Okay, here is the next in the series of commentaries on writing. Today, I thought I would talk about the genre of fantasy, because a lot of writers seem to be finding themselves falling into this one a lot. Therefore, it’s probably important to point out one of the failings that often separates a writer from anyone who might want to read any of that writer’s writings. Today, we’re going to focus on the desire to make fantasy overly fantastic.

Let me start by including a little scene I’m going to concoct for the nature of pointing this out. In this scene, the Princess C’lagrisha’nte is planning for her royal wedding to the prince of the Grishandens Empire. Let’s listen in:

Zvastran’cha, the Secondary Triumphant Parlour Midwife Maid, picked up a Hee’chanta vase and poured water onto the Bracklit plant before moving onto the array of Sxraxxan tapestries that were overlayed upon the Royal Foundry of Makkappala. Before she could reset the seal, Vleekorando Vrippzee approached her with his Lantee spear at a position of rest and tapped his Bryee visor twice, indicating his displeasure at the events that occurred over the Kalamaster Ceremonies of Trijent’a. It was obvious that a future gathering of the Proxilia Council was most likely to result in the Second Rigor of Nixtraxa. Which, of course, meant blah blah blah

What we have here, in the words of a great Southern prison warden is “a failure to communicate”. At one point, it’s really cool to add all of this visual scenery and fantastical elements that show we’re not in Kansas anymore, but at some point the amount of unknown verbage starts to become noise, and the reader turns off most of the visuals because they stop making sense. Add in numerous characters that all have really bizarre names, and you end up with a tale that becomes so easy to toss out the window, that the chances of you ever getting anyone to finish it are very limited. It doesn’t matter if the writing is stellar, and the story is great; at some point, the amount of confusion is going to overwhelm the reader, and the story ends before it ever gets told.

A solution to this problem is to introduce foreign elements into your world sporadically while including familiar sensations alongside the foreign ones. The little inclusion I used to explain this problem isn’t even that bad, to be honest. I’ve read some stories where I’ve gone entire paragraphs where I had no clue what the writer was talking about because EVERYTHING on the page was so foreign that at some point I gave up trying to figure out what a Hgjasfjsfjlijn was and just started thinking about a wonderful lunch I had the day before. If you fill your story with enough elements like that, causing your reader to abandon your story, you may have defeated your reason for writing in the first place, which should always be kept at the forefront of everything you write: You’re communicating, and as long as you can continue doing that, you’re on the right track to storytelling instead of just filling pages with gibberish that will eventually be ignored.