Besides, as Jack Burton said, it’s all in the reflexes.
Sort of.
First, congrats and good luck to Katy on her debut. May Revolution World find its perfect audience, and everything go smoothly and successfully on the launch. Katy is running a contest, by the way. Name a book you’re reading in the comments section below and win a copy of Revolution World.
As Courtney stated before, this week’s topic is World-building. World-building isn’t just for high epic fantasy. It’s a requirement for any novel with a setting. Thing is, most writers only notice the world-building aspects of a story when it isn’t based in reality. Why? Because we’re immersed in it every day of our lives and don’t really see it until we venture into unfamiliar territory like Northern Ireland in the 1970s. It’s then that writers are overwhelmed with the massive data required to make “reality” happen: geography, culture, language, religion, politics, economy, history, races, technology, ecology, physics, law, and weather patterns. These things are all required from any writer, and this is only the most cursory of lists. Writers also have to be careful how they convey all this information. Otherwise, the reader is drowned in a sea of boring facts. So it was that I was taught to think of world-building as an iceberg. The writer knows the whole gi-normous thing while the reader only sees the ickle bit that juts up above the surface of the water. But if the reader doesn’t see the stuff below the surface, why bother? Well, we all know that even the unseen bits of an iceberg have catastrophic effects on objects around them. Readers, whether they know it or not, expect it because that’s how reality operates. So, how does one shoe-horn an iceberg into the story without boring the reader to death?
We’ve all heard the expression “Less is more.” right?
What you don’t spell out for the reader is every bit as important as what you do. So, telling details are the writer’s best friend. Don’t waste opportunities. Character names can speak volumes about culture, language, and even politics. Don’t think this is true of reality? Think again. When I interviewed people who had lived in Northern Ireland in the 1970s one story kept resurfacing — that of walking on the street and being stopped by a gang. The gang-leader asks the potential victim: “Are you a Liam or are you a Billy?” (“Liam” being a nationalist Catholic variant on the name “William” and “Billy” being a loyalist Protestant variant.) Give the wrong answer, and you’re up for a beating. Apparently, this was so common that there’s even a well-circulated joke about it. The potential victim replies: “I’m an Abraham.” The gang leader turns to the thugs behind him and says, “Hey, Ahab. We’ve got one for you.” So it is in Of Blood and Honey that the nationalist Catholic characters who are political or involved in the conflict tend to have Irish names. (Liam, Oran, Éamon, Níal.) The loyalist Protestants tend to have English ones. Even those who are non-political have Irish names spelled phonetically in English so that they can pass. (Kathleen, Sheila, Moira) It’s a subtle point, but the detail exists. Dialog can reflect a native language even if the only language used is English. (Look up Hiberno-English.) I let the reader figure things out for themselves as much as I can. Readers are smart. Let them be smart. If you explain, don’t over-explain. Worst comes to worst, they’ll look it up. Even if they can’t look it up because it’s made up, curiosity will hook a reader like nothing else. So, it’s okay to leave certain things blank. When characters or plot bump up against the blank spot and there is a reaction, the reader will be effected more than if you’d printed it in bold, capital, gothic letters.
One more great stupid writer trick: even analogies can be used to slip in telling details. For example, in a scene where Mary Kate and Liam are arguing about his membership in the IRA. The conversation switches from English to Irish because admitting such a thing will result in very long, unpleasant jail time. The danger is emphasized by Liam’s rapidly beating heart. I chose to describe it “like a bin lid slamming against a wall.” That wasn’t an accident. During the Troubles whenever the British Army or police came into a neighborhood to make arrests or shut down a disturbance, women and children banged trash can lids against the sides of buildings to warn their neighbors of the threat. Do I explain it in the book? No. I show it happening maybe once during a riot, if that. Will readers know this on sight? A very few of them will. Nonetheless, it’s there and provides background data. If you’re a writer, try it out sometime.
Paul (@princejvstin) on March 1, 2011
I’ve heard that there are strong advantages to writing in the real world in terms of worldbuilding–that a lot of the work, as it were, is already done for you.
On the other hand, it sounds like there is as much, or even more, research involved in using aspects of a real world setting in your worldbuilding–because getting the details wrong is noticed more if you use the real world.
Currently reading: An ARC of The Unremembered, Peter Orullan
Mike Reid on March 1, 2011
Good points. If everything is spelled out, where is the room for imagination? I love the idea of dropping little hints here and there about the bigger picture – the iceberg is a great analogy.
Currently reading: The Name of the Wind, Patrick Rothfuss
Stina on March 1, 2011
Paul, that’s exactly what they tell you, isn’t it? That somehow it’s easier to use real-world stuff. That’s only true if the reader is familiar with the real world setting in question. If they aren’t, then you’ve every bit as much world-building to do as any other fantasy writer with the added stress of making sure your information is right.
