Listen to anyone tell a story and you will notice a lack of bullet-point narration. Good stories are visceral. An apt storyteller can weave in sights and sounds so real that it feels like we’ve walked in their same shoes, experienced their same triumphs and failures. We live and breathe the moments as if they were our own memories.
In fiction, weaving that unbelievable tale is all the more important.
It doesn’t matter if the world in question exists in reality, an author should have the ability to make me embrace the fantasy.
I want to cheer for the hero and kick the antagonist. I want a somewhat happily ever after, though a well done miserably every after isn’t bad either. I want to grow to love and hate their enemies. When it’s over, I want to feel as if we were old friends.
I get attached to authors simply because they tell stories that make you feel apart of the world; as if, for a moment in time, you are an extension of their creation. Gloss over those little points and the entire thing feels like a bullet list, each point shot into the reader. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the idea of being shot at, literally or figuratively.