How I Write Fiction: World Building (Summer Solstice 2016)

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As most of you know, I am an old role-playing gamer.  When I first started writing, I repeatedly read in articles and books that this was a disadvantage. What makes a good game doesn’t make good fiction I was told. Gamers write with a particular style that comes off as amateurish they said. Both can be true but both can also be inaccurate.

Thankfully, that particular bias has slackened some in the intervening years as gaming (and geekdom in general) has become more accepted. Yes, writing and gaming are two different things, as are writing and designing software. But as you’ll see here and at Lughnasa, it’s where each overlaps the other that you sometimes gain unexpected synergy.

The particular strength of role-playing games is the world in which they are set. Now, here you have to be careful. Most role-playing games come with their own milieu straight out of the box, or the books as the case may be. You need to be extremely cautious before you claim someone else’s setting and history as your own, even if you heavily modify it. Unless you are writing fan fiction, it is inappropriate to use, say, a rendition of Tolkien’s Middle Earth as your setting. Homages, impressions and rippled reflections are one thing. Tolkien based much of his own world on various folklore and mythology. Wholesale adoption is quite another. Don’t do it.

Fortunately, this has never been much of an issue for me. Since I began running games, I much preferred creating my own worlds to the pre-generated campaigns that supplemented most systems. For me they lacked the depth and resonance I desired. That resonance is a critical element. Without it, I can’t see the world I’m moving characters through. If I can’t see it, I will have a hard time describing it to others in a way in which they feel like the world is real and they feel like they are really in it. And that’s what both writing and role-playing are all about, a shared vision or experience. One is just more participatory than the other.

Most of what I’m going to talk about applies to longer works or a series of stories that share a setting. For shorter, one-off pieces, world building often resembles simple setting and background research that serves the narrative by reinforcing theme and tone. As I mentioned in the last essay on Ideas, that setting can come from almost anywhere. I tend to use analogs to real places or scenarios I’ve read about in the news. National Geographic is a great resource for that. As is almost any in-depth news source. As well, PBS’s Nature provides great fodder for interesting species and behavioral traits.

That’s not to say that shorter pieces don’t need any world building. Science fiction and fantasy, and all their related offspring from post-apocalypse to horror to cyberpunk to alternate history, require fundamental, up-front decisions about how the world works.

In fantasy, these decisions include things like whether there is magic, how strong or subtle it is and how it works, whether there are other races such as elves and dwarves, and the level of mundane technology which could range from Neolithic to Renaissance (or well beyond).

In science fiction, the decisions include the level of technology (especially whether there is faster than light travel), the extent of space exploration from solar system to galaxy wide, and whether there are other sentient alien species.

Post-apocalypse mirrors both of these with level of surviving technology, plus what caused the apocalypse and how long ago. As well as environmental impacts on things like climate, extinctions, mutations and hazards.

(I’m going to stop with those three because for each I have examples.)

Even in mainstream fiction there are world building choices to be made, from place (real or imagined) to time (past, present or future). Depending on the piece, you could add backdrop to this in form of history, institutions and real-world characters (historically accurate, speculative or alternate).

It’s in longer pieces and series that world building comes into its own by anchoring the story into a consistent, believable setting. Consistent is the operative word here. As humans, we are very good at recognizing patterns. We key on them so much that we often invent them where they do not exist. And nothing gets a reader to unsuspend her disbelief more quickly than glaring inconsistency, whether in character or in setting.

For larger, richer, more expansive fictional worlds, you might layer in decisions on politics, history, religion, trade, culture, celebrities, recurring characters, nations/factions, natural environment, etc. Anything that is important to you and serves the narrative of the stories.

That sounds like a lot already. So where to start?

I have three up-front pieces of advice.

First, your best bet for developing a world you want to use long term is slow accretion. If you try to do everything at once you will find it overwhelming. Like Athena popping fully formed from Zeus’s head, trying to hash through everything in one throw is likely to give you a migraine.

