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I have a little problem with fantasy stories. Now don’t get me wrong, fantasy is my favorite genre. My issue is more or less not with fantasy stories in general, but with some stories, and mostly, with the authors of these said stories.

The problem I have is called: Accountability.

When I read a fantasy story, I want explanations, I want reasons. I don’t want something to happen, just because the author could make it happen. If a wizard is going to use magic, I want to know where the hell that magic came from, and why he is able to use it.

I’m sick of reading a story where some magician casts a fireball just because he used magic. Where did this magic come from? What are the rules of the magic? A world not of our world, is still going to be subject to lots of the same rules we are subject to. And as we all should know from science class: One of Newton’s Laws of Motion states that, “To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

This law of motion is also applied to every action taken in life whether its a tangible on intangible action. You think of something, you’ll usually be reminded to think of something else. Just opening your eyes in the morning sets off a whole set of other actions.

Just because somebody exists in some fantasy world doesn’t mean these laws won’t exist. Sure, maybe in another world it will have three moons, the population breaths in nitrogen to survive, gravity is lighter, and fireballs can be formed from muttering some word, doesn’t mean the laws of science don’t exist there.

Another world can have differences, but it still follows the same laws of science as every other world. Magic can still exist, but rules must be set, and these rules need to follow the laws of science.

Say for instance that you have a wizard who’s power comes from a God of that world. I myself am not a believer in Gods, but if your world has a God, or Gods, and the power comes from them, it might be a good idea to have some sort of explanation on how that God gives his power to the wizard. How did that God acquire the power?

The problem with power coming from Gods opens a whole set of problems. The believers of the God in your world may believe that they know all, and “just” have the power. So in order to set the scene for your world and let the reader be immersed in it, you probably need to just let it be and not explain how the God has the power. For myself, this is a little annoying as I am the type of person who likes to know where this stuff comes from.

But if we can’t even figure that out in our own world, it can make it hard to explain it in a fictitious world, at least not without destroying the scene of the world a writer is trying to set up.

But you know what I’m saying now. There needs to be accountability in a world. There can’t just be things happening because of “Magic”. There needs to be rules, explanations, enough that the reader knows that things don’t “just happen”.

I myself found I was doing the same thing I am talking about. I have some fantasy stories where magic was just being thrown around. I later read and found it to be shallow and take away from the story. Later when I wrote and explained my magic a bit, I found that it was more tangible to me, more realistic, and more exciting.

Lets run through a little scenario. I am going to develop a magic source with rules.

Okay, so where is our magic originating from?

Lets say it’s originating from a source of energy that exists in the world. But where did this source of energy come from? Well we all know that everything is made of energy. Science has proved that right. Well to keep it simple we could say that the people of the world are sensitive to energy. This has been proven in our world as well. Some people are more sensitive to the motions of energy in our world. Have you ever had somebody stare at you from a distance, and you felt it, so you turned around and found them. Well that is our normal sensitivity to energy being stirred.

There are people more sensitive in our world that can pick up on the stirs of energy. We don’t have anybody extremely sensitive, but we could make people in our world extremely sensitive to it, and able to manipulate it with thoughts, rather then by devices.

If we wanted to get a little more complicated, we could say that there is a great magnetic disturbance that attracts energy to it. We have those on our own world, the south and north pole. Well imagine it thousands of times greater. Maybe that is the energy that people in our world access. But we would have to make sure that if they are the farthest away from it possible on our world, that their access to it becomes limited.

See, we are using laws of science to create our magic. Now that is explaining where the energy source and our “magic” is coming from. You can further develop more rules like how it is used and manipulated. Maybe people that use magic can only send lighting bolts. Or they may be able to use the energy to magnetize themselves and attract metal objects, then magnetize it which they can then reverse their magnetic poles and send the metal they picked up hurtling like a bullet.

Maybe by using other materials they can use the magic to create fireballs. To create a fireball in our world, we will say that magicians gather sawdust mixed with a bit of sulfur and small magnetized metal grindings and create a powder. They gather it in their hands, and ignite it with electricity use, then use reversed poles to send the fireball at their target.

So, by using science, magic can seem more tangible. Now, maybe all this magic being used is explained differently by the inhabitants of your world. They may explain that it is power from the Gods. That by experimenting, they learned how to send fireballs flying. They may not know the real rules on how it works, but they made up their own rules. So you have the real science behind the show, and you have what people think the real science behind it is.

Now the real challenge is explaining it to your readers so it seems real, but at the same time not destroying your readers view on the world.

