I’ve been thinking about magical systems a lot lately as I mull over a new book, Leprechauns and Magic, Oh My! It’s a wild ride with enchanted shoelaces, a grumpy rain cloud that follows one character around, and a spellbook that refuses to be helpful unless bribed with compliments. As much fun as the chaos is, I kept finding myself wondering how the magic actually worked. Were there rules? Or was it all just lucky charms and fairy dust?

This is the kind of question that gets stuck in my brain as a writer, but I think it’s something a lot of readers wonder too. We all want to believe in the worlds we read about. Whether we’re following a reluctant hero into an ancient forest or watching a sorcerer light up a battlefield, the magic has to feel real enough to hold the story together. And a big part of that is understanding what kind of magic we’re dealing with—something Brandon Sanderson explains really well with his idea of hard and soft magic systems.

If you’ve read Sanderson’s Mistborn series or The Stormlight Archive, you’ve seen hard magic in action. These systems have rules, limits, costs, and clear cause and effect. In Mistborn, characters ingest metals to gain specific powers, and those powers behave consistently. When a character solves a problem using that magic, it’s satisfying because we understand how and why it works. It’s like watching someone build a solution with magical Legos.

On the other end of the spectrum is soft magic, where the rules are unknown or barely explained. Think of Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings. We see him do powerful things, but we’re never quite sure how he’s doing them or what he’s capable of. That’s not a flaw—it’s part of what makes his magic feel ancient and mysterious. It adds a sense of wonder and awe, like the world itself is holding secrets just out of reach.

What I’ve noticed as both a writer and a reader is that most great stories live somewhere in between. They give us just enough structure to make the magic feel real, but also leave room for mystery. Harry Potter is a great example. There are spells, magical laws, and detailed mechanics, but there’s also a lot that’s left unexplained. Dumbledore’s knowledge, the power of love, the elder wand—these things work because they’re built on emotion and theme, not just logic.

When I think about what makes a magic system feel satisfying, it really comes down to how it serves the story. If the story is about problem-solving or outsmarting a foe, then a detailed, rule-based system makes sense. If the story is about wonder or destiny or fear of the unknown, then a looser, more mystical kind of magic can be more effective. It’s not really about how much the reader knows—it’s about how that knowledge (or mystery) makes the story feel.

Sanderson lays this out brilliantly in what he calls Sanderson’s Laws of Magic. His first law says that the more a reader understands a magic system, the more an author can use it to solve problems in the plot. His second law emphasizes that limitations are more interesting than powers. And his third encourages writers to explore the implications of what they’ve already created before adding something completely new. Even if you’re not writing, these ideas offer insight into why some magical stories feel coherent and others just feel convenient.

Reading stories through this lens has made me appreciate the craft on a whole new level. I get excited when a magic system makes me feel like I’m solving puzzles right alongside the characters. But I also get chills when a piece of magic shows up that feels impossibly vast and unknowable. Both experiences are valid and powerful, and the best stories often blend them in ways that surprise me.

So yes, I’ve been down the rabbit hole of thinking too hard about leprechaun gold and spellbound umbrellas. But part of the joy of fantasy is getting curious about the mechanics. When magic feels like it belongs to the world, when it grows from the characters and their choices, that’s when I know I’m in the hands of a storyteller who really gets it. And honestly, that’s the kind of magic I’ll follow anywhere.