Aline Soules

Poet and Fiction Writer

world building

Making a World from Small Details

pencil in handIn an article in The Writer, Todd James Pierce offered eight rules for writing historical short stories.  One of them was that “small details matter more than large ones.” His example was about a story that led him to think he’d “need to know how the mechanics of animation worked in the 1940s and 1950s, the tasks of an inbetweener or an inker.”  While acknowledging that “the information was useful,” he concluded that it wasn’t the “dreamy material” that leads to compelling stories.  He discovered that the small details were more important: “the weight of a pencil in an animator’s hand when held the right way, how images ghost up through a stack of drawings when pegged onto a lightboard, the sound a moviola makes when a reel of new film stutters across its screen.”  He used these “small daily details” to build a “believable historical setting.” 

While I fully support his premise that the small details matter, I am convinced that his understanding of the larger world of the mechanics of animation in the 1940s and 1950s also informed his work, that knowing which small details to use may have been helped by knowing the broader subject matter thoroughly.  

This brings me back to the issue of research, which I seem unable to leave (see previous couple of blog posts).  How much is enough?  How much is too much? (One comment on my last blog post suggested that while conducting research, it’s important to remember actually to write–a valid point.)  I have found, however, that the small details that stand out in my own research and which I wish to use in my story only stand out because I know their importance from the larger context.  I don’t disagree with Pierce, but I wonder how much his broader research into the period helped those small details jump off the research page as “musts” to include in his story. For his full article, see https://www.writermag.com/improve-your-writing/fiction/historical-short-stories/ It’s well worth a read.

World Building: Finding Freedom through Structure

When I was a young teacher, I was surprised to learn the importance of structure, not for its own sake, but for its ability to give students freedom. If I asked students to write a poem, I got back flowery, adjective-riddled work, as students struggled to write. If I gave them a form–the more complex the better–everything changed. The form was the world out of which they imagined the most amazing work. My most successful lesson centered on the cinquain.

In writing any type of work–essay, fiction, memoir–long, medium, or short, I’ve found the same to be true. Once I have structure, once I’ve built a world, I have a framework within which to work, and when I run into problems (surprise–it’s not problem-free), I find the problems easier to solve. On occasion, I’ll find a flaw in the world rules I’ve set, but I can tweak that world, as long as I go through what I’ve already written to make the rest of the piece meet the world rules I’ve built.

This means building my world and the rules of that world early. While world building is most often associated with fantasy and science fiction, I’ve found it equally applicable to other genres. As a historical fiction writer, for example, I have two worlds to consider. One is the historical period where I’ve set my novel, and those rules are pre-set. My job is to research that world to choose what I will use in my fictional world. I then focus on the “fiction” and my characters. Once I’ve built my fictional world, I weave the two for the world of my novel.

This sounds a lot like “pantser” vs. “plotter,” but I find it effective to work in both. I need my fictional world in place–at least, roughly–first (the plotter). Then I write. As I make “discoveries” along the way (the pantser), I adjust. Sometimes, I adjust the world I’ve built (the framework), making sure to go through what I’ve already written to adjust for the change. Sometimes, my characters give me a discovery, in which case my built world and its rules are my support for integrating the discovery and making it organic to the work. I move back and forth, using my built world as the spine of my novel.

While my world must include all the elements of the novel–plot, character, setting, etc.–the spine of that world and my freedom to imagine within that world rely on the rules and the spine I establish in the beginning.

World Building in Historical Fiction

Image credit: http://clipart-library.com/globe-cliparts.html

Every fiction writer engages in world building, the creation of a fictional universe in order to make their work believable for the reader. This is particularly critical for historical fiction writers who write a fine line between the real and the unreal. Their stories may be fiction, but those stories are set in real worlds of the past. Below are some particularly useful online articles to help with that process.

Tim Weed (https://timweed.net/essays-articles/on-the-writing-craft/narrative-as-time-machine-five-tools-for-world-building-in-historical-fiction/) discusses five world building tools, with examples: vivid descriptions of nature, accurate portrayal of recognizable human emotions, incorporating the exotic, defamiliarization, and using period details sparingly.

On Reedsy (https://blog.reedsy.com/worldbuilding-historical-fiction/), a selection of authors talk about elements that they have found helpful in creating a historical world.

David Gaughran (https://davidgaughran.com/2011/11/13/incorporating-historical-figures-into-a-narrative/) discusses the challenges of incorporating historical figures into a narrative and, in a later post (https://davidgaughran.com/2011/11/25/world-building-in-historical-fiction/) offers a perspective on world building and point of view, discussing why he chose third person omniscient point of view for his novel, A Storm Hits Valparaiso.

And, in my last post, I referenced M. K. Tod (https://awriterofhistory.com/tag/world-building-in-historical-fiction/) and her seven elements of historical fiction, one of which is world building.

In an interview, Jenny Davidson wrote: “Your world will inevitably be colored by other fictional worlds that you’ve encountered… but try to go back to the ‘real stuff’ for your world-building, i.e., your own imagination plus historical materials” (https://www.creative-writing-now.com/world-building.html), succinct advice I find helpful.

I know the importance of world building, but it’s easy to let it recede to the back of my mind as I focus on other elements of my novel–characters, plot, and so on. As I work through my current novel, set in WWII, I go back to these writers’ posts periodically to re-set my focus on this all-important element.


Historical Fiction Elements

Image credit: https://bit.ly/2TwiHQx

In historical fiction, a story is made up but is set in the past and sometimes borrows true characteristics of the time period in which it is set. That story can appear in movies, novels, even poetry (e.g., Omeros, by Derek Walcott, or Brébeuf and His Brethren, by E.J. Pratt). One of the most succinct blog posts on the elements of historical fiction was written by M. K. Tod in 2015, 7 Elements of Historical Fiction (https://bit.ly/2ChaCo1).

Many of the elements she describes are applicable to all story making–plot, character, dialogue, and so forth–but one is particularly interesting for this story genre, namely “world building.” Of course, all stories have “worlds”, but historical fiction calls for a world that requires extensive research into what Tod says are “the customs, social arrangements, family environment, governments, religious structures, international alliances, military actions, physical geography, layouts of towns and cities, and politics of the time.” She then quotes Harry Sidebottom, author of Warrior of Rome:

“The past is another country, they not only do things differently there, they think about things differently.”

She continues by listing an extensive list of “topics” to consider when conducting research into the period of your story (please see Tod’s post for the list).

Among the comments is one by “jazzfeathers”, who basically expressed concern about lecturing rather than presenting the historical setting, but also commenting that, sometimes, readers would like to be lectured. In response to the dilemma of how much historical “fact” to include, Tod compared  Conn Iggulden, who is sparing, to Sharon Kay Penman, who includes extensive historical fact. 

Finding the balance in any writing is never easy, but I recommend Tod’s post and subsequent discussion. It may be four years old, but it’s timeless.