Two Ways To Create A World

Before I wrote Bane of Souls, I did a lot of world-building in preparation. At the time, this was unusual for me, but I didn’t feel time pressure because I’d only started working on it whilst trying to get a separate (and doomed-to-fail) story traditionally published. So, I tried to do as much background work as possible. Continuity was a big weakness of mine, and having background info ready and waiting helps both keep the world consistent and provides immediate ideas for little snippets you need (for example, social habits might include smoking, visiting cockpits and bare knuckle boxing).

This stood me in good stead, and the world created served as the foundation (with later additions) not only for Bane of Souls, but Journey to Altmortis and a future trilogy (first part, Kingdom Asunder, due for a December release).

However, I accidentally discovered a completely different approach when writing comedy. My world-building for Sir Edric was zero. I made up the incidental aspects (brandy being Andelic, elves having Greek-ish names, the Ursk eating humans) as I went along. Reviewers praised the world-building but, whereas I’d put months into Bane of Souls’ background, I’d done sod all for Sir Edric.

I’m a cautious sort of chap, and my writing method probably reflects that. So it was a bit of a surprise to find that the most neglected aspect of the comedy went down very well.

This does, I think, highlight an important point that’s relevant to both approaches. You’re not writing a guided tour of the lovely, or horrid, world you’ve created. World-building only matters insofar as it touches the characters and plot. And as showing is almost always better than telling, it should be, at it’s best, indistinguishable from the story. It’s the antithesis of an info-dump, the desire is to get the reader to learn about the world without even realising they are.

Maybe that’s why the Sir Edric approach worked so well. There’s little description, but a lot of action and dialogue. An inspiration for this is the approach adopted in Outlaws of the Marsh, a Chinese classic I bang on about sometimes. It’s brimming with action. You don’t need to be told Sagacious Lu is hard as nails, you learn it when he flings a gang of thugs into the nearest cess pit.

So, maybe a lot of background work isn’t just unnecessary, but a backward step. After all, I’m not here to write a guidebook for the Kuhrland or Denland or Felaria, but to write an entertaining story.

It’s worth pointing out a substantial difference between the two styles, though. I write comedy, for Sir Edric, from a single perspective. The eponymous knight is the centre of the story, the world, the perspective. Just about everything is filtered through his prism (hence why attractive women will get more description than plainer ladies). Kingdom Asunder and other serious writing is done from multiple perspectives. This means getting continuity right for both the world and things like timing the plot is more complicated.

I think the single POV approach of Sir Edric lends itself more naturally to spontaneity, as well as making it easier to keep things consistent. It’s not an area where there’s a right or wrong answer, because the two approaches both have merit, but I think it’s interesting that, even for a single writer, the two can work despite being completely different.

Thaddeus

Humanoids… thousands of them!

Although my main fiction genre is fantasy I do watch sci-fi and occasionally read it (on that note, I’ll post an interview later this month with Toby Frost about his forthcoming sci-fi comedy A Game Of Battleships).

One of the problems/features that sci-fi and fantasy share is that there are often various races, but they’re all (well, almost all) overtly humanoid. Elves are humans with pointy ears, likewise Vulcans. Orcs are ugly humans with poorly developed social skills. Bajorans are humans with a slightly crinkly nose. Borg are humans who really like Google Glass.

On TV there’s a pretty fair explanation for this: endless special effects and makeup cost a lot, and it’s much easier to have simply put on some pointy ears. And there are exceptions (the daleks being perhaps the best-known).

But should this be the case? It seems astoundingly unlikely that if intelligent life has evolved elsewhere in the galaxy that they’d be very similar to us. (Whilst it’s true that convergent evolution on Earth means that, at an early stage, dolphin and human embryos are indistinguishable and most higher mammals have the same basic internal organ layout this convergence has occurred in the same world).

Fantasy has slightly more leeway for such convenience, as stories often take place on a single world, and the sometimes direct role of gods in evolution (plus magic) gives a convenient get-out clause. But sci-fi, to a greater or lesser extent, must aspire to be at least vaguely scientifically credible.

Certain features (the ability to sense light, physically manipulate the world in a dextrous manner, communicate and an advanced brain) seem essential, but there’s no guarantee the same orders of animal life (mammals, reptiles etc) would have evolved.

Any species advanced enough to travel on an interstellar basis would presumably also have access to genetic technology (assuming, of course, that they had genes), which could have significant implications.

As far as motivation goes, most sci-fi/fantastical races are seen as having the same basic drives as humans, with perhaps a slant towards conquest and dominion (orcs and Klingons), acquisition (the Ferengi) or peaceful isolation (the Nox). The only guarantee would be that a species would seek to thrive and survive, as that’s the basis of all species. Given how warlike humans are, one might suspect that avoiding or eliminating us would be the most rational course of action from an alien race.

Of course, another issue for sci-fi/fantasy is taking a species seriously. The Ferengi were originally intended to be the new villains of The Next Generation, but because they looked more comical than frightening they ended up becoming pathologically capitalist instead of a warring race.

And, in defence of sci-fi originality, at least it doesn’t re-use species so often as fantasy. Whilst humans are fair enough, it’s pretty commonplace to read of elves and dwarves and orcs (although not hobbits, interestingly, which are firmly seen as Tolkien’s particular species).

I’ll be introducing a new race (ahem, humanoid, it must be said) in Kingdom Asunder, and I might well bring back one that was used in Journey to Altmortis.

Thaddeus