So lets explore this problem.

Just as an example- and there are many ways to accomplish this- this world we are looking into could have a very secretive wizard who understands the magic in it’s real sense. He doesn’t believe in the Gods and so he was very intuitive and wanted to know the real source of energy. He figured it out. So a scene in your book could include him- though make sure it makes sense in the book- and the real magic could be explained. So your reader could have two opinions on how the magic works. That way your not destroying the magic the people believe in, but at the same time it will seem real to the readers.

To write a good story there needs to be accountability. “To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.” Don’t just throw things in and not expect the readers to question it or for there not to be a reaction to it in the story, or a consequence. This will make the story shallow and very unbelievable.

EVERYTHING has a reason why it works.

“Come Out Dryad” is another story I wrote for my writing course I took through the Institute of Children’s Literature. It originally was longer, but due to word count requirements I had to cut it shorter.

I feel the story feels very rushed, but the character development feel strong. Because this story is meant for a younger audience -eleven to thirteen I would say- it is good that I got the story out in such short words. And that was one of the goals of the lesson. To deliver a good story in a short amount of words suitable for a younger audience.

Anyways, here it is. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think by posting your comments.

Enjoy,

Cuyler Callahan

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Lightning flashed, and rain crashed angrily on the tin roof of Grandpa’s cabin. Twelve-year-old Mara sat inside Grandpa’s study, full of its wonderful books. Power had been cut to the cabin, so the building lay in darkness accept for the light dancing in front of her now, emanating from the warm fire Grandpa and her sat by. He read from a book he claimed spoke the truth.

“And that’s the truth about Dryads. They aren’t just some made up fantasy creature,” his rough but loving voice said. A knowing smile spread across his face, though Mara couldn’t figure out what it meant. Is he fooling me?

“Will we meet one some day?” Mara asked.

“Oh of course. There is one out in the back oak tree.” Grandpa shivered a bit. ” I’m a tad chilly. I’ll go get us some hot chocolate.”

Grandpa’s big red chair looked lonely as Grandpa walked away. Mara jumped into it, grabbing the green hardcover book. Flipping through the pages sent excitement through her. “I so want to meet one of these creatures.” I hope they really exist. She brushed a brown lock of hair out of her face. She began reading a page that told how to contact a Dryad.

She jumped from Grandpa’s seat as crashing and banging came from outside the study. A painful moan sent her heart into her mouth. “Grandpa!” she screamed.

Mara ran from the study into the blackness. She felt her way to the stairs using the railing along the walkway. It took forever, she thought, to get down the stairs where her foot felt something on the floor.

“Grandpa?” she said softly. A moan came from Grandpa. “What happened Grandpa?”

No response. He had fallen down the stairs and lay badly hurt. “I’ll get you a blanket.” She felt her way through the dining room to the living room and grabbed a blanket off the couch.

After placing the blanket over Grandpa she thought of what to do. I need to get help. Fear struck her. No way she could get help. They had called the neighbors earlier to find if they had power, but a tree must have fallen on the phone line for all they heard sounded like a whole bunch of nothing. She didn’t know how to drive, only being twelve.

Quickly an idea came to her. Grandpa said there was a dryad in the oak tree. I sure hope he isn’t joking. Mara made her way to the kitchen then out the back door into the yard. Lightning flashed above, and rain pelted her skin, drenching her instantly.

She ran to the oak tree and started pounding on it. “Dryad, I need your help. My Grandpa is hurt.” Nothing happened. Mara couldn’t think straight in the situation. She needed to hurry and get help. Think Mara. Slow down and think. Okay, the book said I needed to offer food. Then I need to say something, but I can’t remember.

She ran into the house and started Grandpa’s gas stove, putting the kettle on for hot chocolate. Then she made her way through the dark to the study and finished reading the part on how to contact a dryad.

Offer food and then say: Dryad, this meal I bring you. For this meal I ask for audience. Dryad meal for audience. This is the meal, now where is the audience.

“I can say that. This won’t be hard,” Mara said to herself. She glanced at the big red words reading “Caution” and a message beneath it, but in her rush she skipped over it.

She made her way down the stairs to the kitchen and prepared the hot chocolate.

Carefully holding the cup she made her way to the tree and said the words. To her surprise the oak’s bark opened up and the most beautiful women she had ever seen stood in front of her, dressed in leaves.

The Dryad looked at her quizzically then snatched the cup of hot chocolate from Mara. After draining the hot chocolate in a gulp the Dryad began to shout. “That was cold. You seek a presence with me, and you offer a hot drink which is cold.” The Dryad pushed Mara into the mud. ” I should smite you right here.”

