But consider your world. Not the world you’ve created, but the one you live in.

What is important to you?  What aspects of your life do you take for granted?

Your world consists of things like your job, your family, your education, and your friends. It also includes the places you buy food from, or visit for entertainment.

It should be the same for your characters. They’ve got to eat and have fun too, so they’ll have places where they do those things or ways to do them.

But unless your character is a politician or religious leader, the intricacies of politics and religion are unlikely to factor in to your character’s day-to-day life.  In reality, the world of your character is much smaller than the borders of a country or the tenets of a religion.

Food

Consider food. We all need it to survive, we eat it every day, and we talk about it. Food is a pretty big deal.

Now, in a story you might not talk about food much or even at all, but if you do, how do you do it?

Fancy banquets of beautifully presented whole cooked animals, travel meals of stale bread and smoked meat, stews and broths?

These types of meals pop up in fantasy regularly, and you know what? They all feel the same – but they don’t have to.

I am British. I recently ate a lasagne which my fiancé and I cooked together at home. It is a dish Italian in origin, using tomatoes, a fruit which originated in Mexico, as well as beef, pasta, onions and cheese sauce made, on this occasion, with Canadian cheddar. The cheese sauce was made in a microwave; the beef, onions and tomato sauce fried in a pan in olive oil over a gas hob; and the assembled product then baked in an electric oven using a pyrex dish.

This is all enabled by modern technology and a global economy whereby plants have been brought from one continent to be grown in another, and food is transported all over the place too.

Your characters, if they’re in a world which is unlike modern-day Earth, probably won’t be eating lasagne any time soon.

If they are in a pre-industrial world, climate will dictate what they can grow where – root vegetables will be fine for damp, temperate climates but will struggle in dry, warm areas; rice needs a lot of water to grow and olives can be very tricky to cultivate in places with cold winters.

Trading vessels will be able to transport food which won’t go bad across long distances, but these will be expensive as a result. Most people, whether urban or rural, will eat food produced within a few miles of where they live, with only the rich eating more exotic foods. And because the land required to graze animals is greater than that needed to grow the same volume of plant crops, meat will be expensive too. More reliable crops like barley might be preferred over less reliable but higher quality crops like wheat, depending on what kinds of pressures there are on space for farmland or overpopulation. People living near the coast or a river will eat a lot of fish. You get the idea.

These are all factors which might determine what your characters are eating, and they’re all dependant on the world you have created. Putting in something about the kinds of food a character eats and where they come from will give your reader insight into the world and the attitudes it holds. It will give depth to your world.

Kaylee eating a strawberry in Firefly.

A good food-related example can be found in the cult sci-fi TV series Firefly. In the first episode, the crew of Serenity steal some boxes of some sort of metallic bar, stamped by the Alliance, the original owners, but it turns out when their buyer checks the product that these are protein bars wrapped in metallic-looking paper. And they’re sufficiently valuable that selling a few boxes of them – enough to last a small colony a few weeks or months – will pay for some important ship repairs and fuel. Also in that episode, one of the passengers pays for his travel with a small box of something not revealed at first, but which is later revealed to be strawberries – fresh fruit is a big deal.

All this illustrates the situation in the universe of Firefly: food is a problem. Overpopulation means colonies were sent out to terraformed planets, but they aren’t fertile enough to produce enough food, so protein bars are produced for general consumption, and fresh fruit is quite the treat.

Clothes

I wear clothes produced cheaply in factories in Bangladesh or Brazil, or wherever clothes companies can get them made most cheaply. They’re made of synthetic materials or cotton, or some mixture of the two. I have a woollen cardigan and a big coat made of wool, but most of my clothes use materials which require a climate different from that which I live in – like cotton – or modern technology.

For characters in a fantasy world, they’re probably wearing fabrics that can be made locally or imported cheaply from somewhere nearby. Linen from flax, wool from sheep, furs from animals, cotton from the cotton plant, or silk from silkworms.

