It all begins — as so many creative disasters do — in a tavern. Not a real tavern, because this is 2025 and nobody can afford to drink anywhere that isn’t their own kitchen. No, this is a fictional tavern, conjured by Kyle Olson in an attempt to make Dungeons & Dragons seem exactly as sophisticated as it actually is. And there they are: Pete Wright, sage of sighs; Misty Stinnett, who claims the episode title in minute five like a boss; and Ryan Dalton, wizard of words and human embodiment of, “I’m fine, actually.” They’re here to discuss beginnings — that thing you agonize over for weeks before giving up and starting with someone waking up in a daze. Misty brings the skull-cracking horror of Verity and the pajama-clad Celine Dion catharsis of Bridget Jones’s Diary, proving you can pivot from blood spatter to “All By Myself” without a map. Ryan obsesses over The Dark Knight‘s opening heist with fantasy-football-lineup energy, then reads from The Gone-Away World about the irony of fire. Pete shows up with Blade Runner because of course he does, and Kyle brings Clive Barker’s story about sentient, revolutionary hands, because every D&D party needs someone who makes everyone else wonder …what?

But this isn’t just about great openings — it’s about what happens when you hand your tender, unfinished creation to another human and they look you in the eye and say, “What if this took place in space?” Misty got that exact note on a script about Black backup singers in the 1960s civil rights movement. Space. Kyle once took script notes from a twelve-year-old. Pete has a “little red wagon of despair” full of projects he won’t share because he’s terrified of feedback. And Ryan — beautiful, unshakable Ryan — basically shrugs and says criticism can’t hurt you… not like knives can. The takeaway? Feedback is brutal and necessary. Choose your readers carefully. Don’t ask for notes from people who don’t understand your medium. And for god’s sake, don’t take it personally when someone suggests your heartfelt drama should “maybe happen in space.” They’re really saying that they want to be in space. It’s a them-problem.

And then, because all good stories must end, they talk about endings. Misty’s still haunted by Inception‘s spinning top (every other day). Pete defends Whiplash‘s nine-minute drum solo with pizza-topping-argument passion. Ryan ugly-cries over “My friends, you bow to no one” in Return of the King despite having seen it a hundred times. And Kyle drops the mic with Kurosawa’s Yojimbo — a samurai stands in a street full of corpses and says, “Town should be a lot quieter now. I’ll see ya,” then walks off into the credits. It may be the most perfect mic drop in cinema.

So here we are. The end of Season One. It started in a tavern and ends with the gang leveling up, earning a long rest, and reminding you to go make weird art. Start strong. Take your notes. Cry a little. Ignore the bad ones. Keep going. And when you reach the end, make it count. Now go. Make something strange. And whatever you do, don’t let the hands win.

Works Mentioned

(In order of appearance, because we care about beginnings too)

• Verity by Colleen Hoover
• Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001)
• The Dark Knight (2008)
• The Gone-Away World by Nick Harkaway
• Blade Runner (1982)
• “The Body Politic” from The Inhuman Condition by Clive Barker
• Inception (2010)
• Whiplash (2014)
• The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King (2003)
• The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern
• Yojimbo (1961)

• (00:00) – Welcome to Craft and Chaos
• (02:16) – Beginnings
• (21:49) – “Sponsor” Clouds
• (22:56) – Taking Notes
• (01:01:06) – “Sponsor” Coalition of Procrastinators
• (01:02:26) – Endings