Repeated Phrases Are The Bane of Good Stories

Have you ever told a really good joke? The kind that left everyone at the table in stitches, or that made a dinner guest snort wine halfway across the room? That kind of cutting wit is a skill, and it takes practice to deliver it just so. However, if you try to tell that joke to the same group of people, chances are good the reaction won't be as over-the-top as the first time you delivered it. And if you tell it a third time? Well, a third time might not even get a polite titter. A fourth time, and you'll actively start to strain your audience's patience as all the good will you established drains away.

One more time, and we start throwing things.

Writing a book is like this, but even worse. Because when you use a great turn of phrase, or come up with the perfect way to describe a character, or an action, you only get one. Check the box, and strip it from your mental record, because it better not show up again in the story if you want to keep your audience rolling.

Cool-Down Time

To be clear, this particular problem is not something that happens all that often in dialogue. Because, as anyone who's had a real-world conversation knows, people from a given area or culture tend to use the same turns of phrase or local colloquialisms. However, if you get repetitive in your prose, your reader is going to notice it. And once they notice, it's going to start eating into their goodwill regarding your book.

It was unnameable... and... ugh... indescribable?

As a quick example, take a fight scene. You've got two guys in a fist fight. It's supposed to be pulse-pounding, brutal, and harsh. But how many times can you say they slammed their fists into each other before it gets boring? How often can someone spit blood, and grin through a predator's smile before the reader starts rolling their eyes? Or, phrased another way, how many times can the bottom fall out of your protagonist's stomach before we begin to wonder if the trap door in their guts has a lock on it at all?

The difficulty with writing stories, and particularly with writing books, is that you don't write it all at once. Nor do you edit it all at once. So you might have used a particularly cool metaphor in chapter one, then you clicked save, and went to bed. Problem is that, a few months later, you used the same description while you were wrist-deep in the re-write for chapter seven. Then you put it in chapter twelve without thinking.

So, at a minimum, you've told the same joke three times now, and you're hoping your audience has forgotten it since the last time you threw it out there.

Sometimes this isn't that big of a deal. You can use similar (or even the same) description if they're on opposite ends of your book. Because your reader will probably have forgotten they read it by the time a few hundred pages have passed. But your prose is kind of like special powers in an online RPG. You fired the power once, and it was really impressive, but now you need to hold off on using it again until enough time (or in this case, word count) has passed. Otherwise you're in danger of actually distracting your reader from the story by the way you're telling it. Sort of like how you stop paying attention to the tale of an epic shootout between drug dealers and the vice squad because the guy telling you the story keeps getting his mustache caught in his mouth, and it makes him slur.

Make Notes When You Check Back

When the editing process starts, make sure you keep an eye out for favored phrases or descriptions. Ask your beta readers to do the same. And, most importantly, try not to carry your tics from one project to another. Because that is exactly the wrong kind of thing for readers to remember you by.

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing update. Hopefully folks out there found it helpful, and some are going back to check over their manuscripts one more time. To stay up-to-date on all my latest releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. If you want to help me keep this blog going, then why not head over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to drop a little love in my jar? As little as $1 a month can make a big difference, and it gets you a free book as a thank you!

To Make Money Writing, First, You Have To Write

To make money writing, first, you have to write.

It sounds like the sort of riddle you'd find in a fortune cookie, doesn't it? Akin to the classic, "to go forward, first, you must go back." It sounds both obvious, and like nonsense, all at once. However, if you're a writer, this is one of the most important pieces of advice you can internalize. Because if you want to get recognized, you need to show off your skills to the world. You need to get your name out there, and you need to sink your hook into readers. You need to prove that your stories don't just exist in your mind, but that you can (and have) put them on the page.

Choose your weapon.

What does all of that mean? Well...

You Have To Do, Before You Can Earn

Being a writer is one of those jobs where you are paid based on your skill, and your ability to finish the job. The difficulty is that, even if you're one of the most talented writers in the world, you need to have examples of your work to prove that you can do what you say you can. And you need those examples out there, in the public eye, where potential employers can see them in order to evaluate your skills.

