3 Easy GM Tricks That Actually Work
Low effort, no prep, instantly better sessions
The best game masters aren't the ones with perfect voices, flawless rule knowledge, or Hollywood-worthy storylines. The best game masters are ones who employ simple habits that make every session feel dynamic and engaging.
This is why, if you're a new GM, you'll overprepare. Almost guaranteed. You'll memorize rules, write pages of backstory, plan dramatic cutscenes, try to guess what your players will do... and then panic when the players wander off script and open an artisanal potion stand in the town square instead of exploring the haunted crypt you spent hours building.
You don't need perfect pacing or flawless accents or a detailed plan. You just need a world that reacts, rewards action, and never gets stuck in neutral.
There are entire YouTube channels, blogs, and forums full of GMing advice. I've picked the three I think give new game masters the biggest bang for their buck, the biggest return at the table.
All three are dead simple. They cost you nothing. But they create immediate results at the table: faster play, better pacing, and more player engagement. You can use them in any system, any genre, any campaign. And once you see how effective they are, you'll wonder why they aren't in every official rulebook.
1. Default to "Yes," Then Ask for the Roll
Sooner or later, a player is going to look you dead in the eye and say something like, "Can I swing from the chandelier, land on the ogre's back, and stab him in the neck?"
You won't find rules for chandelier physics in the player's handbook. But the good news is you don't need to.
When players come up with weird, reckless, or cinematic ideas, don't shut them down because you're not sure how it works. Just smile and say, "Hell, yeah! Roll for it."
One of your most important duties (maybe the most important) is rewarding player creativity and keeping the session momentum going. We can look up rules later. Defaulting to "Yes, roll for it" is what we're talking about when we mention "the rule of cool."
Players are more engaged when they know their ideas matter. That doesn't mean everything should succeed; it means anything can be considered.
Setting Smart Boundaries
Before you panic about players breaking your game, here's a simple framework: Ask yourself, "Does this move the story forward and create interesting consequences?" If yes, let them roll.
If something is truly impossible, like tackling a dragon out of the sky barehanded, then set a high DC and make the consequences of failure clear. But don't turn it into a rules debate. Keep the action on the table, not in the rulebook.
"You can try. But the DC will be 28, and if you miss you'll land in the lava pool."
This mindset shift also makes your job easier. You no longer have to pre-approve or deny every action. You just need to decide what ability applies, set a target number, and move on. Saying "yes" doesn't mean saying "no problem." It means "That sounds awesome. Let's see what happens."
But that raises a question: What if I need them to succeed, and they fail the roll?
2. Use Succeed at a Cost
There's a moment that happens in almost every new GM's game. The players are faced with a locked door, a secret passage, a vital clue, or some other obstacle that they need to overcome to move the game forward.
The rogue rolls. Fail.
So the fighter rolls. And fails.
The ranger uses a help action for the wizard. Still a fail, even with advantage.
Then the cleric casts Guidance and the barbarian tries.
Eventually someone rolls high enough, and the group moves on, but the momentum’s gone. The energy has fizzled. What did all that rolling actually accomplish? It was never really about if they'd succeed. You knew they would. It was just a matter of time.
This is the "inevitable success shuffle." It does nothing but kill tension and waste table time.
Instead of calling for a roll where failure means the game grinds to a halt, reframe the question. The question isn't "Do they find the secret passage?" We know they will. So instead, the better question is "Will it cost them something to find the secret passage?"
You still set a target number. If they hit it, they succeed cleanly, just like any normal check. The difference is that not meeting or beating that target number doesn't mean failure; it simply means success with a cost.
You're not removing the challenge. You're resolving the stakes.
"You are going to find the entrance. Roll a DC 15 Investigation check to see how smoothly it goes. You're one rolling for the party — we'll assume they’ll help — so take a +2 on your roll."
On 15 or higher, they find it quickly and quietly. On a fail they still find it, but it'll take hours, burn through torches, make a loud noise, or perhaps draw unwanted attention.
This way, even if the outcome is guaranteed, the consequences are real. That keeps the tension high and the game moving.
Beyond the Locked Door or Secret Passage
You can apply this technique to any situation where the story must move past an obstacle. Call for a roll, but not to see if the task is successful; rather to see how deftly (or clumsily) they succeed.
Investigation: "You find the murderer's diary." But on a low roll add, "but the killer knows you were snooping and begins hunting you."
Social encounters: "The noble agrees to help." But on a low roll add "but you owe them a significant favor that may complicate things later."
Survival: "You find shelter from the storm in a cave." But on a low roll add, "but you're not alone in the cave."
Exploration: "You spot the ambush before it happens." But on a low roll add, "but you only have time to warn one party member."
When Failure Should Still Matter
Some rolls should still allow traditional failure, especially when the stakes are about resources, time, or optional objectives. But even then, never let failure mean a piddling "nothing happens." Give it some weight. Something breaks. Someone gets hurt. A clock speeds up. A rival moves first. Guards show up. Always have the world respond.