Which leads to second, remember a manufacturing technique called Just-in-Time. In the case of writing this means if you don’t need it, don’t bother with it right now. So if your fantasy story doesn’t deal with religion or the gods, don’t worry about them. It leaves you more flexibility later.

The caveat to this is that if your fantasy character likes to say things like “by the light of the ancient gods” or walks past their temples on the way to the market or notes one of their bishops in an audience with the queen, you need to at least sketch out who the deities are and what they stand for even if it’s not in-depth.

That brings me to third, and perhaps most important, keep it all organized in a way you can find it when you need to reference it. For each major game campaign I’ve run (one fantasy, one science fiction and one post-apocalypse), I have a three ring binder and/or set of accordion files filled with information and notes. Each of them has tabs for some of the various subjects I listed above. I’ve taken to organizing novels and short story series the same way, mainly because I lean heavily on these game worlds I previously created. I know them, am comfortable with them and can see them in my mind. Most I’ve dealt with so long and thought about so much that they are like walking around in the neighborhood I grew up in.

So how do I approach world building? First, as I said above, I lay down the fundamental decisions for the specific world I’m working with.

In the case of the post-apocalypse world I used as the basis for Aluria’s Tale (a novel), I made the decision that the fall came from a nuclear war, specifically a counterforce strike because I had read a Scientific American article on it. The timeline was five years later. The setting was real-world based, mostly from the mountains of North Carolina down through Georgia. The only unique environmental factor, other than the climate cooling, was the existence of sentient, intelligent races of genetically modified cats and dogs created by the military before the fall (the focus of “Chosen”). The date, though never specifically stated, was roughly present day.

In the case of the fantasy world I am currently using as the basis for Amnesia (a novel), I decided it was loosely based on medieval Europe in the thirteenth century (high Middle Ages). Elves, dwarves and goblins races all exist, though they are more subtle in appearance than in traditional fantasy. Magic was powerful but not prevalent.

Finally, in the case of the science fiction setting I use in the LOW OrbIT series of Abrami’s Sister and Memory Block (plus “Warren”, “Interdiction” and “A Star in the East”), I decided to base the worlds on the seventy-five closest star systems because I had an astronomy book that listed their characteristics and coordinates. Technology was high but not godlike. FTL existed. And the same species of intelligent cats and dogs exist as in the post-apocalypse world, plus other alien races.

The next fundamental step for me is a map. I love maps. I can’t live without them, from the highest overview to the most detailed room layouts. If I haven’t been to a place and seen it with my own eyes, I can expand a map into three dimensions in my mind.

For the fantasy world, Karen and I created a joint map for a world we shared just after college. She drew it up by hand. The primary city I use for a setting, Dirkham, has a core map created from old city geomorphs I’ve had forever, plus a secondary custom map of the surrounding area. For other cities and villages, I adapted a map of any quirky, interesting place I’ve been. Ellicot City in Maryland; Old Hyde Park in Tampa; Auchindrain in Scotland. For many castles and abbeys I use the small guidebooks with layouts we picked up in Wales.

The post-apocalypse world was the easiest. First and foremost, I use a road atlas (convenient as it can be marked up). I marked where strikes fell (or missed) and their fallout, as well as for marking communities and for road navigation (pre-Google Maps). Targeting was based on a map in a Scientific American article on counterforce strikes which showed the type and rough location of targets combined with two books that contained more extensive target lists. Added to that were state topo map atlases and Dept. of Interior topo quads. As I drove through the area, I picked up local paper folding maps of various places we explored up. Now I mostly rely on electronic versions. Down a level from there, I also have a book of interior layouts for houses.

With the science fiction world, first I translated a set of 3D coordinate for the closest stars onto a 2D map with their distance off the plane, marking the stars by name and spectrum. Then I generated a spreadsheet which calculated the distances between each star. In the FTL model I used, ships could only transit so far per jump. So for each system, I could reference what other systems can be reached by certain jump capabilities. That also outlined trade routes and backwaters. The rest of the science fiction world, like the fantasy world, relied on adaptation of existing maps. As an example, airport layouts make great analogs for starports. Conveniently, you can find any number of them in the giveaway airline magazines airlines used to stuff into the seat pockets.

