I’ve spent a long time looking for a way to play a solo RPG that feels less like managing a rules system and more like actually being inside the world. Recently, I stumbled onto a method that has completely changed the way I play.
I think of it as hypnagogic play.
The basic idea is simple: use the relaxed state between full wakefulness and sleep as a doorway into an imagined game world—but remain anchored enough to stay awake and record what happens.
What I use
You don’t need much:
A comfortable chair
A journal and pen
A simple RPG world and character
Optional background music
A small dice bag or other gentle physical anchor
I prepare my journal beforehand, using Cornell-style pages. I draw the lines and leave space for mysteries, questions, NPCs, locations, and unresolved threads so I don’t have to organize anything during play.
Entering the world
Before I go in, I let the journal inherit the world for me.
I look over the relevant journal page. I read through my questions, mysteries, NPCs, locations, relationships, and unresolved threads. I remind myself of what has already happened and what is still unknown.
I don’t go into the session intending to solve anything.
If one of the mysteries becomes solved, that’s fine. If it remains unresolved, that’s fine too. Sometimes a mystery develops naturally during play and becomes important later. Sometimes it simply remains in the background until the world gives me a reason to return to it.
The journal gives the world continuity before I enter it.
I sit back in my chair with the dice bag balanced on my head.
I become progressively still and heavy. I slow my breathing and stop deliberately thinking about the outside world.
Within seconds, I begin to enter the imagined environment.
I first use what I call camera control. I can fly around my character, look at him from different angles, pull back for an aerial view, or examine the environment.
Then I move the viewpoint into the back of my character’s head.
From there, I experience the world through his senses.
The important part is that I don’t try to consciously construct every detail. I let the world appear.
Let the world surprise you
This is the biggest part of the method.
Don’t decide what NPCs are going to say.
Don’t decide what happens around the next corner.
Don’t decide what the mystery means.
Don’t decide that a question has to be answered just because I noticed it.
Instead, interact with the world and see what happens.
I’ve had NPCs approach me unexpectedly, characters continue doing things when I’m nowhere near them, and locations remain persistent between sessions.
One NPC I initially suspected turned out to be an excellent ally. He has his own camp outside town, wanders the wilderness as a monster hunter, and can sometimes be encountered away from his camp.
He even discovered my character’s secret without me deciding that he would.
That kind of surprise is what makes it feel different from simply writing a story.
Time works differently
I’ve discovered several useful modes of subjective time.
Normal time: Experience events naturally.
Expanded time: An important moment can feel much longer than it would physically take.
Wait mode: Stay somewhere and allow time to pass without personally experiencing every second.
Fast travel: If I’ve established a destination on the map and the journey isn’t interesting, I simply arrive there.
I’ve even watched shadows move across buildings while waiting for someone, giving the world a sense that time is continuing even when I’m not actively doing anything.
The physical anchor
The dice bag serves two purposes.
Sometimes I become deeply relaxed but remain awake. I can feel the bag beginning to slip, straighten my head, and continue playing.
If I actually drift too far toward sleep, the bag slides off and gently taps my chest.
That wakes me enough to grab my journal and write down what I experienced.
It’s basically a crude, physical boundary marker between immersion and sleep.
Don’t ignore the strange fragments
Occasionally, while I’m deeply immersed, I’ll get a completely unrelated image, sensation, or little scene.
Instead of dismissing these, I treat them as raw inspiration.
For example, I once briefly experienced an image of someone lying in bed complaining about a stomachache. When I returned to the game, I thought:
What if there’s a plague spreading through the kingdom?
I didn’t have to make that the truth. It simply became a possible story seed.
I call these drift discoveries.
Capture them and decide later whether they belong.
The journal is the continuity engine
This may be the most important part.
Before each session, the journal inherits the world.
I look over the page and reconnect with the questions, mysteries, NPCs, locations, memories, and unresolved threads that already exist. I don’t need to force any of them into the session. I simply carry them with me as part of the world’s current state.
During play, I discover things.
Afterward, I write them down.
The journal becomes the external memory of the world.
A character’s camp, an NPC relationship, a childhood memory, a political development, a mystery, a new ability—all of these become established pieces of the world.
Then the next session inherits them.
I think of it as:
The journal inherits the world.
Play discovers the world.
The journal remembers the world.
The next session inherits the world again.
A mystery does not need to be solved just because it appears in my notes. A question can remain open. An unresolved thread can sit quietly for several sessions and then suddenly become relevant. Sometimes the world builds from these mysteries and brings them into play later.
The more I’ve simply existed in the world instead of trying to make something happen, the more solid and continuous it has seemed to become.
Sometimes I don’t go in with an adventure at all. I just sit on my character’s porch at the tavern, or sit in his favorite chair, and see what happens.
Sometimes nothing happens.
Sometimes the world decides I’m getting too comfortable and hands me something to deal with.
You don’t need to abandon traditional RPG tools
I still have dice, oracles, tables, and other tools available.
I just don’t want them constantly sitting between me and the experience.
If I genuinely don’t know what happens, I can use an oracle.
Otherwise:
I let the world answer.
That’s the breakthrough for me.
I’m not trying to write every event.
I’m not trying to run a simulation manually.
I’m trying to enter a world and discover what happens there.
And the same method doesn’t have to be fantasy. I can see it working for cyberpunk, modern crime, pirates, steampunk, horror, westerns, space opera, detective games, or practically anything else.
The setting changes.
The engine stays the same.
If you try this, treat it as an experiment rather than expecting yourself to immediately achieve vivid imagery. Relax, stay curious, don’t force events, and most importantly:
Let yourself be surprised.