To put a little whipped cream and a cherry on the previous paragraph: Just because the world responds to a failed roll doesn't mean you have to tell the players what that response is. Sometimes the consequences are not immediately obvious. If your players know that failure has consequences in your game, and you don't explain the consequence in the moment, that ratchets up the tension.
For example, say you set a target of DC 18 for searching for the murderer's diary, which contains a critical clue. The player rolls a 7. You can say, "You find the diary behind a hidden panel in the desk's leg. However, the moment you open the panel, you (pointing to the wizard) sense a tiny burst of arcane energy." Then, in your notes: "Bram finds diary. Triggered alarm spell. Killer alerted." Your players know there are consequences for failed rolls. And they know this was a failed roll. But they succeeded anyway. They'll freak TF out.
Once you start using “succeed at a cost,” your game sessions stop stalling out. No more dead-end rolls or scenes that grind to a halt. But now that your game flows better, there's a new question: What exactly is it flowing into?
This brings us to the third habit, one that saves time, reduces prep stress, and gives players a world that feels alive.
3. Prep Problems, Not Plots
If you're new to GMing, you've probably spent hours crafting a storyline in your head. A noble quest. A sinister villain. An epic battle. A dramatic reveal.
And then your players completely ignore the main quest and start a business selling artisanal mushroom-infused potions in the town square.
Universal GMing truth: Player agency will always derail your carefully plotted story. Every. Single. Time.
The Shift in Thinking
If you are writing a fantasy story, you think “plot.” But if you are creating something for play at the table, think “problems, situations, and scenarios.”
Plot thinking: "The characters will investigate the tavern, find the secret passage, fight the cultists, and rescue the mayor's daughter."
Problem thinking: "Cultists are planning a ritual. The mayor's daughter is missing. Strange symbols appeared overnight. There are rumors a ritual happens at dawn."
One is a script. The other is a situation, something already in motion. Drop your players into that and let them write the script.
Building Problems, Not Stories
As a GM, you only write half the story: You simply create problems.
Build scenarios with:
Tension already in motion: Something is happening whether the players act or not
NPCs who want different things: Conflicting goals create natural drama
A ticking clock or looming threat: Urgency drives decision-making
Multiple "correct" solutions: Players choose the path
Then let the players loose within it. Their actions will shape what happens next. You only need to provide the setup; the players will finish the story.
An Example
Instead of scripting a quest about rescuing a kidnapped child that ends in a predetermined boss fight, lay out the situation:
A child is missing. The mayor is clearly hiding something important. A suspicious hunter arrived in town yesterday. The townsfolk are divided about whether to search the woods or fortify the village because strange howls have been heard at night. There will be a full moon tomorrow.
That's a problem. What the players do with it — investigate, fight, ignore it, ally with the wrong faction, interrogate the mayor — is entirely up to them.
Prepping only problems gives you flexibility. It frees you from predicting outcomes. And it gives players a world that feels alive, where their choices genuinely matter.
But...
While "prep problems, not plots" is a great starting point, but it’s not quite the whole story. You still need to know how your problems will evolve. The example above is a solid situation — but frozen in time, it’s not very helpful. There is no motion, no change. What was different about the situation yesterday? What will be different tomorrow if the party does nothing?
And, to be honest, many GMs (yours truly included) want to write stories. Well, I have great news: Write the story, but write the story of what happens if the player characters do nothing.
Why? Because you need to have an idea about how the elements in the scenario interact. You don't need to tell the players this information, but your knowing who does what to whom and why (without the player characters' intervention) allows you to adapt on the fly to any move the party makes, no matter how off-the-wall it is.
In the example above, by knowing what happened (and/or will happen) to the child, what the mayor is hiding and why she's hiding it, who the hunter is and why they're in town, who or what's howling in the woods and why, and what will happen during tomorrow's full moon, you'll know exactly how the scenario will morph when the party decides to ignore the quest and set up a booth in the village square selling artisanal potions, or adopt a duck and try to teach it Thieves’ Cant, or burn down the tavern to get out of paying their tab.
The Common Thread
All three of these habits share share one effect: They keep the game moving and make it feel real.
"Say yes, then ask for the roll" keeps players engaged and rewards creativity
"Succeed at a cost" makes every roll meaningful and maintains tension
"Prep problems, not plots" builds a world that responds dynamically to player choices
You don't need to master all three at once. Pick one habit to focus on at your next session. Just practice "succeed at a cost" for an entire evening, or commit to saying "yes, roll for it" whenever players get creative.
Try just one of these habits next session. I promise you’ll see a difference in the table vibe, and you’ll run better games with less stress, less prep, and way more fun. And you’ll wonder how you ever did it any other way.
Roll high,
-- Professor Richard Crackfang
P.S. — If you’re wondering, ducks refuse to even try learning Thieves’ Cant.
Great article. The three GM tricks are simple and you explained each one with meaningful examples. They tied it all together with Great clarity. Thank you for sharing.
Fantastic advice! And a good reminder for us DMs who have fallen into a rut…