From there, I began fleshing out each setting. Though because these were game worlds first, in some cases I did a lot more up front organization and construction than most writers will ever need to. Partly because it was necessary, mostly because I enjoy it. While a number of decisions I outline appear to be deterministically top down, you can also start from the bottom up without much problem.

For the post-apocalypse setting, I outlined a number of regional governments loosely based on a pop culture sociology book I read many, many years ago. I sketched out each, then focused on the two I would use the most, one centered in Dahlonega, Georgia, another based out of Green Bank, West Virginia. I sprinkled in a number of odd and interesting places I’d run across in my reading, like an underwater research station off the Florida Keys (that I linked up with a Trident submarine). I also layered in some background history that led to the fall, plus climate changes and what species had gone extinct.

For the fantasy world, we drew up political, racial and trade route overlays for the world map (old school cartography), along with what areas generated what trade goods. I added what deities were worshiped in which areas, using a combination of Celtic, Norse, limited Egyptian (Bast and Set) and an adaptation of Zoroastrian monotheism. All underpinned by old, no longer worshiped Roman gods. In Dirkham and a few of the surrounding towns and villages, I noted a number of each building on the map then added street and district names. For each number I created an entry for the type of shop (based on a guide to prevalence medieval businesses), along with a bit of background and history for each district, including conflicts between ethnic groups. 

LOW Orbit space probably required the most up-front work. I set up a program to generate planetary systems for each of the seventy-five star systems. Then a second program randomly rolled up a thumbnail sketch of each planet’s environment, political structure and technology level based on its star. I generated a page for each which went into a binder. I spent days naming each, keeping the names simple. Then I overlaid a political structure based on four types of colonies: LOW OrbiT, national government, corporate and Fringe. I outlined the systems each colonized based on certain desirability factors and political pull. I generated a couple historical instances of conflict between them (the AI War, the Green Revolution) with brief timelines and systems affected, plus sketched out a number of in-game references to brands and pop culture.

After that in each case my world building came down to organization and slow accretion, sometimes over the course of years. As much as I like an overview of the larger picture for broader context, I fleshed out whole areas and ideas because characters focused on them (JIT). The same happens as I write stories. 

In the post-apocalypse setting, I slowly filled in places the characters visited. This included several research trips (two to Waycross, GA where “there is absolutely no reason to be bored”). For Aluria’s Tale specifically, my wife and I took driving trip down the Blue Ridge Parkway from Boone to Asheville, then surface roads into N. Georgia, hitting all the places my characters would visit. Along the way I picked up pamphlets, jotted notes, sketched maps for ambush sites and formed basic impressions of various cities and locations. All of this went into files. Combined with details I’d generated for the local government during the game campaign, suddenly I had a rich world I could see and understood. I refine it with notes each time we revisit the area (as recently as 2014).

Over time in the fantasy setting, I marked all the Celtic areas with the names used within the native Celtic languages (such as Cymru for the Welsh area). In the notebooks for the cities and towns, I noted each business name, the proprietor’s name and any other details as they came up. I also noted the locations of ruins, secret fords and magic wells on the larger map. As well, I kept single page monthly calendars of events as I ran the campaign which formed a timeline for background for Amnesia. Various ideas got fleshed out further because of the players’ interactions (I ended up generating a lot of specifics on Bast and Ahura Mazda for players of characters who were priests of each). Others locations remain somewhat dark, foggy, waiting to be explored. Here be dragons.

Finally, in the LOW OrbIT setting, I kept a set of detailed timeline notes in a notebook as the game ran over the course of years. Various planets the players visited (and revisited) got fleshed out farther, including with names of celebrities, officials, bureaucrats and other personalities. I noted various places used in adventures, such as the Stack Maze and the Chaosium on Anarchy. Some of their interactions and encounters formed the backbone of the planet’s history. Most continued to spin implications in my mind even after the players moved on.  As well, my wife kept her own set of players’ notes (which have been invaluable for filling in the holes in mine) and sent out weekly summary emails of their progress. As I’ve written stories in this setting, I’ve noted characters names and any timeline details both at the bottom of the story itself and in separate files so I can find them later for consistency. I’ve more formally typed up and modified a number of histories and background details for various systems in the three-ring binder because that’s where I’m used to finding them.

