I have a passion for any book that has magic. I always have. The setting is pretty much secondary. I can enjoy magic in fantasy, urban, or even futuristic settings. I love it all.
There is something, forgive me for saying it, magical about what happens to a setting when you add in a little bit of the arcane to the lives of genetically modified soldiers. Or when druids bless the groves of peasants crops. Or even when the fast food worker can heal the burn of a fellow minimum wage earner.
It’s intoxicating. You wanna know the fastest way to kill my buzz? When an author sets down rules for their magically imbued setting and then goes totally against it. I mean, I don’t know if these writers made the rules to be broken or if they just forgot them. Either way, I am annoyed.
See, if it’s the first then I feel like the rules never mattered in the first place. It feels like I was cheated. If it’s the second one then they need to take notes and stick to their own canon.
Writing is work. There are no two ways about it. It doesn’t matter if you do it full time or if you fit it in between your shifts. It means that you have to care enough to make a setting, a universe, that your readers can fall in love with and enjoy.
And it’s not just for magical universes either. Even in settings based off of our own real world then you have got to stick to what you’ve included, and what is real.
Don’t mind me. I’ll just be over here, you know, grumbling.