Remember you're working on an axis between experimentation and communication. The more experimental your prose, the harder it will be for your reader to understand. Find the right balance.
Every sentence asks a reader to do work, and experimental choices multiply that work — a fractured syntax or invented word forces someone to pause and solve a small puzzle before meaning arrives. That's fine once or twice, but stack too many puzzles and the reader spends all their energy decoding instead of feeling. Say you're writing a scene about grief and you want one image to land hard: strip the sentence down, let it break grammar just slightly, and surround it with clear, ordinary prose so the fracture stands out instead of blending into general fog. The caution is that clarity can calcify into caution itself — writers sometimes use "communication" as an excuse to sand off every rough edge, producing prose so smooth it says nothing surprising at all. Balance means earning your strangeness, not avoiding it.
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