Details matter in writing as a whole, of course, but they are perhaps particularly important in fantasy novels, where world-building is central, and if magic is vague, stories falter.

As a writing coach, I often work with fantasy authors. I am also a fantasy author myself (The Page Turners: Fantastic Realms launches later this year), so this issue is frequently on my mind. 

For example, in nearly every early-draft fantasy manuscript I read, there’s a moment where a character with some level of magical ability “mumbles a spell.” It usually looks like this: the hero lifts their hands dramatically, whispers something under their breath, and then poof, magic happens.

This vagueness in the spell casting is actually a much bigger problem than most fantasy writers realize because novels live and breathe through language. Rather than treating magic as a shorthand plot device, writers must dramatize spellcasting as a moment of performance showing language, sensation, and consequence; readers come for that wonder.

The writers I work with gloss over magical moments for several different reasons:

1. Fear of sounding cheesy or overwriting – Some writers avoid specificity because they worry the result will read as melodramatic or trite.
2. Lack of confidence in poetic abilities – Even skilled prose authors sometimes lack confidence when it comes to implementing the kind of poetic techniques often used to create recited spells.
3. Unclear or underdeveloped magic systems. Writers who haven’t defined the rules of how magic does and doesn’t work in the world of their story (i.e., the book’s “magic system”) may resist adding detail for fear of contradicting later plot needs.
4. Pacing pressure and impatience to move the plot forward – Writers often rush magical beats because they prioritize forward action over sensory immersion.

While all of these objections are completely understandable, they must be overcome because readers will pick up your fantasy novel specifically for the magic. It’s one of the key genre conventions readers expect in a fantasy story. That means when you rush past the magic or have characters simply mumble spells, you’re skipping the very thing that will please your readers. 

If your magic is important enough to solve a problem for your characters, help them overcome an obstacle, or move the story forward, it’s important enough to be experienced by the reader.

The first step in fixing this problem is to shift your author mindset. Stop thinking of magic as a tool your character wields and start thinking of it as a story event. The casting of a spell can be a performance and a moment of wonder. Magic isn’t just what happens, but rather it’s how it happens, and how it feels to experience it.

Let the reader hear the spell, taste the air, and feel the skin-tightening tension as power pools in the room. Weave sensory details seamlessly into your scene to deepen immersion and make the magic feel tangible. And by sensory details, I don’t just mean what it looks like. Tell me how it sounds, how it feels, even how it smells. These are the details that turn a bland spellcasting moment into an unforgettable scene.

The Power of Specificity

I once attended a comic book convention in Toronto, Ontario, where a panel featured comic book writer Brian K. Vaughan. At the time, I was a big fan of his series, Y: The Last Man, and was eager to hear any insights he might share into the craft of writing speculative fiction. Vaughan didn’t disappoint.  He dropped this little doozy on me that day: “Specificity leads to Universality”.

Vaughn mentioned this in the context of giving his character Yorick (the titular last man on earth) a pet monkey named Ampersand. In doing so, he transformed Yorick from a generic everyman to a unique and memorable character via the power of specificity. To this day, I still use the term “give them a monkey” when talking with writers about how to create unique, relatable, and memorable characters.

But getting specific isn’t just a technique for creating memorable characters. It also applies to the magic in your fantasy stories.

If your character casts a spell, the reader should know:

• What words they say (and what language they speak)
• What it looks like as they cast it
• How it affects the space or characters around them
• What it costs them physically, emotionally, or magically

Instead of “Ashara mumbled a spell,” try:

Ashara pressed two fingers to the rune carved in her chest and cried out, “The land is my body. The sky is my breath. With this spell, I bring you death!” A cold wind exploded outward, smelling of ozone and old fire.

That’s the immersive, vivid spell-casting readers will appreciate.

Slow Down Your Pacing

When you reach a magical beat in your story, pause. Slow the pacing intentionally, balancing detailed descriptions with rhythm to keep readers engaged without overwhelming them. Use more words, not fewer, and let the moment breathe.

My client, Gimbiya, encouraged me to check out the fantasy novel The Fifth Season, and when I did, I was immediately struck by N.K. Jemisin’s approach to writing “Orogeny,” the book’s magic system. Orogeny is hardly a mumbled incantation; rather, it’s felt in the body and in the geology of the land itself. Whenever a character uses their power, the prose slows down and becomes intensely sensory. Jemisin gives us pressure building, heat shifting, and stone breaking.

Just as importantly, every use of magic in The Fifth Season carries consequence: social punishment, emotional trauma, and the constant risk of escalation. For Jemisin, magic is more than an action. Magic is survival, identity, and cost, all at once.

So when drafting and revising your manuscript, make sure you ask yourself: “If I were the reader, what would I want to see? What would surprise or excite me here? How might this magic speak to the novel’s larger themes or the character performing it? What are the long-term consequences of the magic? What does it tell us about the novel’s characters and world?”

If you want your fantasy scene to land emotionally with your reader, don’t rush the magic. Build it up. Let it simmer. That’s where the tension and wonder live. You don’t need to reinvent the spell wheel in Chapter One, but you do need to stop skipping over your magic. Give it weight, weirdness, and meaning.

In fantasy, magic isn’t a backdrop. It’s the heartbeat.

Don’t let it mumble. Make it sing.

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