And then there’s how the clothes are actually made. Today it’s all mechanised looms and electric sewing machines in big factories, but in the past clothes were made by hand, using simpler technologies. In the classical Greek world, cloth was produced in the home from raw materials by the women of the household, who used simple tools to turn the wool or flax into thread and then wove it on a wooden loom. In fact it was such a part of respectable womenhood that the loomweights used to keep the threads taut were passed down, mother to daughter, across generations.

Beliefs and Attitudes Outside of Religion

Food and clothes, building materials, tools and so on are an important part of the material culture of a society and the way it works. But what people believe about the world, beyond what religion or science tells them about it, is also important.

The Black Death in the 14th century, which swept through the Mediterranean and Europe, killed a huge proportion of the population, tens or hundreds of millions of people. In the aftermath, in the decades and generations that followed, the memory and fear of the Plague remained, and images of skeletons appeared in much of the artwork that followed for centuries, including the Danse Macabre motif, in which skeletons danced the living away to hell.

Danse Macabre

It is thought that the huge amount of death the survivors had to come to terms with as a result of the plague prompted this response, almost as if recognising Death’s power will placate him. In this situation, the experiences of the people led to a reaction which in turn led to a cultural trend to depict Death.

In a fantasy world which has survived a cataclysmic event of the kind often seen in epics, the way people react in the decades which follow can have a profound effect on how future generations view the world around them.

If you are including a cataclysmic event in your world’s history, you can look at the way real people on Earth have reacted to similar events, and how cultures changed as a result of that human reaction. This can come through in small ways, which might not be part of the story or everyday life, but which are visible, perhaps in books and on gravestones, long after the cataclysm has vanished from living memory.

Details Matter

By including these little elements and details, you can add tremendous depth to your world.

Recently I read King of Thorns by Mark Lawrence, a story set in a pseudo-medieval culture a thousand years after nuclear war flattened modern civilisation. Many of the buildings are gone, most of the technology and scientific advancement is forgotten, but the protagonist Jorg does recall at one point a sign deep in the basement of a castle, with the incomprehensible message upon it: “No overnight parking.”

We know what it means, because we live in a world where car parking is a thing, but Jorg doesn’t know what a car is. The inclusion of this small element gave a touch of colour to the world, a reminder that it is a broken world, formed from the ashes of our own.

And that’s the point with worldbuilding for a fantasy story: giving the reader a context, pulling them into the story, and convincing them that this world could be just as real as our own. That’s why you need the details – the food, the clothes, the imagery – to add depth, to aid immersion, to suck a reader in so that they feel, however briefly, that they are part of the world you have painted.

The big things, the frameworks of magic systems, fantasy races, maps and religions, are important. They’re the context of the story, the foundations for the motivations of the characters. If the story took place in a house, they’re the bricks and mortar, the windows and doors and load-bearing walls.

The details, though, are the pictures hanging on the walls, the channel left showing on the TV, the way the corner of the sofa has toothmarks from a puppy that isn’t there any more. They’re the bookmarks in the books on the shelves, and the folded piece of cardboard under one of the kitchen table legs so it doesn’t wobble.

They’re the details that let you know the house is lived in, and not just a showhome or a sitcom set. So don’t forget them.

Where have you seen worldbuilding done well – or badly – in recent entertainment? Which authors have the knack of giving their worlds depth without interrupting the story?

For articles on fantasy, ancient history and writing fiction, visit Alice Leiper’s website, Ally’s Desk.

See Also:

• Using History as Inspiration for Fantasy
• Medieval Archery for Fantasy Writers
• Anachronistic Technology in a Fantasy Setting

What do sports brackets have to do with writing a story?

Almost everything.

A plot depends on conflict and contrast between its characters, and on building interest in them over time.

A tournament’s system is about matching opponents together and tracking how that changes.  It’s one of the simplest, purest methods there is for managing the intricacies of a plot, while staying focused on what makes it powerful.

As we’ll see, the bracketing concept needs only a few expansions to fit any kind of plotting into it.

Simple Brackets: Who’s after Who

Brackets in sports are used to match up opponents, and then show how the winners from those matchups go on to compete in turn.

