Dustings #127

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This is an incredible bit of forward thinking by Murphy’s Magic, Craig Petty, and Lloyd Barnes in their new Savant Deck release.

I grew up in an era when magic tricks came in a Ziploc bag, so it’s genuinely heartening to see this much thought go into the packaging.

Here’s how you use it in performance:

You casually leave the box out on your coffee table. Your friend spots it and asks, “What’s this?”

“Oh,” you say, “I’ve been dabbling in packaging design lately. Just a side hustle to make some extra cash. That’s one I worked on.”

They look closer. “Uhm… you spelled ‘calculations’ wrong.”

“Yes, I know. I’m actually a complete fucking idiot when it comes to spelling. It’s a neurological trade-off. My brain forfeited basic language skills in exchange for extraordinary mathematical ability. Here—let me show you…”

And boom! You’re right into the Savant Deck.

“Amazing!” your friend exclaims. “So your brilliant math skills are only possible because your brain compensated by gutting your spelling abilities. Fascinating! This must also be why you lack emotional intelligence and any sense of charisma: your brain wants to be able to add card values quickly.”

Thanks to Murphy’s, Craig, and Lloyd for all the thought they put into this presentational prop. A lot of magicians will just think it’s a typo. Guys… do you really think they would misspell a word right on the front of the product packaging? One of only eight words that appear there? That’s ridiculous. It wasn’t a mistake at all. It was actually calulated.

Speaking of thoughtfully crafted things, Jeff H. directs me to Scott Robinson’s website, author of the book, Pure Imagination, which Vanishing Inc was recently pushing.

I adore the attention and care that went into this website.

For example, I love this beautifully written, completely not generic, paragraph. Clearly penned by an actual human about a real, specific magic book that they read and enjoyed.

Pair that with a picture that so lovingly shows what real playing cards actually look like, and you truly have a site that touches the heart and mind.

There’s only one upsetting part of this site, and that’s in the endorsement section. For God’s sake, Penn Jillette and David Copperfield, quit it with the surgery and the botox. Just grow old gracefully.

For those of you with the most recent book, a new video has been added to the appendix that’s worth checking out.

The Phantom Hit Technique

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Here’s a technique I came up with recently that’s surprisingly powerful for increasing the impact of an effect. It doesn’t rely on traditional sleight-of-hand or gimmicks—it’s purely conversational.

History

This approach evolved out of a trick in the Jerx App called Echo Sync. (Don’t worry, you don’t need the app to use this technique.)

Echo Sync has been one of my go-to impromptu tricks since Marc and I created it. It’s so simple to do and easy to get into in any situation, and it requires literally nothing on me other than my phone.

What I was looking for as a way to casually transition into the effect, instead of it being like, “I’m going to pull out my phone and record this,” which is a bit too abrupt for me.

So here’s what I started doing…

I would be sitting with my friend in a restaurant (for example) waiting for our food to come. Casually, I’d say, “Guess how many fingers I’m holding up”—with my hand under the table.

Three

“Nice. Okay, try again.”

Five

“Haha, yeah, good job. Hmmm… okay, one more time.”

One

At this point I act a little thrown.

“Wait… what the hell? Are you for real just guessing? Can you see something?”

I look under and around the table, checking to see if they’re peeking or if there’s a reflection.

“I’m legitimately confused. Hold on….”

Now I take out my phone and start recording the game—to catch it on video and see if they keep getting it right.

They go on to get it right four or five more times in a row. And now I have video proof.

Broadening the Idea

Originally, the only reason I was doing this was to come up with a more natural flow into the trick. Asking someone to guess how many fingers I’m holding up as a casual time-killer doesn’t feel out of place. My friends and I will play little games like this regularly enough that it doesn’t stand out as an odd moment. And then after the person has gotten a few right in a row, it makes total sense to pull out my camera and do it “on the record.”

But as I played with it more, I realized this structure could be applied to all kinds of mentalism effects—especially those in the Spectator as Mind Reader category.

Imagine we’re hanging outside, waiting for some steaks to grill. During a lull in the conversation, I say, “Hey, I’m thinking of a playing card. Try to guess it.”

You name the 4 of Hearts.

"Haha, crazy that's actually what I was thinking of. Wait, let's try again."

You name the Jack of Clubs. Now I'm genuinely surprised. "Wait... are you serious? How are you doing that?"

You laugh, maybe thinking I’m just messing around.

“No... hold on…."

I walk inside, grab a deck of cards, and come back out.