Story time?

So, back in 2013, I was given an opportunity to pitch myself to Paizo to write one of their Pathfinder Tales. At this point in my career, I didn't have a lot of work on the market I could point to as an example of my style and skill. Several pieces had been accepted by small presses, but none of them were out yet. All I had were a couple of short stories I'd published on Yahoo! Voices (which is now defunct). Even though I felt like I was shooting myself in the foot, I sent along the links to see if the company's head of fiction would give me a shot.

I wasn't too far wrong. When the editor saw the links I'd enclosed, he almost tossed my email in the trash sight-unseen. But he decided to give it a look, and after reading the two short stories I'd put up on the site, he decided I was just the kind of author he wanted to give a shot. So I pitched him an idea, and a few weeks later, Paizo accepted my short story The Irregulars.

That is not the only time I got an opportunity because of something I'd already published, either. When I decided to write character conversion guides for the Pathfinder roleplaying game on my blog, several clients approached me to contribute to their RPG books. Partly because those guides were popular within certain parts of the RPG community, but largely because they allowed me to demonstrate that I understood how to write game mechanics in a way that readers could understand, and implement. Several times I've gotten emails from publishers I've worked with before because they need someone to contribute a story, or they want to know if I'm interested in being part of a book.

Part of that is networking, but another part of it is that these are people who have seen my work. I've demonstrated that I can do the job, and they have an idea of what they're in for. And while I haven't written a popular series or bestselling novel, I've spoken with some authors who've done one, the other, or both. If you have that kind of accomplishment under your belt, you often find the velvet ropes that keep out lesser-known or untested writers simply don't apply to you. Because people have seen your work, and they know the kind of market share you have (even if it's a smaller niche than your Rowlings and your Kings).

Publish Or Perish

A writing career is a lot like an avalanche. It can't happen without snow. Everything you publish is another snowflake. The more of them you stack up, the bigger the chance that unstoppable force will be unleashed.

But if you never put any snow out there, you'll never get your avalanche.

Especially not if you give up at $3 and change.

That doesn't mean you need to work for free. But it does mean you need to put out a lot of work. You need to submit reams of short stories, publish drifts of articles, and throw out manuscript after manuscript for novels. You need to submit to anthologies, submit to publishers, and submit to agents, but if that doesn't work, you shouldn't be afraid to put it out there yourself.

Those ideas in your head? Those perfect utopias filled with thrilling stories and impossible visions? They're all worthless. Your writing can't do anything until you get it out of your mind, onto a page, and in front of readers. Whether you're selling copies, collecting ad revenue, or getting patrons to fund your work, you need to put it out there. Because it isn't until your name is floating in the stream, and people have some idea of who you are and what you can do, that you can start opening up the doors to more prestigious assignments, and high-paying contracts.

So, you do need to go backward to go forward... at least in terms of how most people think a writing career is supposed to work.

That's all for this week's Business of Writing. Hopefully folks out there find it helpful! If you want to keep up-to-date on my latest work, then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. And, if you'd like to toss a little change in my tip jar, head over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page. All it takes is $1 per month to help, and to get some sweet swag from yours truly as a thank you.

Give Your Fantasy Nations A Personality

France. Germany. The United States. North Korea. Iraq. Chances are good that, as soon as you read the names of these countries, an image sprang to your mind. Not only that, but the image probably turned the country into a kind of anthropomorphized version of itself. You know, America is a big, aggressive guy with heavy boots, and is probably packing an oversized pistol on one hip. France is an elegant woman with dark hair sitting as a sidewalk cafe sipping coffee. North Korea is a plain-looking, humorless man in a white button-down shirt with straight, dark bangs. Etc., etc.

Now, these images are stereotypes of the nations in question. However, the fact that you can immediately create that image shows you have some working knowledge of the country in question, and there are several touchstones you have with them. If you're creating fantasy nations, then you need your readers to be able to do the same thing with the information you give them. Otherwise you risk seriously losing your audience's attention.