It was tough, but it was worth all the work, I think.
Stina on March 1, 2011
Thanks, Mike! I believe that art is one part what the observer brings to the picture as it were. It’s interactive. Writing fiction is an art form. The result is interactive. The reader fills in all sorts of things for themselves. The trick is to utilize those blank spots in the most powerful way possible as well as selecting the right spots to leave blank. Don’t be coy with information the reader needs and/or would know to understand the story. Don’t *cheat* the reader.
I wish I could say I learned this concept from English class. I didn’t. I learned it from Art. (My degree is in animation.) Look really close at an oil painting sometime. Pick one of the old masters. If you look close enough, you’ll find that there are no thick lines drawn around objects. The edges of things consist of broken lines. Our brains fill in the rest and create depth where it isn’t. Outlining things — drawing too heavy a line around them — flattens it. It creates a cartoon.
Greg Lincoln on March 1, 2011
I often find that what is left out is something that draws me into a story further… I look forward to reading Blood and Honey now that my partner is finished with it…. At the moment I’m reading Yarm by Jon Armstrong who’s novel grey I loved listening to him read…. He is one of those writers that allows the world to grow organically in the readers minds….
Julia on March 1, 2011
Stina, I’ll certainly add your book to my TBR list. I’m intrigued and impressed with the way you describe this. I’d love to hear more about the intersection between writing and art — I mean, the observation about painting you describe above.
If it’s still permissible to continue entering the contest: Today I was rereading Storm Front by Jim Butcher. I’ve been sick with the flu, so it’s time to return to some familiar comforts.
Stina on March 1, 2011
Greg, ah ha! I kept wondering where she could’ve gotten the “soundtrack” from! (I’ve not given very many of those out.) That’s great. I’ve not read any Jon Armstrong. I’ll have to look him up once I can read for pleasure again.
Stina on March 1, 2011
Julia, thanks! There’s another art concept that overlaps (in a way) with writing. In animation, video, and film each has an optimal frames per second rate. Believe it or not, the number doesn’t tend to be as high as one might think. You have to leave out certain information to keep the motion smooth, polished and natural. Make frame rate comparisons between live video and film sometime. It’s pretty interesting.
I could go on about positive and negative space and tension too — which can be applied to writing humor, but I’m afraid I’d be boring the hell out of folks. Sometimes I can err on over-analyzing too. LOL. In any case, there’s a balance one needs to strike. Each author handles it differently just as each artist does. That’s part of the art as well.
Oh, and I love Jim Butcher.
Pip Hunn on March 2, 2011
Interesting post! This is a great illustration of the traps that beset world-creators – there’s so much to take in when you’re building your own world. It’s easy to overlook something that seems irrelevant to you -who cares how that mountain range was formed? – that may be more relevant to your readers’ comprehension.
I’ve started to put together a massive (massive!) list of questions that world builders can ask themselves. It’s great to try and work out all the angles to approach creativity with!
Cheers;
Pip
Currently reading: Of Blood and Honey, Stina Leicht
Tiyana on March 2, 2011
“Outlining things — drawing too heavy a line around them — flattens it. It creates a cartoon.”
What an interesting way to look at that! I love how people can use what they’ve learned in their careers and hobbies as a lense with which to “see” other aspects of life.
What I’m currently reading: The Heat of Ramadan, by Steven Hartov.
Steven Hartov on July 22, 2011
Dear Tiyana:
I’m curious to know what you thought about THOR. Of course, it was my first published novel and a bit long, so you might be still at it. Feel free to be brutally honest; that’s really what all of us writers need.
Best,
Steve
stina on March 3, 2011
Hi Pip!
I’d say it was a trap for all fiction writers, frankly. And how the mountain range was formed only matters to the reader if you, the writer, make it somehow important to the plot. I don’t want to make it sound like every single detail is important. Surely, there are some that just aren’t. That’s the trick to it, finding that sweet spot between too much detail and too little. Know what I mean? I can’t be much more specific than that because what works in one writer’s style won’t entirely work in another’s. (Just like in art.) Just be conscious of your choices.
Of topic… I went to High School with someone we nicknamed Pippin because her last name was Nipper. So, I had to grin when I saw the name.
Hope you enjoy the book!
stina on March 3, 2011
Tyana, drawing from life experience is something we all do to varying degrees. It’s part of what makes us unique in our perspectives. I think that’s a wonderful thing too. It’s also a good reason why writers take a long time to “mature” as artists. We draw off of our experiences. That’s tough to do when you haven’t lived much or for long.