An essay by Andrea Green-Thompson
Sometimes I’m willing to trek through pages of lore for the sake of the story; other times I want to dive in without needing to consult a glossary. Depending on my intentions and my mood, the criteria for enjoying a story range from pedantic and sophisticated to basic and flexible. A writer is responsible for a reader’s enjoyment. They must tell a well-polished story, with as little opportunity for distraction as possible.
An extensively immersive tale has its time and place, and when I have the capacity, I adore that level of world-building. But making sense of a world like Tolkien’s, for example, demands more of the mind; it’s not ideal for a quiet read just before bed. This calibre of book often requires one to consult external resources.
When I don’t have the mental capacity, extensive lore becomes more of a distraction than an aid, and it takes me three times as long to get through the pages. In these moments, my brain copes with a story that has enough fantasy elements to feel brand new but still contains real-world symmetry. It takes a particular kind of craftsmanship to transport readers to a different plane of reality. Authors like Brandon Sanderson, Silvia Moreno-Garcia, and Fredrik Backman, seem to have mastered the art. I’ve had the privilege of being enveloped by their stories, forgetting my reality for a beat. An example taken from Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson:
“Before, her vision had been restricted to a tiny pocket within the night. Now, however, she saw an entire city enveloped by a blanket of sifting, swirling mist. She could make out keeps like small, dark mountains in the distance, and could see specks of light from windows, like pin-pricked holes in the night. And above... she saw lights in the sky.”
My absorption in a story depends on the writer’s ability to describe a scene without it sounding robotic. I am easily distracted, though, and something as small as a misplaced comma is enough to break the spell. I’ve been able to pinpoint the tiniest details in language since childhood, and errors upset me. Every time I see a spelling mistake or a punctuation/grammar error, I pause involuntarily. I’m either thinking of the writing choices I would have made, or wishing the editor had made the necessary corrections. It inevitably takes me a moment to get back into it.
In the same vein, language choice can make or break a story for me. Using big words for no reason but to sound smart takes more than it gives. Steven Bartlett is someone who writes about intangible concepts in an accessible way. He writes about intimidating topics in a way that isn’t intimidating to read. I appreciate that in a writer. A good example comes from his book titled The Diary of a CEO:
“As we discovered in Law 4, first-party evidence – that is, everything you observe with your own senses – is by far the strongest evidence when it comes to creating or changing a belief.”
Another consideration is the flow of physical movement in a story. If one sentence describes an upright MMC* and the next he’s suddenly on top of the FMC*, I need to understand how we got there. Otherwise, I find myself backtracking to make sure I didn’t miss anything. If it turns out the author just left out some details, I immaturely berate them in my brain before I can get back into the story. If my memory serves, there were moments like this in the otherwise enjoyable Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros.
My perpetual criteria for a good story are probably the following: good grammar/punctuation/spelling, good visuals, and effective language choices. It’s why I tend to write and rewrite things a million times before sharing them with anyone. But when these things are well considered by a storyteller, I’m so easily gripped. A good story told badly feels like a waste of my mental capacity.
*If you had to come down here to find out what this meant, that’s exactly my point.
FMC = Female Main Character
MMC = Male Main Character
An Editorial Note.
Andrea’s essay forms part of our first Open Call for Submissions cycle, exploring the theme: “What Makes a Story Interesting to You?”
What we loved about Andrea’s essay is how she builds trust and authority, shares book references that make us want to read more, and positions intellectual discipline as a pathway towards greater emotional expression and deeper connection.
Meticulous attention to grammar and syntax can sometimes feel restrictive. Through her vantage point, we see how that same care can give us the freedom to express ourselves more fully. We also really enjoyed her sense of humour.
If you enjoyed her essay as much as we did, join our community chat and let her know.
And if you’d like to submit your own writing, keep a lookout for our next open call. We invite submissions every 6–8 weeks. If your writing is selected, you’ll receive a full editorial response, a story development workshop, 1:1 coaching and an author fee.