"And so the Ephrendior-" Wait, are they the traders or the river pirates? I don't remember.

Provide A Handhold For Your Readers

The nation of Herrantia was formed in 300 PrA., after the fall of the Korruscanti Empire. Found west of the Shirrai Mountains, the League of Doggal banded together in order to form a single, cohesive nation after the Grassland Wars left the populace decimated. In the time since then, Herrantia has risen to become a member of the Dragossi Compact, and has signed the Black Sea treaties in order to remain at peace with its neighbors.

You see that paragraph? It's bad fantasy writing. The problem is that a lot of authors think this kind of entirely made-up encyclopedia entry about their countries makes them feel more realistic. They have dates, map coordinates, and a snapshot of all the political alliances this nation currently holds... but it doesn't actually tell us anything about the nation itself. What is it known for? Who are its people? How would we recognize someone from that place? Are they feared? Reviled? Well-loved? Are they peaceful or violent? These are things we should know.

Herrantia was birthed from the blood of a fallen empire, and it came into the world with a sword in its hand, bellowing a bone-chilling war cry. Little more than herdsman and raiders, surrounding peoples soon learned Herrantian cavalry were a devastating force on the battlefield. Mercenaries and war lords, it wasn't until the tribes were pitted against each other by foreign masters that they said enough, and forged their own nation from the spoils of war. Though Herrantia is wealthy now, in both coin and land, its people have not lost the sharp edge that got them where they are today. But, as the old proverb says, war feeds a glutton for a day, where peace will satisfy a man for a lifetime.

While a little longer, the evocative language here immediately gives us an image of a young nation that isn't very far removed from the battlefield it was forged on. While peaceful and respected now, Herrantia is definitely nouveau riche in terms of a world power. Add in the fact that they were known for their cavalry, and readers can immediately form an image of this nation. A sort of Mongolia under the khans, after the empire was forged and prosperity was widespread for those beneath their rule.

Use Your Ciphers With Care

One of the most basic ways we illustrate our nations is by giving them a representative character in our stories. For an example of this, you need look no further than the Belgariad. Practically every member of the main cast is from a different country, and every one of them is the Ur-example of their nation. While this is technically functional as a storytelling tool, it can also be problematic. Especially if you want to present the characters in your worlds as varied, and to avoid stereotypes.

Those Argonians... kinslayers, the lot of them. Wonder how there are any of them left, really.

A good way to get around the whole "person as representation of entire country/culture" trope is to use the items, religion, and other associated parts and pieces of a nation's makeup and history rather than making the entirety of a character into the cipher. It's also helpful to focus on things that are truly universal (or nearly so) in a culture.

As an example, say it is tradition in Herrantia for every adult to be armed. Whether it's a dress scimitar worn at court, or a work knife stuck through the sash, bearing a weapon is a mark of adulthood and respect in their culture. As such, Herrantian steel is held in high regard by warriors, and it might be a symbol of deep apology, or of great trust, for a Herrantian to offer you their weapon. It symbolically means they are willing to place themselves in your power while being unarmed, and at your mercy.

That's one, little part of Herrantian culture, but it could easily be one of the things they are most known for. And since it is a cultural quirk of the nation, it is less problematic than focusing on behaviors that might vary from person to person. Because while not every Herrantian may be a skilled rider, knowledgeable in the ways of horses and livestock, or particularly resentful of being at peace instead of at war, that quirk identifies someone as part of that culture, and gives readers an easy-to-remember thing about Herrantians.

Be Memorable, But In A Good Way

If you want people to remember your made-up nations, then you need to make them distinct, immediately recognizable, and your readers will need a touchstone to let them know who you're talking about. Avoid boring, overly-detailed descriptions with a lot of dates and meaningless names in them, because without context you're just going to frustrate your readers. Lastly, think carefully about who or what you're using as a cipher to explain this nation to your readers. Because while giving your countries personality is a necessity, you don't want to go too far and spill over into crass stereotyping, or making a nation of hats.