“Okay, I’m committed. I turned over one card in the deck. What do you think it is?”

You name the 9 of Diamonds.

I just shake my head and spread the deck showing that’s the card I reversed.

Benefits

1. Seamless Transitions
You’re not pulling out a phone or a deck of cards out of nowhere. You’re doing it as a response to something that already happened, making the moment feel more authentic.

2. Amplified Impossibility
It’s not that people will fully believe they got your thought-of card right on the first or second try. But when they later succeed under “stricter conditions,” those earlier moments get retroactively validated. In the case of the card effect, it elevates a 1-in-52 hit into a 1-in-140,000+ impossibility.

3. False Memory Boost
I can’t prove this, but my guess is that when people recall the moment later, they’ll blend the phantom hits with the real one. They’ll remember hitting the right card three times in a row, even if only one of them actually happened. And even if they don’t naturally do that, you can honestly frame it that way when recounting it:
“Remember that time you somehow named the card I was thinking of three times in a row?”

4. Natural Narrative Arc
The progression from casual mind games to tangible proof creates a satisfying narrative. You start with an idea, then the stakes escalate, and finally there's confirmation. That arc is much stronger and more natural than simply saying, “Let’s do a trick,” and going straight into the one perfect reveal.

5. Prop-Free Prep
This works perfectly with the Carefree Philosophy. You can initiate the effect with nothing but conversation. No need for a thumbwriter, Invisible Deck, or pocket index, or whatever. But when things start getting “too crazy,” you’re naturally compelled to grab a prop—cards, paper, Scrabble tiles, whatever. And in that moment, while going to get the physical objects you need, you set up for the real trick.

Another Example

Let’s say I have the Draw Cycle feature in the Jerx App set to reveal a drawing of a common jungle animal.

I can start by asking someone to guess what sea creature I’m thinking of. Then when that works, I ask them to think of a farm animal I’m thinking of. That one “hits” too.

Only then do I need to pull out my phone to show it’s legit and I ask them to guess the jungle animal I drew.

When they name it and I reveal the matching drawing, that lands much harder.

You can easily frame it as: “You named one of a couple dozen common sea creatures… then one of a couple dozen farm animals… and then nailed one of a couple dozen jungle animals. That’s, what, one in 10,000?”

But in reality, you were only ever set up to reveal one of, like, the six jungle animals people ever think of.

There you go.

I’m now regularly looking for areas to add these “phantom hits.”

What could I pretend has already happened? What little game or thought experiment could precede the effect and naturally lead up to “the moment”?

This is my favorite kind of idea to come up with—a simple framing shift that makes a trick hit harder, feel more organic, and even makes it logistically easier by giving you a natural break to grab whatever you need.

It’s just a small verbal technique, but it has the potential to turn a single effect into something that feels like an impossibility streak.

WIU: The Greatest Live Broadcast Event in Magic History

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Live magic broadcasts have traditionally been pretty underwhelming. Think David Copperfield’s Tornado of Fire.

Or David Blaine’s Dive of Death—a live event so underwhelming you don’t even remember it.

Well, hold onto your assholes, because on July 23rd, the greatest live event in magic history will take place.

Back in April, after Curtis Kam’s passing, I shared a review I’d written of his Penguin Live lecture—originally published in my Love Letters newsletter.

The highlight of that lecture, for me, was a trick where a half-dollar appears inside a tightly rolled dollar bill. I changed the presentation quite a bit and shared my version in that review.

I ended the write-up with this:

Ideally I’d like to carry this ready to go at a moment’s notice, but I’m not sure that would be good for the gimmick. I’ll have to test if the gimmick still works as it should if it’s inside the package for a day or a week or whatever.

Well... I present you with this:

A folding half-dollar that’s been stuck in the folded position since June 20th. Which means, come July 23rd, it will have been in its tensioned state for over a month.

If it snaps into position quickly after that time has passed, I’ll know I can keep the set-up ready in my bag for at least a month before changing the rubber band.

So join me—live—on July 23rd, as we finally confront the question that has echoed through the halls of magic history for generations...

Bi-Reveals

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I was working on a trick for a future post when I landed on a concept I think you might be able to help flesh out with examples.

The concept is called Bi-Reveals.

One of the subjects I’ve come back to, time and again, since the beginning of this site, has been to create a framework that makes it impossible for people to write forces off as a force. This is something most magicians had completely given up on. Instead, they had come at the issue the other direction. “If you have a billboard that says, you will pick the 3 of Hearts, people will know it was a force. So you shouldn’t do anything too grand with your reveals. Take it down a notch. Keep the reveal small and underwhelming, and maybe they won’t suspect anything.”