Of course, you don’t have to use binders or accordion files with dividers. You can use something as simple as index cards and a box (similar to the magic box I discussed the previous essay on Ideas only dedicated to the world itself). I’ve done this for games with tabs for events, history, characters, governments, etc. It really is whatever works for you, to whatever level of detail you find useful. But organization is the key.

By now, I’m sure a number of you are saying, well that’s all well and good, but I’m not a gamer and don’t really want to be. Which is probably a good life choice on your part. Most of laying out the basics for a world doesn’t require you to be (though if you are, it may be a leg up through practice). They only require you to ask questions about the world you are designing, note the answers and organize them.

Since I no longer game much in the past decade, I’ve found a way to refine various aspects of a world even without players forcing me to as they interact with it. All you need is someone you can bounce the ideas off of who will listen and ask questions to clarify when they don’t understand. I’ve done this with my wife on various stories to great effect. I’ve found that trying to put world building or plot elements into words for her forces me to think about them more deeply. My mind forms better connections because she asks unexpected questions that hadn’t occurred to me.

I would only caution that you be careful not to use someone who likes to take things over as a sounding board. You want someone who wants to explore and understand rather than someone who tries to layer in their own ideas. Of course, this should also be someone you trust not to poach your ideas for themselves (unless you don’t care).

To give you an example, late in the LOW OrbIT game, we added a new player who wanted to play an alien. Years before I had sketched out 6-8 alien races but hadn’t developed them fully because the other players weren’t interested and the campaign didn’t require it. So I laid out what I had for him. He was attracted to a race called Whinglings, a tri-symmetric, arboreal race with three appendages (two arms and a tail) and three eyes that specialized in bio-engineering. Before we did any formal character generation, he sat and asked me questions about the race. Why were they called Whinglings (because of an annoying grinding sound they make with their teeth to relieve stress). How do they move on starships (using special loops retrofitted into the companionways). Are their tails prehensile (yes, they can hang from them and use them to hold items like a clumsy off-hand). What is the hierarchy of their society (matriarchal). Most of these I answered on the fly and noted for future reference. I learned more about Whinglings in two hours answering his questions than I would have in two days just thinking about them on my own. He didn’t care what the answers were particularly. He was just hungry to know more. We ended up doing the same for a race of genetically modified humans called the Uberlords later in that game. That is the type of individual you want.

All of this is a continually ongoing process. As I write various stories, I fill in details of each world. I know more now about the history of the Green Revolution from writing the Abrami’s Sister series than I ever did while running the game. In the fantasy setting, I am currently exploring the implications of a brief yet total loss of magic the players caused but did not experience because they were stranded in a spectral tower at the time. I fleshed out more of the psychology and sociology of the CuFFs (intelligent cats) in “Chosen” based on a few lines from Aluria’s Tale (in which I had fleshed out even more than was in the game). And there are still whole aspects of each I have barely begun to explore.

As well, since I’ve been writing, I’ve occasionally run across a piece of background or history in a world setting from an associated game that I’d lifted from somewhere else out of quick necessity, or just because I thought it was cool. All of those instances have had to be completely reworked and rewritten to make them uniquely my own before I use them in writing. Which, by the way, feels much more satisfying and integral once it’s done. Thankfully, none have been overarching threads that unravel very much.

Building a rich, resonant, complex world can be a slow but rewarding process. Over time, you’ll find it becomes as comfortable as a favorite pair of jeans, or that leather jacket you’ve owned for a decade. You’ll know all the creases, all the folds, and have great stories for all the stains that give it character. Just be aware that some of those offhand scratches you put on it in that first story may unravel and fray into wear spots if you don’t give them much thought. But depending on your temperament and sense of style, that, too, might be a perfect fit. 

© 2016 Edward P. Morgan III