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing. If you would like to check out some of my other work, then head over to my Vocal archive. If you want to help support me, stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page and consider becoming a patron. As little as $1 a month makes a big difference, and it will get you some sweet swag as a thank you. Lastly, if you want to keep up-to-date on all my latest releases, then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter.

What's Going on With Patreon? What Happened, and How You Can Help Your Favorite Creators

If you're going to be a creative professional in the Internet age, you need to make sure you don't put all your eggs in one basket. For instance, I run both this blog and the gaming blog Improved Initiative, I'm a freelance RPG designer, I write short stories, I publish books, I contribute to sites like InfoBarrel and Vocal, and at any point in time I've got my fingers dipped in half a dozen other pies.

At the end of the day, though, what really helps me keep my creditors happy is the support I get on The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page. While I don't have the biggest following out there, it's often enough to make sure I don't have to pry open my savings account when the first of the month rolls around.

Seriously, I cannot thank you all enough for your support.

However, if you've been wondering what all the rumblings about Patreon changes were about (and wondering why creators like me have been panicking), allow me to break it down for you now that the worst appears to be over.

Good Idea, Bad Idea

The way Patreon worked, up until this whole kerfuffle started, was pretty simple. Patrons (people like you) would donate money to a creator. So if you wanted to, say, fund The Literary Mercenary, then you would go to my creator page, and pledge a certain amount per completed blog entry, or per month. Then, at the end of the month, Patreon would charge you that amount, and it would slide over to my tip jar, where I could use it to pay rent, buy food, stuff like that.

Seems pretty simple so far.

What most patrons didn't see, though, was that we had to pay a tithe to Patreon when it came time for our patronage to come in. So they would take some fees out of our pockets, and we would get what was left. For someone like me, who only had about 29 patrons, I was forking over less than $20 a month. Not too bad, in my opinion. Especially because I could absorb the costs in private, which meant this wasn't something my patrons had to worry themselves over.

Now, even though this was a perfectly functional system, there were no creators out there who liked paying fees. It was just what we all had to do to use the platform. Those fees kept Patreon running, and they allowed us to use the platform, so we all have to chip in to make sure the thing that made us money could also keep making itself money. Patreon saw this, and wanted to throw creators a bone so they could keep more of the money that was pledged to them. Which was where the idea got floated that Patreon would only take a 5% cut of a creator's earnings from that point onward.

To make up the difference, though, they wanted to charge service fees to patrons. So for every pledge someone made to a creator, they were going to get hit with an additional service fee, and a small percentage of their pledge, over and above what they were trying to pay to the creator.

Needless To Say, This Did Not End Well

The result of this decision to shift costs from the creators to the patrons with almost no advanced warning, and with no way for creators to opt-out of the new structure, led to a lot of blood loss. People started hemorrhaging patrons, because while some people just support one or two creators, a lot of patrons like to give $1 to 10 or 15 creators to help spread out that support. Which meant that those patrons were going to get hit with a service charge for every, single creator they supported. Add to that the patrons who were more than happy to give a couple of bucks to a creator, but who did not cotton to also being the source of Patreon's funding as a site, and there was quite the outcry.

Fortunately, between the mass exodus, creators writing in to complain, and patrons writing in to complain, it seems that Patreon is well aware it has stepped in a stinking pile of bad idea. According to emails the company sent out recently, it will not be pursuing this planned change to the fee structure. From what they're saying, everything is going to stay just how it was before this whole thing got started. Patrons pledge what they want, that is all the company charges for, and us creators will handle the costs behind the scenes for service charges and other things like we always have.

Of course, the only reason this is happening is because enough people complained, and withdrew their money. Patreon is just like its creators in that respect... if our supporters leave, then we're going to have to get a day job pretty soon. So if you've been withdrawing your pledges in anticipation of bigger fees, it should be safe to come out. But keep an eye open, just in case there is another proposed change in the works that we haven't heard about yet.

That's all for this week's Business of Writing update. Hopefully it helped folks out there get a handle on what's going on, and answered a few questions. If you'd like to help support me and my work (writing, gaming, or otherwise), then head over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page. I'm offering extra swag, since I lost about a sixth of my own patreons, and I'd like to persuade folks to chip in if I can. Lastly, if you want to keep up-to-date on my latest releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter.