The simplest kind of story to use this pattern would involve different characters who were each out to kill the others, ruin them, best them in a competition, or otherwise force them out of the plot.

For instance, the story of a cop breaking free of an interfering mayor and then facing off against a serial killer might show up as As the red markings show, each set of three lines is the elements of a scene, such as “the cop and mayor square off, and the cop wins.” (Of course for most stories, the brackets would only be tracking their most pivotal scenes, not the other events that build up between those. But we’ll get to that.)

Then again, this format shows how that the plot looks somewhat incomplete compared to classic tournaments, because the killer has nothing vital to do at the onset. Also, many stories would give our hero a mentor, friend, or such who makes his own move on the killer and comes to a tragic end, leaving the hero to avenge him:

By filling out the bracket with someone for the serial killer to beat (or specifically, kill), both sides now go into that final showdown with some dramatic weight–all from just two essential scenes before that. And judging by how crowded fiction is with dead mentors, partners, and the like, it’s clear that setting up a conflict with a previous conflict has real power.

Let’s consider one more aspect of a sports matchup that this plot could use.

Instead of plotting around two good guys and two bad, how about changing it to one hero against three villains?  Perhaps our cop goes against a genuinely corrupt mayor, a crime lord, and a serial killer, all enemies of each other:

Each plot has its advantages. Using three villains lets you surprise everyone with how the crime lord, whom our hero was hoping to bring in himself, gets taken out by a “simple” serial killer. Still, the version that leaves the hero’s ally in the brackets (and the crosshairs) builds sympathy for the hero’s loss, though it doesn’t have the sheer unpredictability of so many competing enemies.

You can fine-tune the story in many more ways just by altering who goes into which bracket slot, and then playing up expectations around that. Here, since the mayor gets settled first, that probably makes him (and the whole idea of city corruption) look like a lesser problem when compared to the crime lord, who’s probably pulling their strings… and a fun twist when that manipulator is beaten by a more ruthless killer.

Or a different version could have the crime lord outwit that killer, or swap positions so the seemingly cowardly mayor kills that killer, and emerges as the greater threat.

Survivors and Allies

Of course, most stories leave more than just one character standing at the end. So let’s consider how (just as many tournaments allow multiple losses before a participant must leave), a “story bracket” ought to allow enemies to run testing attacks and failed schemes before they’re finally eliminated.

For instance, suppose instead of being murdered the crime lord survives and joins forces with the cop to stop the killer:

In fact, maybe the killer has tried to attack the mayor first, and that failed attempt is what leaves him in need of the crime lord’s help, before that went bad:

By this time the killer starts to look like a wounded animal, beaten by one side and driven to try to work with another, and the blowup of that drives his ex-partner to the cop.  While in contrast, that cop has been able to bring down the mayor completely, and now makes an alliance with the crime lord work too.

Letting people interact in new ways can build up new interest… though allowing someone to go through more and more steps without anyone being eliminated does dilute some of the energy of a single-elimination “tournament.”

Also, let’s think again about which sides are in use, and what kind of balance they form between them.

Using that mayor alongside the two out-and-out criminals gives the story a wider scope, while replacing him with a third official crook would put more focus on the underworld. Or if the mayor was replaced by a simple thief, but the crime lord by a competing cop, the same pattern takes on new meaning.  It’s easier to believe the second cop, after failing to nab the killer, would join up with someone who’s now only a professional rival.

Or some slots in the brackets might go to whole other issues, subplots, or emotional challenges that are different from the practical ones that are usually the spine of the story. If the cop’s also trying to make time for his sick sister, that provides contrast with everything else–especially the times one plot interferes with (or ends up helping with) the other.

Just how different to make each point from the others is its own challenge.  Do you want tighter conflicts centered around one crime, or a wider net of things coming together? These are the types of options that open up when enemies and rivals are given enough ways to interact.

Steps on the Way

We’ve been charting the main incidents during which major characters cross paths. Yet there will also be smaller incidents that move the story forward.

