Jun 112013
 

There’s a problem that comes when you build a storyworld as time permits over several years – the real world keeps on turning. And people in that real world keep doing cool things that shape and change your thinking. New developments in science and technology keep revolutionizing the world, making the speculative and fantastical ordinary. Or maybe that’s just because I write science fiction.

It’s just about the last item on my priority list, but my storyworld New Glory shakes more and more into place every few months. At first, I’d thought to build it by developing aspects I found interesting…but that didn’t last long. Then, I thought I’d build it by developing aspects I needed for the story I was working on at the moment. That was similarly doomed. Oddly enough, neither was the right approach. I’ve needed to work on the city both ways at the same time.

This has a lot to do with the fact that a world is a series of systems. Any scientist could tell you this, but it took forever for my inner former informal science teacher to really catch on to what that meant in creating a fictional world. So, if you take on the brave challenge of creating a fictional world, don’t do what I did and create multiple layers within the same city your first time out. Instead, identify the basic systems in play — biological, geographical, political, etc. — and start fleshing them out, taking note of where and how they intersect and affect each other. Then, you can explore those intersections a bit more closely.

Often, you’ll find that in exploring these system seams, you’ll create points of tension that will make your world that much more interesting to write in and that will keep you coming back to write in that world more often.

Aug 152012
 

I’m not sure my goodreads account will corroborate this, but probably 75%-85% of everything I’ve read or watched over the course of my life has been classified as either fantasy or science fiction. As a result, I grew up with a magic wand and boxes turned into spaceships and futuristic race cars, and wishing for any number of mythological beasts as pets. I’d noticed that the characters did things I did, but I noticed more how they did it (in terms of props and objects) than thinking about what it meant.

When I was in high school, someone started complaining about how the off-duty outfits in Star Trek: The Next Generation resembled a type of resort-ware. I’m a symbologist by nature, so I’d been focused on the uniforms and everything that denoted Starfleet and the Federation…and the various alien races. I hadn’t thought about it. I’d gotten as far as thinking about the lack of currency (which wasn’t really. They used a credit system that was effectively invisible in the show.) after a history lesson on bartering and the development of a local economy. That was it.

It wasn’t until I started playing around with my (at the time) cyberpunk story setting that I really started thinking about the practicalities of creating a political unit, in my case a city. I came across this quote somewhere: A country without borders falls off the map. And I started thinking about geography classes I’d sat through, where the teachers kept making the point that natural markers were often the easiest way to mark off a new country’s territory. It’s why we so often see a mountain range, a river, a large body of water, or some other distinctive landform at an edge of a country or state.

It’s a brilliant way of claiming an unmistakable border…right up until weather and erosion get a hold of these borders and change them over years. The landform changes. The understood boundary changes. And the more it happens, the more it changes the edge of the country and all war breaks out while people on either side of the border try to decide how to handle this natural change. If you’re creating a country/kingdom, giving it a natural border is a great opening to exploring how the country/kingdom handles a neighborly conflict.

And while we’re on the topic of the effect of geographical features, most successful major cities started out as a small port on a river, lake, or sea. I’ll give you a minute to go scan a map. I certainly had to when someone told me that. More often than not, these ports develop on rivers or lakes that have rivers passing through. It makes sense. People need easy ways to move things around, and for a long time water was the fastest, most effective way to do it. So when you’re developing a city, it’s probably in your best interest to set it near a major source of water, even when it’s a city whose origins you haven’t thought through yet. (In my case, this particular lesson totally screwed up the city/region I’d been building for a few years. I suddenly had to figure out how my beautiful city on the plains could get a hold of some water. I still haven’t resolved it to my satisfaction.)

This is just covering the geographical and political components of worldbuilding, but it does affect the biological (animals and plants) aspect of creating your world, too. If you guys remind me, I’ll try to address that in a future post because understanding that is actually how I landed a freelance game writing gig earlier this year.

Aug 082012
 

(Full Disclosure: I’m currently listening to Brandon Sanderson’s worldbuilding lecture from his creative writing course at BYU.)

About six years ago, I stumbled across a writing contest (that turned out to be really bad for being attached to a notable writing convention). The prompt inspired me to want to create a story for a Cyberpunk 2020 media I’d created (but never played) for a friend’s campaign a few years before that. I was so excited. I was finally going to try writing a gritty world. So I pulled out my trusty Percolator and started combing through it for my notes related to the character and her world.

And I got side-tracked. By a bunch of other, interesting notes. That completely changed my intended story. (This is one of the perks of creating a Swipe File.)

I started exploring a combination of notes, dialogue, and ideas, eventually pulling together a story about a reformed assassin. The story built around the Megacorps who effectively ran the city (a note I’d been sitting on for years), and a personal security device (that had been stuck in my head after watching a bad made-for-television sci-fi movie) that was part of the story’s big reveal. I named this cyberpunk-inspired city New Glory to reflect its awesomeness. And the resulting short story didn’t even get looked at, simply because the judges decided not to look at all the entries. (The organizer effectively told me to get over myself when I asked why.)

New Glory was forgotten shortly thereafter because I was dragged back into writing fan fiction. But then I wanted to explore a whole new set of ideas I’d linked together in the Percolator, and a NaNoWriMo project was born. Suddenly, New Glory wasn’t a cyberpunk city. It was a futuristic city…with a traditional monastery to its east. Which was then joined by other monasteries.

Yeah, it became confusing, and a lot more convoluted. I had to take another break from New Glory before I imploded it under the weight of its no-longer-appropriate name.

Now, I’m revisiting New Glory, and I’m realizing there were some good ideas present. And I’m rebuilding it with an eye toward the kinds of stories I know I want to tell in this city. It’s amazing how much cleaner the reconstruction is going, still informed by appropriate ideas from the Percolator.

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