“I’m sorry,” Mara cried back, holding her self out of the mud with one hand, and holding the other up, incase the dryad actually struck her. “My grandpa is hurt, I need your help.”

The dryad advanced on Mara. “The old man, speak more child.”

“He fell down the stairs and is badly hurt.” Long wet hair covered Mara’s face. Mud drizzled down her cheeks.

The dryad stopped the advance. “Us dryads don’t take kindly to strangers just knocking on our trees. We like proper introductions by those we know already. Your a stranger offering an improper gift. This sends me in a rage. Yet I know the old man, and he is a friend. Fine girl get out of the mud and lets help your grandfather.”

Mara picked herself up and led the way to her grandfather. The dryad made some type of magical ball that lit up the room like a torch in a dark cave, accept this gave of blue light.

A cry startled Mara more in this already disturbing situation. The dryad gave it, now on her knees, bent over Grandpa. “Old man, poor old man.” Mara came close, but the Dryad pushed Mara away. She is rude. I thought she would be nicer.

“Girl, bring me a branch from the oak tree,” the Dryad snapped.

Mara felt her way to the backyard and ran to the tree. The branches sprouted from the trunk to high for her to reach. She climbed the tree often, though never in the rainy dark.

Hugging the rough bark, she inched her way up the tree slipping on the wet bark. Mara’s teeth held painfully clenched as her knees rubbed on the rough bark with each slip. She finally reached a branch and hung from it, her hands hanging on tightly.

Mara began swinging from the branch. “Come on, break you stupid branch.”

She heard a crack and then a snap, a scream from the house, and then felt her heart lift into her mouth. Her feet hit the ground, then her bottom as her legs buckled. Wet grass and mud inspired her to quickly get back on her feet and she ran to the house. “Why did she scream?” Mara said out loud.

Back in the house Mara stared at the Dryad holding her arm painfully. “Give me the branch girl.”

“Why are you hurt?” Mara confused herself with the concern for such a rude person. Though she felt it her fault; she asked for its help.

“I and the tree are one. If either of us get hurt, we both get hurt. THE BRANCH GIRL!”

Mara handed the Dryad the branch. She wanted to whack her with it.

She tried to hold Grandpa’s hand but the Dryad pushed her away again. The Dryad stood up with the branch.
Mara winced in pain as a sudden beam of light blinded her sending her arms for her face. A high pitch whistle painfully wracked her brain. Then it ended.

Vision slowly came back and focused. She saw her grandfather standing upright.

“You have a very rude girl, she gave me cold hot chocolate,” the Dryad said to Grandpa.

Grandpa tried speaking, but the Dryad put her index finger on his lips and shook her head. “I expect some gifts for this very disturbing disturbance old friend. Now I take my leave. I also expect this girl to come visit me with you, and have her properly introduced and taught how to politely call a Dryad.” With that the Dryad took with her the light and left Mara and Grandpa standing in the dark as she went back to the oak.

“GRANDPA!” Mara squealed, almost crying, but extremely happy. She ran and gave him a big hug. Grandpa laughed slightly with a confused but happy laugh.

Mara looked up from her Grandpa’s belly with big happy eyes, “Grandpa lets make something like tea. I don’t want hot chocolate.”

Fuck. What is wrong with me? I still am blank. I sit here thinking to myself about how much I want to write. I want to write I want to write I want to write… but what do I want to write? Everything that used to seem so important to me doesn’t seem so important any more. When I was younger I wanted to write about things that I wasn’t allowed to do, or I couldn’t do because I wasn’t old enough, or things stopped me.

I wanted to write about great sex and alcohol, and drugs, and I wanted to write it in a fantasy story. I wanted to write about hot characters, with smoking bodies. Curves that I could elusively talk about so I wouldn’t get in trouble by my parents if they read the story. I wanted to write about wars, great battles, with great heroes. I wanted to write about things that couldn’t ever happen in this world, about creatures that didn’t exist, about cultures and worlds and languages that I would make up myself and write about.

What happened to that? Why am I not interested in writing about it any more. Is it that my experiences since I was younger have made these things not seem so exciting any more? I’ve had sex, I’ve been with good looking women. I don’t need to write about sex, or hot women to get off and feel like I’m experiencing it. I have experienced it many times now. I don’t need to write about being drunk. I’ve been drunk many times now. I don’t need to write about drugs. I’ve done drugs.