Our cop will work through a series of clues and dead ends, while his enemies send throwaway thugs to attack him before the real move is made.

Since this is a finer detail, it might be better to chart this like so:

These steps might involve lesser characters who only occasionally affect the story. Our cop’s allies, or the crime lord’s minions, can stay in the background for a number of scenes, and then come to the foreground to make a difference.

Some of those characters may have a few scenes, or only one.

Keeping Track of the Momentum

More than anything else, a story draws its energy from its characters and their interactions.

Using brackets is a helpful way to track which characters cross one another, who ends up removed from the story (or otherwise changed or helped), and what interactions follow in turn. It’s all about keeping track of the momentum.

So, why not plan out a book like a bookie?

Also, do you find planning out the details of your plot to be helpful or harmful to your personal writing style?

About the Author:

Ken Hughes is a novelist, technical writer, and author of the Unified Writing Field Theory blog. For more of his musings and info on his latest book, SHADOWED, see kenhughesauthor.com.

See Also:

• Writing Without Pants – Does Outlining Kill Creativity?
• Secrets of Story Structure – Interview with Hollywood Writer Eric Luke
• Story vs Plot

J.R.R. Tolkien

This article is by Anne Marie Gazzolo.

In the essay, “On Fairy-Stories,” J.R.R. Tolkien speaks of a subject close to his heart. He had a life-long interest in and love for the genre, and approaches the topic as an author.

According to Tolkien, fairy-stories allow us as readers and authors to experience what he calls recovery, escape, and consolation. In our broken world, we need all three.

Such affords us the opportunity to profoundly change the way we view ordinary things and life itself.

Seeing the World Anew

The world of Faërie does indeed have all the things we are used to seeing, as Tolkien notes: “the seas, the sun, the moon, the sky…tree and bird, water and stone, wine and bread, and ourselves, mortal men, when we are enchanted”.

But we see these things in a new way while we travel through strange lands that at times become home to us.

We do not see merely a sea but the Sea and all that means to those who live near it or travel upon it. Wine and bread mean more to us when they are shared between heroes. Such has been dipped into the Cauldron of Story, and we savor the flavors that come from such a rich and heady mixture.

Can we look at a horse again the same way after encountering one in the world of Faërie, or look at the moon and not think of those we have met doing the same?

Escape from the Culture of Despair

If we are open to the potent power of the Faërie kingdom, it changes us, improves our outlook, and sharpens our senses. While the spell lasts, we do not see, touch, smell, hear, or taste things in the same way we did before.

We escape from the culture of death and despair that surrounds us, and enter a world where the same may hem the heroes about, but where they do not surrender to it. Such gives us the strength not to be overwhelmed ourselves.

If we are lucky, the magic does not fade after we reluctantly return to the Primary World, but is incorporated into our everyday life to enliven and enrich it.

We look at a sunset with new eyes and really smell the air after a spring rain. We recover the joy of children playing in the snow and catching flakes on their tongues.

The Consolation of the Happy Ending

Along with recovery and escape, another great gift from the realm of Faërie that we can give ourselves and our readers is, as Tolkien calls it, “the Consolation of the Happy Ending”.

He coined the term eucatastrophe to explain what he meant and calls it “the true form of fairy-tale, and its highest function”.

We desperately need to know that even if everything is falling apart around us, and all seems headed to disaster, that we can still experience the “sudden joyous ‘turn’” that saves our lives from utter ruin. Fairy-tales teach us this is possible.

Those who scoff and say “That only happens in stories” have not had the consolation of such eucatastrophic joy themselves. They do not realize such is possible in the Primary World. But it is.

Has entering the Perilous Realm of Faërie through stories affected you?  If so, how?

About the Author:

Anne Marie Gazzolo is the author of Moments of Grace and Spiritual Warfare in The Lord of the Rings, which includes a chapter on The Hobbit. It is available from WestBow Press. You can also visit her site at annemariegazzolo.com, and can connect with her on Facebook and Pinterest.