What Is Your Book's One-Sentence Summary?

Brevity is the soul of wit, as someone far more famous than me once said. Unfortunately, a lot of us seem to believe that our books are so special, and our ideas so unique, that in order to fully appreciate them someone needs to have the entire context of the world history, the verbatim prophecy given to the protagonist at the start of the journey, and a crash course in the current political climate.

Everything can be boiled down to its simplest, core elements, though. That includes your book. If you think you can't simplify it, then you may not know your own book as well as you think you do.

If it's more than one sentence, keep working on it.

Why Simpler Is Better

Every story has a simple through-line that anyone can follow. From complicated spy thrillers, to trilogy-spanning epic fantasy, there is an A to Z line you need to know. As a quick for-instance, take the First Law Trilogy by Joe Abercrombie. While it might be a little spoilery, a simple explanation is, "Duplicitous wizard recruits a team to help him defeat an ancient foe, and to prevent a cataclysmic shift in the world's power balance." Now, the series is obviously more convoluted than that, with a dozen different characters whose perspectives we follow, curses, redemption, damnation, and a thousand shades of gray. However, that basic explanation provides a toe-hold for any potential reader to quickly get a grip on what's going on.

So what is your book about?

For example, Blood and Rubies might follow Captain Shellain "Red Mane" Waters as she takes leadership of the Brothers of the Red Sails, tracks down and recruits Bertrand "The Black" Henderthrane, formerly the captain of the royal guard and the deadliest swordsman in a generation, and wins the allegiance of the mad sorcerer Hethrader. She might slay sea serpents, lead royal shipments of supplies into ambushes, and execute the governors of towns who don't swear loyalty to her and her cause. The story might have dozens of betrayals, spies whose allegiance we're never sure of, and at least one bittersweet romantic subplot, but the core of the story is still, "Outcast pirate princess finds allies, and fights to take back the throne of her nation from those who usurped it."

The simplification serves a few functions. The first is that it keeps clear in your own mind what your book is actually about. That way no matter how many kidnappings, new characters, explosive gun fights, and back-alley knife duels you have, you never lose sight of where your story is supposed to be going. The second is that when it comes time to pitch your book to someone, whether it's a publisher or a potential reader, reviewer, etc., you can sum up what they're in for in a single breath before giving their attention time to wander.

Because it's hard enough to capture someone's attention, and if you are fortunate to have it for a moment, don't squander it with an aside to explain the history of Choana's elected monarchy or by waxing about the magic system used by your wizarding spies. Hook the reader hard, and make them want to know about all that other stuff. In short, get to the point, and see if they bite.

That's all for this week's Craft of Writing. Hopefully some folks find it helpful for putting their big ideas into a small, easily digestible hook. If you want to keep up on all my latest posts, then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. If you're like to help me keep doing what I do, then stop by The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to leave a little love in my tip jar. And if you pledge at least $1 per month, I'll even send you a free book as a thank you!

Just Because You're Having Fun, That Doesn't Mean You Shouldn't Get Paid

I have come to the conclusion that no matter who you are, if you expect to get paid for something that other people do for fun, you are going to get a lot of angry messages on your social media feed. I was recently reminded of this when I published the post What Does It Take To Be A Professional DM?, since about half the comments left on it were some variation of, "how about you not be a piece of shit, and try to make money off something people do to have fun?"

Of course, you know, this means war!

It is worth noting that no one who read that post claimed that being a dungeon master was easy (because it isn't). No one argued that it doesn't take skill to be a dungeon master, or that it didn't take time, energy, and investment to make sure an entire table of players had a good time. The main source of outrage, paraphrased, was that the commenters were willing to do all that stuff for free, and for their personal enjoyment. So anyone who participated in that hobby as a for-profit enterprise was clearly doing it wrong, and they should be shunned for polluting the purity of a fun hobby by twisting it into a source of income.

