and Dragons teaches anything, it is that the story is not just about the outcome. It is about the people at the table. The choices they make. The risks they take. The way they build something together that no one fully controls. That is what I want to hold onto. Not just in games, but in writing, in teaching, and in everything else that asks us to create something real.