By Michael Kelman Portney

Let’s talk about masturbatory complexity—the point where a writer or storyteller becomes so obsessed with their own cleverness that the work stops being about the audience and starts being about stroking their own ego. You’ve seen it before. Maybe you’ve even done it. And let’s face it, sometimes I flirt with it myself. But here’s the difference: when done right, complexity doesn’t just serve itself—it serves the story.

The Trap of Masturbatory Complexity

At its worst, masturbatory complexity is storytelling’s version of a flex that nobody asked for. It’s when writers layer meaning upon meaning, metaphor upon metaphor, until the audience isn’t just confused—they’re exhausted. The work becomes a self-referential maze, built less for engagement and more for showing off.

Symptoms include:

• Overexplained Symbolism: Every object is a metaphor, and the writer insists you get it.

• Unnecessary Layers: A perfectly good story gets buried under three subplots, a nonlinear timeline, and a secret code hidden in the chapter headings.

• Obsession with Being “Smart”: The work doesn’t invite you in—it lectures you from the front of the room, wearing a tweed jacket and smelling faintly of condescension.

In short, masturbatory complexity is storytelling that looks great in the mirror but feels like a slog to everyone else.

The Difference Between Complex and Masturbatory

Complexity isn’t inherently bad. In fact, it can be beautiful. Great complexity invites the audience to engage, interpret, and connect the dots themselves. It rewards curiosity. Masturbatory complexity, on the other hand, punishes curiosity by burying the meaning so deep that it feels more like a chore than an adventure.

The Key Distinction:

• Good complexity: “Here’s a puzzle—can you solve it?”

• Masturbatory complexity: “Here’s a puzzle, and if you don’t solve it, it’s because you’re not smart enough.”

It’s the difference between giving your audience a kaleidoscope to play with and handing them a Rubik’s Cube covered in Vaseline.

Digital Storytelling: The New Playground for Overcomplication

The rise of digital storytelling has turned complexity into both an art form and a dangerous game. Social media, blogs, and serialized narratives provide endless opportunities to layer meaning—but they also tempt creators to spiral into chaos.

Cereal Complexity:
Digital storytelling often unfolds in bite-sized chunks, much like eating cereal—one piece at a time, but part of a larger bowl. It’s easy to add layers when you’re working in small increments:

• A post here.

• A callback there.

• A cryptic breadcrumb for your most diehard readers.

The danger? Turning your storytelling into an unstructured mess that only you understand. It’s the equivalent of mixing six different cereals into one bowl and expecting people to call it genius.

Why It Happens:

• The format encourages complexity. When your audience is piecing together your story across blog posts, tweets, and videos, the temptation to add layers can be overwhelming.

• The feedback loop is intoxicating. Every “aha!” moment from a reader feels like a win, pushing you to go further.

• The ego boost is real. Let’s not pretend: making people work to understand your story feels good.

When Complexity Works

When done right, complexity transforms storytelling into an interactive experience. It challenges your audience without alienating them, making them feel like participants rather than spectators.

How to Nail It:

1. Start Simple, Then Build: The foundation of your story should be clear and engaging. The layers come later.

2. Leave Room for Discovery: Give your audience breadcrumbs, not roadblocks. Let them connect the dots at their own pace.

3. Serve the Story, Not Your Ego: Every layer should add meaning or emotion—not just prove how clever you are.

Examples of Complexity Done Right:

• Inception: The dream layers are intricate, but the core story—Cobb’s grief—is emotionally clear.

• Breaking Bad: The callbacks and foreshadowing reward attentive viewers, but the story works even if you miss them.

Why I Walk the Line

I’ll admit it: I play with complexity like a cat with a laser pointer. I love layering meaning, hiding breadcrumbs, and making readers work for the payoff. But here’s the thing—I never want my work to feel masturbatory. I want it to feel like a game we’re playing together, where you’re rewarded for your curiosity rather than punished for not keeping up.

If you’ve been following along, you’ve probably noticed the layers in my writing. The callbacks, the recurring themes, the carefully chosen music—it’s all part of the experience. But I try to keep one thing in mind: the story always comes first.

Final Thought: Complexity is a Tool, Not a Trophy

Masturbatory complexity is what happens when writers forget who they’re writing for. It’s a trap I never want to fall into, and one I hope you’ll call me out on if I do. Complexity isn’t about proving how smart you are—it’s about creating something beautiful, layered, and meaningful.

So, here’s my promise: I’ll keep pushing the boundaries of digital storytelling, but I’ll do it with you, not at you. And if I ever hand you a Rubik’s Cube covered in Vaseline, feel free to throw it right back at me.