Creating Worlds, Part 1: Overview and Uniqueness

Introduction

Creating new worlds is commonplace, almost default, in Fantasy. Science Fiction often makes use of interplanetary travel to 'discover' new worlds and solar systems with the attributes the author is looking for. Many of these worlds are memorable, unique, interesting. You feel emptiness at the end of a book, not only because you're leaving characters that are well-loved and feel 'real', but because the planet they live in, interact with, and leave their marks upon feels real as well.

One difficulty for writers can be how to go about creating the worlds their stories are set in. You might feel daunted by the sheer wealth of worlds out there already. That feeling is quite understandable – there are thousands and thousands of worlds, so it's not unlikely that whatever you come up with will be similar to other settings in some ways. This is unavoidable to a certain extent, but through careful though about the world-setting for your story, you can craft something that's as unique and well-fitted as you can.

What I will do through this series is show you a process, that will let you build an environment that's less generic and more interesting, both to write in and for your readers. The process gives you a great deal of freedom in how you approach your world, and is more of a guide to get you thinking about all the aspects of your environment that will have an impact on the story. At the end, you'll have a well-formed world, something that's been fleshed out, is internally consistent, and ripe with flavor and potential adventure.

I'll talk a little about general approaches to world building in this article. Further down, I'll show you how asking questions and doubling back over things you've thought about can lead to new, interesting environments and conclusions. Then I'll show you a brief example. Later articles will look at specific ideas and questions to ask yourself on the subjects of scale, history, geography, politics and power, technology, systems of magic, and strife and disruptions in your world.

Generic Settings

Often, when you start writing, you'll find that certain ideas pop into your head naturally. If you're writing a story in a fantasy setting, you might want to have non-human creatures present. What might they be? A common starting point are Elves and Dwarves – alien enough from humans to provide some flavor, still recognizable enough not to be too scary or challenging. Now, there's nothing wrong with including those races in your story. Heck, if Tolkien and Feist can do it, why not you? What's important to think about as you write is that you aren't just defaulting to your automatic presumptions about how Elves and Dwarves act, live, talk and get along with the world. If you do, not only are you probably writing about a world that's a little bit generic, but it's going to limit the freedoms you have in writing your story. If you feel that Elves, when you write about them, have to be tall, thin, long-lived, artistic, reserved and a little mystical, then you're going to push into boundaries when dealing with your characters and plot that narrow your options.

These generic settings are a little bit of a trap, especially if you're just starting out writing. They're easy to default to because they're comfortable and familiar. Writers often default to something they know 'works' and then resolve to 'fix it up' after the meat of the story's in place. While this can work, often you're only fiddling at the periphery of the story, changing names and dates and trying to make the locations your story takes place seem less bland.

I think it's far better to have a robust, vigorous, exciting world waiting for your characters to jump into. This doesn't mean you have to have every little detail of your world planned out before you begin writing. It does mean that the more you've thought about your world, the easier it'll be to decide where your characters will go next, what their relationships with non-protagonists will be, and what dangers and opportunities they will face.

Unique settings

A story with a unique character is immediately going to be stronger than one which is overly familiar and un-challenging. It doesn't take a lot to give a world its own unique flavors, either. Running through some questions to yourself when you're figuring out how the world works will force your brain to notice new alleys and avenues, and even if you don't wander down them straight away you'll know they're there while you write.

How can you develop a unique setting for your story? The easiest way to avoid clichés is to be aware of them, then consciously work to avoid writing yourself into a position where they need to be used. Scan over your work and try and view it dispassionately. (If you're brave enough, ask someone else to identify any clichés they see in your writing. Scary, scary, I know!) Are there any parts of it where a part of your brain clicks and goes “Ah, yes, this is dingy bar where they meet the criminal... This is the stormy-night scene when the prophesy is made...... This is the bit where the bad guy ruthlessly kills some secondary character.” Then ask yourself why those parts are so easy to identify. Can you do something to disguise them? Can that part of the story be told another way? Can we show this character in a different light?

Readers switch off the moment someone starts talking about impregnable pearly-white castle walls gleaming against the backdrop of steel-blue mountains. Conform to your readers' expectations too easily, and they won't read your words carefully, if they bother to read them at all. They'll skim over the details of your world, and in doing so might miss out on the clever little variances you've worked in. “But look!", you might cry, “Elves in this world are different! Some of them are bald!” Whatever. If the rest of your world's a copy of Middle Earth, then I'd rather just reread Lord of the Rings.

