Making Magic an Active Character in Your Novel

In fiction, magic should never just be a one-time parlor trick. To truly immerse your audience, the magic must become an active character in the scene, pushing the plot forward and surfacing frequently throughout the narrative.

Threads of Red is loosely based on the Red Sting of Fate, which is an ancient Asian myth. The belief is that the gods tie red strings around the wrists or fingers of those people who are destined to meet. Nothing will keep them apart—not time, distance, age, or circumstance.

In a previous Writing Tip article, “Rooting Your Novel in a Core Theme: Behind the Scenes of Threads of Red,” I discussed this myth as being one of the rooting elements of my novel. In my opinion, the myth alone was not enough to carry the fated romance story across several hundred pages and keep readers engaged, so I brainstormed magical ideas to layer within the prose and dialogue. Strategically placed, these new layers provided depth, weight, and intrigue.

Take the classic "red string of fate" trope. Instead of a static metaphor, I treat the thread as a living, breathing force that interacts with the protagonists. The trick to pulling this off successfully is to keep circling back to the red-threaded theme when appropriate, so readers continue to feel the thaumaturgy as the story unfolds.

It’s important to remain cognizant of your magical core theme and rooting elements as you write so you don’t lose sight of your plot and begin to ramble on with elements or flowery writing that don’t move the story forward. Dropping magic in at the right moment, so it’s not overdone and makes sense, is exactly what authors need to strive for.

But, it is not enough to tell your readers that magic is happening. As the author of a book that contains magic, you must make them feel the magic by using descriptive words and sensory details.

I wanted readers of Threads of Red to feel the magic on their skin and within their being along with the characters. If you want your magic to feel real, give it physical weight. In Threads of Red, the magic isn't just an invisible force in the air. It’s fused within tangible objects that my characters can see, taste, touch, smell, and hold. When your characters hold an object or absorb a representation of the magic—a vermilion scarf, a crimson splotch, a scarlet bracelet, a swirl of flavor, an amulet—with their senses, the stakes immediately feel higher to the reader than if the characters were just casting a spell into thin air.

In Threads of Red, I let the characters notice red elements in the ordinary world—a trailing scrap of red flying on the wind, a raspberry swirl atop a delicious dessert—as if the thaumaturgy is rewriting their perception of reality.

A break in the nonaction of the game ended up as the best part of Ezekiel’s night. The team mascot fired confetti into the stands. Red streamers rained down. One landed in his lap. When

he lifted it, it vibrated in his hand for an infinitesimal second, transferring heat. What the f&#k? Did that really happen? It must have. Something indiscernible wrapped around his heart, fast and intense.

A new feeling surfaced at the sight of raspberry syrup twisting like a corkscrew around a luscious cannoli—an ache in her belly for Ezekiel. Ellie swirled a bite of dessert with her tongue, savoring the sweet cream, envisioning the two tangled in smooth red ribbons. For a moment she saw her hand in Ezekiel’s. It felt warm.

Tarot cards offer substantial and tangible benefits that Ellie can see as they are placed on the table between her and her psychic friend who performs the reading. Ellie can hear the meanings behind each card that is drawn and imagine the possibilities. She can feel physical sensations in her body as the reading reaches its conclusion. When her hand dips into a pouch, filled with bracelets representing the colors of Fate’s Loom, and she pulls out a red cord, it immediately gives off a pleasing, warm tingle.

Ellie reached in and grasped a simple braided strand of crimson. “Why does it feel hot?” It tingled in the palm of her hand with unmistakable warmth.

When Ellie and Ezekiel finally meet in Threads of Red, they begin wearing matching red threaded bracelets. But these cords aren't just jewelry—they are active sensors for their bond. Instead of writing "they felt a magical warning," I use sensory language. The threads give off a surging and comforting warmth when the fated mates are aligned, but shift into a sharp, physical warning when danger or their stalker draws near.

Ellie turned in the opposite direction and caught the penetrating glare of a woman with long hair and crazy eyes who activated her danger sense. Her belly twisted into a knot, and the red-string bracelet prickled like the sharp assault of a thousand needles.

Another physical weight I incorporated was a family heirloom—a medallion featuring the Tree of Life and a winding red string that runs from the front to the back. The medallion is described as an amulet of protection. It is not simply another layer of the supernatural legacy of the red string, it is an extension of that theme and the magic is encapsulated within its metallic weight.

“The power of our red string is invisible, yet we manifested our connection with the visible signs we both received. You and I are meant to be. This amulet is another sign to add to the red

threads, our dreams of past lives, and our fated meeting.”

By treating your magic system as an ever-present, dynamic entity, you transform a simple plot device into an unforgettable, atmospheric journey.

Look at your own magic system or plot. How does magic physically manifest in your story? Does it smell like sulfur? Taste like copper? Feel like a spark? Is there a physical object your character could acquire that holds the key to their destiny?