See Also:

• How Tolkien Influences My Writing
• J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Lord of the Rings”, and Free Will
• Tolkien’s Elves

Loki

When it comes to villains, we’ve seen the clichés.  Dark lords.  Psychopaths.  Petty super villains who kill their own henchmen.

We’ve also heard the advice.  Villains need personal goals.  Villains need depth.  Villains need to be the heroes of their own stories.

In my experience, conversations about villains get overshadowed by the question of whether a story is about good and evil, or the morally grey.  But as authors, we need to understand what that thematic choice means for developing our characters.

Do your villains embrace their villainy or attempt to justify it?

Knowing the answer to that question will help you create the character’s arc.

Villains might not change during the course of your novel, but at some point they crossed the threshold from acceptable citizens to villainy.  Some crossed that line fighting it, denying it, rationalizing it, or pointing to someone they believe to be worse.

Others claimed full agency and jumped across the threshold gleefully.  However they crossed that line, a villain’s descent into evil holds the potential to be one of the most compelling parts of a story.

Agents in Their Own Arcs

Becoming a villain isn’t something that just happens to you.  Even if you were raised by psychotic warlords or deranged magicians, you can make choices which undo some of that baggage.

At some point a villain, wrongheadedly or willfully, chooses his or her villainy.

Everyone has opportunities to grow in their lives, and usually, will face the difficult choice of choosing their future direction.  As with a typical character arc, the villain has a passion, goal, weakness or flaw which drives the character to change.  But in the case of a villain, the character chooses to turn towards villainy as a solution.

Perhaps they had evil mentors who destroyed their families, abused their puppies, and taught them that evil gets things done.  Or perhaps they didn’t fit in, and decided to adopt a maniacal laugh and obsess about killing our heroes.

In any case, a villain’s character arc provides an opportunity to explore what it is that causes someone to turn towards evil.

Drivers of the Plot

In many stories, villains are the driving force behind the plot.  Villains take actions which impact the heroes and force them to react.  Villains pull the strings which drive everyone else into action, until somebody stops them.

To serve in this role, a villain needs the power and influence to be a real threat to the hero.  He also needs motivation.

A personal conflict between the villain and the hero is one way to keep your plotline active and the threats imminent.  Henchmen, magic, secondary villains and influential arguments can also help to stoke the conflict.

But as the story progresses, and the hero becomes more assertive, the villain’s power should escalate.  Few things are as terrifying as seeing a killer gain more power, especially when that killer seeks to destroy beloved characters.  When your evil genius acquires his death ray, or your dark sorceress her medallion, make it powerful.

Foils to the Hero

In order to develop a villain, we need to understand the villain’s role as the foil of the hero.

Many new authors recoil from the idea of a foil because it seems simple and formulaic.  They think that it implies that the hero and villain are somehow opposites.  But that’s a cliché.

As a foil, the villain presents a series of threats which exploit the hero’s weaknesses, forcing the hero to grow and overcome them.  For this reason a villain is crucial to your hero’s character arc.

The Villain Problem

Because of their driving role in stories, villains can become more interesting than the heroes.  Sometimes authors refer to this as “the villain problem.”  We want our heroes, not our villains, to define our stories.

We can circumvent “the villain problem” by making our heroes more proactive, especially towards the end of the story.  Heroes need to have agency, and shouldn’t be defined only by how they react to plot developments.

Rather than having the hero simply react to the villain, we must also give the hero opportunities to become the villain’s foil.  The hero must learn to exploit the villain’s weaknesses, until he is forced to surrender, escalate, or change.

In other words, give your hero a few moments of awesome to get back at the villain.  These moments show that the villain has served his function in the story by forcing the hero to grow.

Great Villains

Who is your favorite fictional villain?  What makes him or her compelling?

Share your pick(s) in the comments below.

See Also:

• Using Plot to Reveal Character Transformation
• 5 Characteristics of an Epic Villain
• How Can I Create More Believable Characters?

Albert Einstein

“When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come to the conclusion that the gift of fantasy has meant more to me than my talent for absorbing positive knowledge.”

-Albert Einstein