Think about that for a moment. Someone who is willing to do a difficult job that is often in demand, spending copious amounts of their own time, energy, and often money to provide a positive, engaging, entertaining experience for other people should never, ever make a profit off of that. They should just enjoy the activity, and that's that.

Replace being a dungeon master with being a blogger, a video creator, an author, a painter, a sculptor, or any other creative activity, and you'll get much the same result. Without fail.

Your Job Isn't Supposed To Be Miserable, You Know

Kara Dennison recently hit the nail on the head with her post Creativity For A Living: The Curse of The Jobbing Hobbyist. The post touched on the usual suspects, such as how it's hard to be creative on a deadline, and how difficult it is to get people to see that art is neither frivolous, nor a luxury, but that it is a necessary good that's consumed in huge quantities every day. However, the third point in the post is one of the most important, I think.

Simply put, the money you're paid is for your time, and your effort. It is not to compensate you for doing a job you hate, or that makes you miserable.

There is no fringe benefit that can stop making me feel empty inside.

This is something a lot of folks overlook. The main reason they overlook it, I feel, is that when someone writes, draws, or plays a game as a hobby, they tend to do it for their own amusement. You draw when you feel like it. You write when you're inspired. You're not thinking about what would get the most hits on social media, or what would look good on a tee shirt, or wondering if you can finish the project fast enough to get it on the slate before the next convention, because it's not about all that. It's about you, and your personal enjoyment.

Now, that isn't to say that creative professionals don't enjoy the work we do (I wouldn't put out as much content if I didn't enjoy holding forth on all these topics). However, a lot of people think that because we enjoy our jobs, that should be payment enough. After all, they hate their jobs, so why should we make money for doing something they would gladly do for nothing in their free time to relax?

Because, to re-iterate, you are not paid for enduring something you don't want to do. You're paid because you put in the time and effort to do your job.

The Other Reason is People Need To Be Taught To Value Art

If you go to a restaurant, you can always tell the people who have worked as wait staff in the past. They're understanding, they know how to talk to their server, and they always tip. Even if the service wasn't great, they know how hard the job is, and they understand how tough it can be to make ends meet, so they always leave a gratuity.

Always.

You can also tell the people who have not had experience working in a restaurant, or who have never had friends or family members who worked there. They tend to be the people who are demanding, pushy, and who won't leave a tip unless their server went above and beyond, acting more like a personal servant than a staff member. Because, as they rationalize, that server will make minimum wage if no one tips them enough to go over, so not tipping them isn't really hurting them.

The problem creative professionals run into is that a lot of people have worked in the service industry, or have friends who have worked in it, so they empathize with the struggle. They understand how much work goes into that job, and they value it. However, if someone views writing a book as something you do on your own time, for fun, then they aren't going to think twice about just downloading a free copy off of a pirate site. If someone thinks that drawing is something you do to unwind at the end of the day, then they don't hesitate to right-click on a digital gallery and steal an image for their own use. Because, hey, this person should be happy someone like you values their art enough to take it, and use it. You made it from passion, and that creative experience should be enough payment for you. Never mind the long hours you put in, or the fact that you own the legal copyright to that work, because it would just be selfish of you to expect to be paid in real money on top of all those feelings of accomplishment.

Of course, the truth of this situation is that when someone is a creative professional, we aren't just sitting around indulging our own fancies all the time. We are creating art specifically to enrich the lives of others, to make statements, and to provide experiences. We write books, we make films, we whisper into a microphone for a podcast, but we don't do that just to amuse ourselves. We crunch the numbers, we research the market, we hustle at conventions, we invest time, effort, and money into building the brand, and we do our best to provide something of value.

That's exhausting. But sometimes just having someone come up and say, "Hey, I really like what you're doing. It's good. Keep it up!" is the most rewarding thing that can happen. With that said, if you can afford to drop a dime into someone's Patreon jar, you should maybe do that, too. Share the links, buy the merch, leave reviews, and if you value what someone does, help give them the support to keep doing it.