I don’t need to write about battles. I haven’t been in a battle, but I’ve been in real life simulations, and had explosions go off around me that could injure me If I wasn’t careful. I have stayed up for days on end, and I’ve had hallucinations from being sleep deprived. I’ve experienced a more realistic battle then I could ever write about. The only thing more real would be a real battle. What I write about in a book though was not as rough as what I experienced in training, and so what could I possibly want to write about now. I suppose a more grisly and real life scenario of a real battle.

It seems that my main motivation for writing when I was younger was so I could experience things that I wasn’t allowed. Now I am non religious, and I have experienced many things I wasn’t allowed. I’m in the military, I’m a soldier. What do I want to write about? What reason is it that I want to write? I want to write because I remember what it was like to write before. The enjoyment I got from it. I like writing because I like to see the reactions I get from my readers. I want to write because I want to entertain, I want to make people experience emotion and say “that was a great book. Where is the next one.” I want a lifestyle where I can chill with a coffee in a nice suit and write a book. I want to be the distinguished writer. I want that lifestyle. I want a decent looking woman who is kind, and understands my passion.

What I more or less have written about lately now is my feelings. I’ve written about my feelings, and expressed them. I’ve had deeper conversations with people and written about them. I’ve written about deeper topics. About deeper thoughts I’ve had. I’m expressing myself on paper more directly then through fictional means. So what does this mean? Does this mean that even though I think I want to write fantasy again and fiction, that the reality is I want to write about deep topics and change the thoughts and ideas of other people out there?

Maybe that is it? Maybe I think I want to write fiction, when really I want to write about ideas, theology, and deeper topics that impact people on a deep level, not just give them a good story. But give them something to think about that might change their lives.

I want to write about where we came from, why we are here, and where we are going. The questions that religion today has tried to answer. I have my own answers, maybe I can share them with people. Though why do I want to share them with people? Do I want people to understand me? Maybe I feel like I’m alone in the world. I have tons of friends, but my family is all Mormon. I sometimes feel they don’t understand me. And the truth is, no matter how often they say they understand me, they never will. They can never understand me until they have lived my lifestyle.

That is why wars start. We here think we understand a people in another land, so when we try to give them our ideas, and they reject them, they get mad as we try to force them on them.

I’m lucky in this regard that my family doesn’t force their ideas on me, but they still do not understand me and I think I want to write my ideas so that I can see if others out there would like to learn about my believes and maybe they will take an interest in them.

I have started up a website where I share my writing with people. My ideas, my stories, my insights. I want to share an article on my beliefs on there. Maybe people will like it, and they will want to learn more. What more can I teach them? My beliefs are pretty simple. Maybe instead of writing a book about my ideas and thoughts, I will just continue to share them on my website and get faithful readers on there.

But will people take a great interest into my writing? Do people really care about my beliefs enough to be faithful readers? I don’t know, and the best way to find out is to just get people to read my stuff. Maybe later in the future I’ll have enough material an paper to write a full size book. I think another major reason I write is to get my ideas on paper because I have so many of them that I eventually get overwhelmed with my ideas and forget some. So I write them down as a way to archive my ideas.

So when I eventually get enough information for a book, I could put one together. But who would buy it? Who would by a book that has ideas and insights from a young twenty something man who doesn’t have important connections? Why would any body take notice of my ideas. If a famous actor writes something, everybody cares. I’m just a low ranking soldier and a very unfamous young man. Who would care to read? Why would a publisher publish my stuff? Even if it’s put together well, and the editor likes it, they have to have a market for it.

What market would such a book fall into? What genre would a book about my own insights and ideas fall into?

So what have I learned from this writing? I want to write, but my old reasons for writing have disappeared. I think I want to write fantasy, but I really want to write about my new ideas that have formed in my head over the last few years.

I will go about this, by publishing my writings on my site. I will build traffic to my site and get readers.
I also want to write so I can make money. I want to write good content that people take interest in, and they tell their friends, and I get enough traffic to sell advertising, and they buy products. But that means I need to find markets that I know enough about to write interesting and engaging content about.

I know a lot about body building, but I really am not that much of a body builder any more. What else do I know a lot about? I know a lot about writing. But who would listen to me? An unpublished young person. I have no real publishing creditability. I would just be teaching stuff I learned and rehashed to teach others. Thats the problem. I need to be able to write about stuff that I am accomplished in, and that people can see that I have a real say in. I can’t have a real influence in a market if I am not successful in it.

This is stuff I need to think about.