What a bizarre response to the problem.

How about instead we work on creating processes that seemingly couldn’t be forces?

In one of my older books, I wrote about something I called The Damsel Technique—a style of forcing that incorporates genuine, indisputable free choices along the way. It’s hard to dismiss the outcome as a “force” when the spectator sees their decisions ripple through the process in real time.

Bi-Reveals come from the same spiritual family as the Damsel Technique, but they operate on the reveal side, not the selection side.

Here’s the simplest example.

You place a small wallet on the table. “Inside this wallet is a prediction of something that’s about to happen.”

You have someone slide a joker into a deck of cards.

“Take out the card next to the Joker you placed… well, actually—there are two cards next to it, I guess. Remove either one.”

They take out the Ace of Hearts.

You remove the card on the other side of the Joker, the Three of Clubs.

“You shuffled the cards. You could have placed the Joker between any two cards, but you ended up here. And even then, you had a choice: the Ace or the Three. And you picked the Ace. Are you happy with that, or would you rather switch to the Three? Totally up to you.”

Let’s say they switch.

“Interesting. Given that option, most people would keep the Ace. It’s just a more appealing card. But that’s okay, we just want to go with your instincts.”

You point to the wallet on the table, and with no moves, you crack it open. A face-down card is seen. There’s nothing else in the wallet. You tell them to slide the card out.

They turn it over, and it’s the Three of Clubs.

This is simply Bill Simon’s Prophesy Move to get the Joker in the right place, and then a Z-Fold wallet that allows you to reveal either card as the one card you set aside from the start.

What is a Bi-Reveal

A Bi-Reveal is a reveal that allows you to cleanly show two (or more aka a Poly-Reveal) possible revelations, in a location that is established before the selection is made.

It may use gimmickry, technology, sleights, or linguistic deception to make the person believe the reveal is in the one reveal in the only place that was directly or indirectly stated earlier in the performance.

It’s not just a multiple out. It’s a type of multiple out where the structure of the trick strongly suggests there was only one path, and you’re now seeing its inevitable conclusion.

With a standard multiple out, the effect often changes based on the outcome. With a Bi-Reveal, the setup frames the experience as if this was the only way the trick could have played out all along.

History

As others have undoubtedly done, I would sometimes use a procedure that forced two cards and then I would allow a free choice at the end. To prepare for this, I would have two reveals set up. Maybe one is a poster hanging in my hallway, and the other is written on a cake in my refrigerator.

While this sort of thing can be entertaining, there is a significant difference between:

  • “Pick a card. The four of hearts? Okay, let’s go to my refrigerator, there’s a cake in there….”

and this:

  • “Inside my refrigerator there is a special cake I made. I want you to pick a card.”

The difference between the two is something any moderately intelligent non-magician will understand intuitively. In one version, the area of the reveal is indicated after the choice. In the other, it precedes it.

It’s the difference between a reveal that feels reactive, and one that feels inevitable.

This is why I’m drawn to Bi-Reveals.

What Isn’t a Bi-Reveal?

A card index in your pocket would allow you to say, “Your named card will be in my pocket.” But because you can’t show that pocket cleanly afterward, that wouldn’t be a Bi-Reveal.

However, I suppose if you said, “I have a wallet in my inner breast pocket with a single sealed envelope inside.” And then you had them name a card, you pulled it from your index, you loaded it into a Card-To-Wallet, that would technically meet my definition. But it’s not quite the thing I’m looking for. I’m looking for ideas that are structurally less complex (even if they’re hyper ambitious).

Examples

Here are some examples of what I’m talking about.

Tools like the Z-Wallet, the Quiver Purse, or those card boxes with a flap all qualify. You can place them out before anything has been selected and casually reference them: “That’s where the prediction is.”

Then, at the end, you can open them cleanly and show the reveal. To the spectator, it’s been sitting there in plain view the entire time, containing a single possible outcome.

Let’s say you do the Cross-Cut force. You tell the person to look at either the card where they cut. You tell them they can either look at the top card of the packet or the bottom card of the other packet. “Focus on that card and send the energy of that card right to my chest,” you say, tapping your heart.

If they say one card, you have them place their hand on your chest where you pointed earlier and they feel something in your breast pocket. They remove the only card that’s in there, the card they chose.

If they pick the other card, you unbutton your shirt to reveal there is only one card tattooed on your chest.

