I like world building panels.  They’re like short classes, where a small group of experts talk about world building in an effort to educate and enlighten the people attending.  These are different than discussions, which I also think are wonderful.  In fact, Juliette Wade runs a great discussion every Thursday on Google+.

Panels are different than discussions.  Sometimes they focus on a subset of world building, such as magic systems, or spirituality in a fantasy setting, or politics in SciFi.  There is often a question/answer period at the end, but for the most part, there is limited interaction between the experts and the people in the crowd.  The experts bring with them examples and counter-examples, drawing deeply from their own experiences.

I love attending these panels.  I drink it all in.  Sometimes I ask questions at the end, but I’m usually content just to hear what other people think about world building.

The topic is so broad, that the problem with this panels isn’t what they say.  It’s what they don’t say, usually because they don’t have time.

Here are some thoughts I would love to see articulated on a world building panels.

 

1. The world you’re building is a stage.  Treat it accordingly.

This point can best be demonstrated just by comparing the original Star Wars trilogy to the prequels.  When I think about the original trilogy, I think about the characters.  I think about Han and Luke and Vader, and I think about their many, quotable lines.

When I think of the prequels, I think of the special effects and the visuals.  For its time, the original trilogy was a visual masterpiece, but those movies didn’t upstage the actors the way the prequels did.  The world in the original trilogy was functional and solid.  It supported the actors.  It didn’t distract from them, the way the prequels did.

The advice, then, is to build your world to support your story.

 

2. Build what you need, and just a tiny bit more.  Don’t overbuild.

A rich, fictional world is chock full of details that bring it to life.  These details include geography, currency, history, culture, technology… the list goes on and on.  Build in all of these areas that you want.  Just don’t go too crazy.

Let’s say you draw a map.  You add roads, rivers, cities, towns, and mountains.  You might feel inclined to cover thousands of miles with these details, spanning oceans and raising continents.  However, if the entirety of your story takes place in a 20 square mile area, you’ve probably spent a bunch of time and effort on places no one will ever see, instead of increasing the detail and richness of the world the reader does see.  Go ahead and shape the whole world.  Just use broad strokes when describing the parts of the world that aren’t in the story.

Another way of saying this: Make the visible world vivid, rather than the invisible world detailed.

 

3. Consider the tone of your story when you’re detailing your world.

Is your world mystical?  Is it mechanical?  Do you want the magic to feel poetic, or do you want it to feel like another branch of science?

There are no right or wrong answers to those questions, but answering those questions helps with consistency and tone.

Consider the Star Wars movies again.  In the original trilogy, the Force was mystical.  When Obiwan tried to describe it to Luke, the words he used gave it a spiritual quality.  There were no units of measure to describe the Force.  It was magic in a universe filled with rocket ships and laser swords.

Now look at the prequels.  They tried to quantify it, taking blood samples and using scientific measurements so as to compare the strength of one Force infected individual to another.  By trying to quantify the Force, the Force was diminished.  It was no longer the backbone of Vader’s “ancient religion.” It was a bi-product of microscopic organisms.  The Force was turned into midichlorian poop.

I heard Patrick Rothfuss talk about this idea at a panel, once.  He suggested that you should determine in advance what you want your magic system to feel like.  Is it like the magic that Gandalf does?  Or it is more like the magic system in the Mistborn series?  Do you want the reader to believe that magic works, because a trusted character says it does, or do you want the reader to believe it works because you’ve shown how it works, as Brandon Sanderson does?

 

4. Remember that world building can be as distracting as videos of kittens.

World building can be time consuming.  The details of your story are going to bring it to life and make it vivid in your readers’ minds, but the devil is in the details, and she will distract you.

It’s cool to come up with a unique currency for your world.  But if you spend a week designing each one, with intricate, detailed drawings of each denomination, and spreadsheets describing exchange rates and historical values… well, that all sounds cool, but if it’s not what your story is about, then all you’ve really done is give in to distraction.  Maybe you can change your main character into a coin collector?  Which brings us to…

 

5. If you overbuild, you may be tempted to dilute your story with the details.

Have you ever read a story where it was obvious that the writer had done their research, and they wanted you to know it?  This point is along those lines.

If you write 200 years of history for your world, you’re probably going to be tempted to display your work, somehow.  And if your story is following a kid fresh off the farm, thrust into his first adventure, that rich history might not have a place on the page.

Don’t get me wrong.  Figuring out how the world is put together can help make it stronger and more consistent.  But it’s not enough to build the world.  You have to describe it.

 

The difference between a detailed world and an interesting world is all in the eyes of the characters.  It is your characters’ perceptions, and more importantly, their reactions, that will deliver your world into the reader’s mind.