Speaking of which, if you enjoyed this latest Business of Writing post from yours truly, why not head over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page to become a patron today? For as little as $1 a month, I'll even throw in a free book or two as a holiday thank you! Lastly, to stay on top of all my releases, follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter, too.

Never Explain The Impossible (If Doing So Serves No Purpose)

How many times have you been reading a fantasy or sci-fi novel, and found your interest ebbing away as the author goes on for page after page describing the mechanism by which their magic works? You know, like when Michael Chrichton dedicated page space to explaining the particular mechanism of time travel in Timeline, not in dialogue or as part of showing off how smart a character was, but as an aside to the audience told by the narrator?

Well, if you haven't read the book, I'd hold up that decision as the exact wrong way to make the impossible aspect of a story feel real. Unfortunately, there are a lot of folks who feel that by laying out an entire schematic, and proving they've thought through exactly how everything from summoning spells to warp drives could work, that it will win them points with the audience.

The Dungeon Master has spoken.

You won't get brownie points. Because no one is here to look at the pretty scenery.

Acceptance Justifies The Impossible

First, let's talk about how the author needs to justify the impossible in their story. Whether it's aliens, ancient sorcerers, fire-breathing dragons, time travel, or anything else, there's a knee-jerk need in some authors to lecture about all the details so the audience can cram every bit of knowledge about these things into their heads. That doesn't make the impossible elements more interesting, though. If anything, treating them like the subject of an academic lecture can make them seem boring.

Because no one wants to be force fed information.

Instead, treat these impossible elements as matter-of-fact. If you state that something is real, then the audience has to accept that reality. That's the contract you've made with them. So be confident in your assertions about what elements do exist. If your protagonists sees a spell being cast, describe the ritual, and its effects. If they see a ship winking out into hyper space, or someone firing a laser rifle, don't pause the story to explain the mechanics of these occurrences. You're pile-driving your own pacing, and worse, taking something exciting and fun, and boring your readers with it.

So then the ion streams are fed into the polarizing chamber, which reverses their flow, leading to...

There is one exception to this advice; when you are using this explanation to make a point, or to show us something about a character.

As an example, take your sci-fi space marine. He's gruff, unpersonable, and extremely dangerous. He also fights in a suit of powered armor, naturally. If you have a scene where he's stripping, cleaning, and re-assembling his gear with a secondary character, it's all right to have him narrate the function of the tech he's inspecting. Not because you're trying to convince the audience that you consulted an engineer, and these combat suits are plausible. Rather, it's because you're showing us that the marine not only knows how to care for the gear, but has the technical understanding to explain it to someone else. Additionally, this scene could act as a way for the second character to get some insight below his gruff exterior. Whether it's a bonding moment with a younger character (sort of like a dad showing their kid how to do car maintenance), or finding common ground with a technician or engineer who isn't a fighter, the explanation is not the point of the scene; it's the story and character development it facilitates.

As an alternative example, take the character who has to walk us through a scenario in order to explain an important plot point. For example, a wizard is found dead inside a magic circle. The runes should have prevented any outside force from entering, so the assumption is he killed himself. However, careful examination of the circle reveals the materials it's made of wouldn't achieve that result. By dropping the little bit of knowledge that silver is meant to keep things in, not to keep them out, what was a suicide has suddenly become an imprisonment, and potentially murder. In this scenario the explanation of the intricacies of summoning and protective magics is not meant to intrigue your audience all by itself; it's meant to show that your protagonist is learned in the ways of magic, and to point out that the plot is deeper than we thought it was a moment ago.

If You Don't Need The Explanation, Don't Give It

Everything in your book is meant to serve a purpose. If you're cramming in extraneous detail that does no one any good, you're wasting both time and reader attention. So, unless it serves a greater purpose, we don't need to understand how your faster-than-light travel works, what altered physics allows the sorcerer to breathe fire, or how dragons fly. Simply tell us that these things happen, and get on with the story.

Remember, I said in Your Fantasy Novel Probably Sucks, And Professor Awesome's University Explains Why, no one falls in love with the set dressing. We're here to see the play.

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