In both cases, the reveal was pre-indicated by you tapping your chest. You framed their expectations. And in both cases, the reveal precludes any other possibility.

You tell your friend that we often see shapes in the clouds not because they’re there, but because we expect to see them.

You “prove” this by having them stop at a random page in a book, and you ask them to think of an interesting word they see on the top line. There are a couple of options for them to choose from. They settle on the word “bologna.”

“You sure you don’t want one of these other words? ‘Knife’ is also a good option.”

No, they’re happy with bologna.

You take their hand and walk outside.

High in the sky, in drifting, disappearing script is…:

You actually have both words written in the air. One that you can see in the distance if you walk out your front door, one in the distance if you walk out your back door. Your house itself obstructs the view of whatever word they didn’t choose.

(This would be an example of a reveal that is ambitious, but structurally simple.)

“I’ve predicted the card you’ll choose,” you say. “It’s in my photo roll.”

They go through some process which narrows the deck down to just a couple of cards. They make a final, deliberate choice of one card. They can change their mind.

If they pick Card 1, you say:
“Open my photos. Scroll through. Somewhere in there, you’ll find a picture of a single card—the one you chose.”

And they do. A clean photo of the card, buried somewhere in your camera roll.
It’s the only playing card they’ll see as they scroll.

If they pick Card 2, you say:
“Open my photos and check the most recent picture. Now zoom in… see what I’m pointing at?”

And sure enough—it’s right there. The newest photo, taken earlier that day, casually showing you pointing at a card.

In the first case, there would be one close-up picture of a playing card, but it would be somewhere far back in the camera roll. This is the only picture of a card anyone would see while scrolling through your pics.

On the other hand, directing them to the most recent pic makes total sense and they’d never even see that other pic way back in your camera roll.

You get the idea.

In the future, I’ll share some actual routines I’ve done with this concept, not just these theoretical examples.

In the meantime, if you have any Bi- or Poly-Reveal ideas of your own, shoot me an email.

Mailbag #141

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I have no other place to bitch about this so I figured your inbox is fine. The extremely obvious AI writing in Penguin Magic's new copywriting is very annoying. Em dashes, "It's not x, it's y", and rules of three used eight times each in every description. Am I the only one that cares about this? Are we doomed of 

"You shit your pants. It smells. You'll have to change." 

 type AI slop for the rest of time? YOU'RE IN THE BUSINESS OF A FUCKING "ART" AS THEY WANT IT TO BE CALLED, HIRE A MONKEY TO WRITE THREE PARAGRAPHS. —JM

I get what you’re saying. I think we’re in a weird transitional period. For some of us, the AI “voice” is so obvious that it just feels cheap and cold when we read it. But others, who aren’t as familiar with it yet, can still read that same copy and think it’s well written. It feels better than what they might write, so they assume it must be good.

But as that style becomes more ubiquitous, it’s going to start feeling inauthentic and generic to more and more people.

Think of dandelions.

Dandelions grow everywhere, with no effort. So we call them weeds. But if they only bloomed on the side of one specific mountain every eight years, we’d treasure them like rare orchids.

The problem with AI writing isn’t that it’s always bad—it’s that it comes too easily. And when something is that easy, it becomes impossible to value. It’s fine if you’re writing a letter to your landlord asking to be let out of your lease two months early. But it’s not great if you’re trying to connect with an audience.

I think a lot of magic companies view ad copy as a nuisance to get over with. And maybe for most customers, it is. But for me, when I read obviously non-human writing, it turns off the part of my brain that is persuadable. So sure, you filled up the ad space. But it doesn’t do what you wanted it to do. At least not for me. And I don’t think I’m alone.

Honestly, I’d be more convinced to buy a new release by a bad writer genuinely expressing his excitement for a trick.

I know people think AI “art” is going to replace the human kind. But I don’t buy it.

It reminds me of an argument I had with someone who thought VR goggles would replace skiing. “Why would anyone go to their local hill when they can experience the greatest slopes in the world from their living room?”

I don’t think that guy understood why people go skiing.

And I don’t think the people churning out AI-written slop understand why moves people in writing or other forms of art.

Not that magic ad copy was ever “art.” It’s always been deceptively worded, over-the-top nonsense. But now it’s those things, written by something that’s never once been fooled by—or fooled someone with—the trick it’s writing about.

(Please note: I’ve been using em-dashes on this site since the beginning. I can’t give them up, no matter how fucked out they get by our robot overlords.)

Loved your post: The Power of The “Narrative How”. It was exactly what I needed to read today.

