How Realistic Do Our Details Need to Be? by KM Rockwood

Speculative fiction thrives on wonder, yet even the most fantastical tales need a foundation of recognizable reality.

I love writing Christmas stories centered on the elves who keep Santa’s Village running. Readers will gladly accept flying reindeer, time‑bending sleighs, or a bustling community of elves at the North Pole—but only if the world surrounding those marvels behaves in ways they intuitively understand. Realism becomes the anchor that makes the extraordinary feel believable rather than arbitrary.

That tension becomes even more important when magical or mythical characters step into our contemporary world. I’ve just finished a novella that leans into this blend of whimsy and realism.

The spark for this story came from a news report about children poisoned by lead tainted cinnamon in applesauce. I began to wonder: what if some of that contaminated cinnamon found its way into the warehouses at the North Pole, and the danger was discovered just as the Christmas cookie baking season began? With no time to wait for a replacement shipment, Gunnar—the elf responsible for sourcing ingredients—realizes he must travel to retrieve safe cinnamon himself.

The story evolved itself into a “novella in short stories,” each section reflecting a leg of Gunnar’s journey. That structure raised an important question: how realistic should his travel arrangements be?

Gunnar must reach Baltimore, home to a major spice importer. (I’m always hesitant to name specific companies, even when they’re well known. Maybe especially when they are well known.) The northernmost rail station in North America is in Moosonee, where the delightfully named Polar Bear Express begins its 186 mile trip to Cochrane. From there, Gunnar would need to take a bus to Toronto, then continue by bus or train to New York, and finally on to Baltimore.

Once in Baltimore, he must reach Tradepoint at Sparrows Point, where enormous container ships unload their cargo into sprawling warehouses. To keep the story grounded, I decided that my fictional elf’s journey should follow real transportation options as closely as possible.

That choice immediately introduced complications. Gunnar arrives in Cochrane in the evening, but the next bus to Toronto doesn’t leave until morning. Crossing the border on the Toronto to New York leg brings him face to face with customs officials—and in today’s world of fraught border crossings, an elf without a passport is bound to have difficulties. And once he reaches Baltimore, he must rely on city buses. The 163 line does go to Tradepoint, but it doesn’t come anywhere near the main bus depot. In this case, I allowed myself a small liberty and rerouted it, trusting that readers familiar with Baltimore’s transit system will accept the adjustment as reasonable artistic license.

Since it’s a Christmas story, it has a predictable

happy-ever-after ending. Gunnar gets the cinnamon back to the North Pole and the cookies are baked in a timely manner.

I aimed at a blend of enough realism to make the journey feel authentic, and enough flexibility to let the magic breathe. I just hope readers will see it that way.

How much do you depend upon realistic details in your stories?