A trick to give your settings some differentiation is to take what you instinctively want to write, and then deliberately write the inverse. Do you want a sprawling epic, spanning continents? Imagine how you could write the same story without leaving the edges of one small city. Do you want a gleaming palace, spires piercing the sky and banners flying proudly? Curb the wealth of your settings and write instead about an ill-maintained, dirty fortress with wooden palisades and lazy guards.

This is a useful exercise in forcing yourself to look at what are the truest elements of your story, and what's peripheral and mutable. If something can be changed from your initial impulse, it almost certainly should! You can always come back to it later if you really want. However, by pushing yourself into an environment you aren't familiar with, you'll use your delicious and powerful writer's brain and actually see the environment you're creating. Once you're firmly enmeshed in this topsy-turvy setting, you can craft the elements in it to suit more closely what you need for your plot and characters. Good stories shouldn't rely too much on your environment, anyway – a hero is a hero regardless of what sort of world they're in, and the damsel's going to stay distressed regardless.

Writing in an unfamiliar or uncomfortable setting forces you to proceed more carefully. When you move cautiously through a new world, you'll be forced to stop and analyze your thoughts and presumptions far more. If you choose to keep some elements unchanged – and that's OK – then you'll feel more confident in changing the things you do, because you'll have well thought out reasons for doing so.

Internal consistency

It's easy to identify an environment in a story that's been well thought out. The corners have been filled in, there aren't any shadowy 'nowhere' regions between cities, and there aren't improbable deserts filling up all the bits of continents the author couldn't be bothered drawing a proper map for. “That's how it's always been done” isn't bandied about as an excuse. Self-destructive practices aren't traditions. The world feels solid, because it makes sense.

This is the most important element of creating worlds for your stories. What it boils down to is this:When crafting a world, constantly ask yourself “Why?”
This is so important, I'll say it again.
Constantly ask yourself “Why?”

That's it.Make a statement. Question it. Look at the answer. Question it again. Keep going until it feels amazing. Then, come back around and circle in from another angle. The rest of this series will begin to start framing more suggestions as questions, allowing you to look at your world and see where there might be holes in your creation. The more questions you can answer, the better. Not being able to answer questions is fine. Better than fine, even – exciting! Why? Because it lets you fill in more of you're world's completeness. It gives you something new to puzzle over. And when you find an answer or a solution that slots neatly into place, a careful word or hint somewhere in your story will give your reader that warm, confident feeling of being in a world that's been truly well created.

Go write!

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Bonus
Here's one example of how asking yourself questions, then circling back and asking more, can let you develop interesting places. Even if the end result is similar to what you've started with, you've taught yourself a bit about your world.

“The story's going to open in the dingy part of the Empire's capital city.”
Why there?
Because that's where all the criminals lurk.
Why there?
Why do they hang out there? Well, it's further away from all the rich people's places.
Where are they?
Close to the middle of the city, of course.
Of course? That's an assumption!
I like this one. Besides, you're closer to the seat of power in the middle of the city.
OK then. So where is the dingy part?
Further out. The poor part will be past the mercantile sections, past the smithies and booksellers and tailors and stuff like that.
Why is it dingy?
Because it's dirty and lawless. It's dirty because nobody cares enough to keep it clean. The nobles and powerful people of the city don't care so much who robs from who in the poorer quarters.
Why not police everywhere?
Because it's too expensive. And the guards would be bribed to keep out of the poorer sections. And there's nothing worth robbing there anyway.
Who bribes the guards?
People who don't want to get caught. Maybe the guards know not to go poking around in this place for the good of their own health. Perhaps there's an 'understanding' between the body of criminals and the City Guard.

Interesting. Now we've gone from an ill-defined, dingy, dark (presumably!) part of the city to knowing a little bit more about the politics of the place. But wait! There's another presumption. We're assuming it's dark. What happens if we inverse that?

Criminals live in the Poor Section of the city. (We'll make up names later! Maybe Poor Quarter? Down-and-Dirty? Ugnim's Pity? Plaguelanes?) It's well-lit.
Why is it well-lit?
Well, because we wanted to do the inverse of our presumption, which is that criminals and poor, scummy people hang out in dark, dank places.
So why is it well-lit?
Because there aren't any tall houses to keep things dark.
Why aren't there any tall houses?
Land and space must be cheaper than the effort of building up. There could be an enforced policy on house sizes as well. Perhaps the rich don't want their views spoiled?
Why would land and space be plentiful?
Perhaps the city is very large, and it's easier for slums to sprawl outwards.
OK, why else would it be well-lit?
It's a very sunny place.
Why else would it be difficult to build taller houses?
What stops taller houses being built in the real world? Harsh conditions – heavy winds, unsuitable ground for deep foundations. A lack of building supplies. Shanty towns spring to mind.