Man, this perfectly sums up what I’ve been experiencing since I started following your style. People just stopped interrupting me or trying to figure out the secret. Something funny actually happened the other day — I was at a bar with some friends, and they asked me to show something. I started telling a really absurd story, and there were a few new people there. One of them asked, “wait, is he being serious?” — and I didn’t even have to say anything. The others cut him off and said, “yeah, it’s true.” And the craziest part? They started asking open-ended questions, even though they knew it was just a magic premise.—DM

This was representative of some of the emails I received after I wrote about the “Narrative How.” If you missed it or skimmed past it, I’d encourage you to take another look. If the ideas on this site resonate with you, that post lays out a foundational concept—one that I believe can create longer-lasting interest than the standard approach to magic.

Hey, just wondering—have you ever tested how many people can actually do a riffle shuffle? I got excited to pick up the Savant Deck after reading your Mailbag #140 cause i liked your approach to math tricks. I learned it and tried it on three different people, but none of them could do a riffle shuffle, so the trick kinda bombed. (If you don’t know it only works if the spectator does a real riffle shuffle. Stuff like the Rosetta doesn’t work. And without the shuffle it’s not really worth doing.) Just curious if you’ve ever looked into how many people still know how to do that type of shuffle? —ST

We never specifically tested that, no. Although it’s an interesting question. If I had to estimate, in my experience performing for friends and acquaintances, and also testing card tricks for strangers, I would say probably 25-30% of people can do a clean riffle shuffle. That number shifts higher the older they are.

I would definitely not pull out the Savant Deck for someone whose shuffling abilities I didn’t know. Stopping someone from doing an overhand shuffle or just smooshing the cards around on the table would be an awkward moment that doesn’t say “magic” so much as it says, “special deck I need you to shuffle a specific way.”

So, here are your options:

  1. Perform for magicians (if you’re a dork)

  2. Save this trick for someone you know can riffle shuffle. (I’m going to pick this up and that’s what I’ll end up doing with it.)

  3. If you perform for groups of people, you can ask, “Who plays cards? I need someone who is really good at shuffling so we can be certain the deck is in a completely random order.” I’ve never found someone who says they’re good at shuffling when they’re not. And this request makes it feel like you’re being more fair.

Until July...

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This is the final post for June. Regular posting resumes Monday, July 7th. The next issue of the Love Letters newsletter for supporters comes out Sunday, July 6th.

Sex-criminal, Michel Salmon, aka Cyril Hubert, from Belgium has been kicked out of the Global League of Magicians and Mentalists.

Michel/Cyril was a karate instructor when he raped a pre-teen girl. He was sentenced to 6 years in prison in 2008. He had also been accused of sexually assaulting others, including his daughter.

This doughy little shithead has accusations against him going as far a back as 1989.

And, honestly, from looking at him, I can’t imagine he brought much to the table as a karate instructor other than a profoundly punchable face.

When not sexually assaulting children, he enjoys holding Rubik’s Cubes, at least that’s what I gather from his dull Facebook profile.

Also from his facebook page:

”Ma passion, c'est de jouer au magicien pour divertir adultes et enfants durant vos événements!”

”My passion is performing as a magician to entertain both adults and children at your events!”

Oh, I don’t doubt your “passion” for “les enfants.” That’s precisely the problem.

For those of you who are in the “just write about magic—leave that other stuff to the justice system” crowd, I don’t think you get it. I am writing about magic. I’m writing about magician Cyril Hubert, whose real name is Michel Salmon, who is a child rapist and likes Rubik’s Cubes.

I will leave you with these two quotes from two different articles about the man. One from 2008 and the other 2018. Together, they’re kind of chilling. And they’re precisely the reason I’ll continue to report on these cases and call out these people who have managed to hide their history from the internet and use magic as an excuse to get close to kids.

[Vanessa was 11 years old when she began taking classes with a pedophile karate instructor in Havelange. She is now on her third suicide attempt.]

Switching gears,

Jonathan S., draws my attention to this article:

He writes:

This Atlantic article is about a sport I had no idea existed: people around the world playing competitive "Which Hand" games, but for real. Experts can figure out who's telling the truth and who's bluffing with startling accuracy. 

This seems like an amazing premise for any Which Hand type routine.

Yes, but… remember to take the premise up a notch. “I can actually do it blindfolded.” Or, “I’m the only player in the world that can predict in advance which hand you’ll choose, round after round.”

Because if your premise is just, “Look at this game that genuinely exists. I’m actually really good at it.” Then you’re veering very close to just pointing out a real thing and then lying about your skill at it. That’s not exactly magic.

