Somewhere in the early 2000s, on forums and in AIM windows, roleplayers needed a way to mark the difference between saying and doing — and the asterisk won. *walks in* was ugly, universal, and instantly legible. Twenty years later the convention has survived every platform migration, and it arrives in AI roleplay with all its old questions intact: when do you narrate, when do you speak, and how much is too much?
This is a practical guide to roleplay formatting — the conventions, the two main styles, and the handful of habits that make an AI conversation dramatically better regardless of which style you pick.
The Two Schools
Asterisk Style
Actions live between asterisks, dialogue is plain text. Quick to type, easy to skim, and it keeps the ratio honest — you can see at a glance whether a message is all talk:
*leans against the doorframe, arms crossed* You're up early. *tosses an apple across the room without warning* Catch. We leave in ten.
Novel Style
Prose narration with quoted dialogue, written like fiction. Slower to type, richer on the page, and it invites interiority — thoughts, sensory detail, subtext — that asterisk style tends to skip:
She was already leaning in the doorway when he woke, an apple in hand, wearing the particular smile that meant the plan had changed overnight. "You're up early." The apple was airborne before he could answer. "Catch. We leave in ten."
Neither is correct. Asterisk style suits fast, banter-heavy scenes; novel style suits slow burns and atmosphere. The only real rule is the one that governs everything in AI roleplay: the model mirrors you. Write asterisks and you will receive asterisks; write prose and the character becomes a novelist too. Pick the style you want to read back, because you will.
The Ratio That Keeps Scenes Alive
More important than which style you choose is what your messages contain. The failure mode of beginners is the all-dialogue message — lines of talk with no physical world attached. Conversations written this way float in a void, and after ten messages the AI has nothing left to describe but feelings.
The fix is a habit we would tattoo on every roleplayer's wrist: every message, at least one thing happens in the physical world. Someone moves, touches something, notices something. It can be tiny — a cup turned in circles, rain starting against the window, a glance at the door. That single concrete detail gives your partner (human or AI) a hook to build on, and it keeps the scene anchored somewhere instead of nowhere.
Pro Tip
Actions can disagree with dialogue, and that gap is where subtext lives. "I'm fine" *said while shredding a napkin into confetti* is a complete short story. The AI picks up on the contradiction and plays into it — this is the single cheapest way to add depth to a scene.
Person and Tense (Settle It Early)
Roleplay happily runs in first person ("I set the cup down") or third ("She sets the cup down"), present tense or past. All four combinations work. What does not work is switching mid-story — it confuses the model about who "I" refers to, and pronoun soup follows. Your first reply sets the convention: match the character's greeting if you have no preference, and if you do, establish yours immediately and the AI will follow your lead.
The Cardinal Sin: Writing Your Partner's Turn
In human roleplay it is called godmodding: narrating the other character's actions and reactions for them. *I swing and the blow lands and he staggers back, defeated* — you have played both sides of the scene, and your partner is left holding a script instead of a choice.
Here is the surprise: the rule still matters with an AI, for a mechanical reason. If you routinely write the character's reactions, the model learns that your messages control its character — and it returns the favor, narrating your actions, deciding your feelings. The way to keep the AI out of your character's head is to stay out of its character's head. Swing the blow; let the reply decide whether it lands.
OOC: The Stage Whisper
Out-of-character notes — (like this) or prefixed "OOC:" — are the director's channel, and using them is a sign of an experienced roleplayer, not a clumsy one. Steer pacing ("OOC: let's slow this down"), skip ahead ("(timeskip to the next morning?)"), or set boundaries. Keep them short, keep them rare, and put them at the end of a message rather than mid-scene. The model handles them gracefully and — used sparingly — stays firmly in character afterward.
A Cheat Sheet
- *asterisks* or prose — pick one, the AI will mirror it.
- Every message: one thing happens in the physical world.
- Let actions contradict dialogue; that gap is subtext.
- Pick a person and tense in your first reply and hold them.
- Write your character's actions only. Attempts, not outcomes.
- OOC notes are allowed, short, and at the end.
Formatting is the least glamorous part of roleplay and the fastest to improve — most people feel the difference within one scene. If you are just starting out, the beginner's guide covers the rest of the craft, and the catalog has several hundred characters to practice on. Bring an apple to throw.