Learn this and other techniques in Oz Pearlman’s second Penguin Live lecture devoted entirely to techniques for getting more gigs.

New ideas/tools in the Digital Appendix for The Test, Breakfast With You, and The Enigmatic Card.

See you all back here in July. The year is almost half over. Summer is here. Don’t let it pass you by. Go to the beach with your boys and check out the babes.

The Power of The “Narrative How”

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Last Thursday I wrote.

Next week, I’ll talk about why you might want to use [unbelievable premises]. The “why” I’m going to share has been eye-opening for the people I’ve discussed it with, and I think it offers a fresh way to think about the kinds of presentations you choose.

Well, now is next week. Or, I mean, relative to last week’s this week, when this week was last week, now this week is last week’s next week. Which is now.

For years now, I’ve noticed that when I embed a trick in an interesting immersive narrative, the responses are not only stronger, but the heat on the method itself becomes lesser.

I always assumed this is because the person gets caught up in the story and just becomes less focused on the secret of the trick.

But I have a new theory.

Imagine this:

I say, “I’m going to move this stuffed mouse across the table with my mind.” I concentrate. The mouse suddenly shoots across the table.

Now contrast that with this:

I say, “I have an invisible cat. He’s real frisky.” I set a stuffed mouse on the table and call out, “Get it, Mittens!” The mouse flies off the edge. I reach down to pick up Mittens. “That’s a good boy.”

In the first version, the person watching thinks: Wait… how did he move that mouse? Did he blow on it? Was there a string? Is it gimmicked in some way?

Their entire attention is fixed on the how of the effect—because that’s the only mystery I’ve presented.

But in the second version, something else happens.

When I tell people I know, “I have an invisible cat, and he loves to play,” my friends have learned not to think I’m crazy. Instead they think, “How will this play out? Hmm… an invisible cat. Okay, what am I about to see?”

Any unbelievable premise can create similar questions.

“This stone can generate coincidences.”

“I want you to slap me as hard as you can. I’m able to something weird when I’m in a pain state.”

“My grandmother was a witch. This is her old necklace.”

Anything like this will generate the question, “Okay, how will this play out?”

What’s kind of coincidence is this stone going to generate?

What power does he have in a “pain state”?

What weird thing is going to happen sitting around in this darkened room, late at night, with this witch’s necklace?

Do you see what’s happening here?

At the climax of the effect, they’re getting an answer.

Normally, the climax of a trick creates questions. It builds tension and leaves the spectator needing to resolve something. How did he do that? All the weight of the mystery is on that question.

But when you lead with an unbelievable premise, the climax of the trick can actually relieve tension.

It doesn’t answer the method question—“How did he do that?”—but it does answer the narrative one you planted earlier: “How is this going to play out?”

That’s what I mean by, the Narrative How.

I’m not suggesting they won’t still wonder how the stuffed mouse really flew off the table. But the need to “figure it out” is lessened—because you’ve already delivered a kind of answer. You gave them a resolution—a payoff.

You’re not just endlessly feeding into the dynamic where you know something they don’t know. You’ve posed a mystery—and provided a resolution. Yes, the resolution is impossible. But it’s still satisfying, because it answers the story question, not the method question.

But keep in mind, this only works if you commit to the premise. If you say, “This is my grandma’s necklace. She was a witch,” and then move on without setting up any atmosphere, tone, the premise feels hollow. There’s no tension to relieve at the end because you never really built any in the first place.

The power of creating narrative questions—and then answering them—is that it never gets old.

You offer an unbelievable premise—and then you seemingly prove it’s real. That dynamic is endlessly engaging. Different premises (or even the same premise with different proof) will always spark curiosity, because people love getting answers. They love watching something resolve. It’s like setting up a joke and giving them the punchline.

On the other hand, when everything hinges on how you did it, you're denying them any resolution. You’re inviting them to figure it out. And they will—either successfully, which weakens the moment… or unsuccessfully, which leaves them frustrated.

But you can distract that impulse with narrative resolution. You can redirect their curiosity somewhere where they will at least get some sort of satisfying answer.

Being fooled can be fun. It can be novel. But over time, the novelty fades—and with it, the enjoyment.

But a simple, crazy story that wraps up with a little bow—”He told me he had an invisible cat… and then something I couldn’t see swatted the cat-toy off the table!”—never loses its charm.

And I find, after a while, most people decide to just enjoy that part of the experience rather than waste their energy trying to find out how you did it.