WORLD BUILDING

Pair of muddy hands with steam rising from them, looking like magic

A Guide to Creating Universes That Don't Collapse Under Their Own Weight

Whether you're penning a novel, scripting a film, or designing a video game, your imagined world must feel as solid as the ground beneath your protagonist's feet. That means it needs rules—logical, consistent, and sometimes inconvenient rules. Good worldbuilding isn't just about dragons and starships; it's about believability, structure, and giving your readers something they can truly fall into (without breaking their literary necks).

What on Earth Is Worldbuilding?

Worldbuilding is the process of constructing the setting where your story unfolds. This includes everything from geography and weather to politics, magic systems, fashion, and food. It also sets the emotional tone and philosophical underpinnings of your story.

Think of it as setting the stage for your characters to strut and fret their hour—your job is to build the theatre and write the play.

You don't need to know everything upfront, but the more you sketch out, the more authentic your world will feel. Authenticity is key. In speculative fiction, it's what makes readers nod and go, Yes, this makes sense, even if your main character is riding a sentient tree into battle.

It's All Fun and Games Until You Invent Quidditch

Creating original elements—from entirely new species to sports involving flying broomsticks—is harder than it looks.

Tolkien didn't just come up with hobbits; he crafted their language, customs, and place in the world. Rowling's Quidditch isn't just a quirky game—it's woven into the magical culture.

When you're staring down a blank page, creating something truly original can feel overwhelming. But skipping this step can leave your world feeling flimsy, and in fantasy writing, flimsy is fatal.

The World Must Make Sense (Even if it Doesn't Exist)

This isn't just about inventing cool stuff. It's about consistency. Your weather must influence the crops. The crops affect the diet. The diet might shape local customs, and the customs reflect religious beliefs. It's all interconnected.

Think of worldbuilding like dominoes: one design choice topples into another. Everything should fit.

Here's a helpful checklist to keep your world from wobbling:

Geography and Environment
Government and Politics
Economy and Trade
Daily Life and Customs
Religion and Belief Systems
History and Lore
Language and Communication
Technology and/or Magic

Beware the Procrastination Rabbit Hole

Worldbuilding is deliciously distracting—and that's the danger.

You may find yourself deep-diving into the politics of the Mushroom Council of the Eastern Swamp instead of, you know, actually writing the book. Or worse, your beautiful, intricate creation becomes so unwieldy that your reader needs a spreadsheet to follow the plot.

Keep it simple. The goal is clarity, not complexity.

And here's the other trap: you'll want to cram every glorious detail into your manuscript. Resist. Most of your research will not make it in—and that's a good thing. Your job is to know the world, not show all of it.

Instead, let your knowledge guide the little things: the way your heroine struggles to breathe in her corset, or the smell of dung smoke drifting from the market square. These small touches carry far more weight than an encyclopaedia dump.

Your World Is Not the Plot (Stop Letting It Steal the Spotlight)

One of the biggest mistakes writers make is letting the world become the story.

Yes, it's marvellous. Yes, you spent hours on the twelve factions of the Cloud Priests. But readers aren't here for a guided tour—they want a story.

Repeat after me: The world is the backdrop, not the plot.

Think of The Hunger Games. Brilliant world, but that's not what hooks readers. It's Katniss. The drama. The stakes. Worldbuilding enhances the story; it doesn't replace it.

Ease Readers In: One Weird Thing at a Time

Good worldbuilding doesn't shout. It whispers.

Take George R.R. Martin's introduction of direwolves. He doesn't pause the narrative to give us a zoological rundown. We learn what we need through the characters' reactions and Bran's comparisons to familiar animals.

Direwolves feel real because we're given just enough context, filtered through the eyes of a child.

Don't assault your reader with three pages on the mating rituals of your sentient rock creatures. Give them a goat. Or a vase of tulips. Anchor your world with familiar images and introduce one new element at a time.

And please—don't rename a dog a glarkhound if it behaves exactly like a dog. If it barks like a dog, wags its tail like a dog, and licks its own rear like a dog… call it a dog.

Show Us Ourselves, But Weird

Fantasy doesn't exist in a vacuum. At its best, it holds up a distorted mirror to our reality and reflects truths we might not otherwise see. Greed, jealousy, power—fantasy can explore these with a freedom that realism can't.

But with great freedom comes great responsibility. Once you make up your rules, you must stick to them. You can't just tweak the laws of gravity mid-scene because they've become inconvenient.

Be consistent. Even in your chaos.

Mind the Dump: Navigating the Murky Waters of Information Overload

Ah, the dreaded infodump. That irresistible urge to pour every painstakingly crafted detail of your imaginary world into the opening chapters like it's a Wikipedia article. We've all been there. You've invented a twelve-month calendar based on lunar gods and a socio-political hierarchy involving tree-dwelling diplomats—how could you not share that immediately?

But resist, dear writer. Your world is not a manual. Your story is not a lecture. Worldbuilding should feel like oxygen: essential, invisible, and taken for granted.

Let Your Story Do the Talking

The golden rule: don't tell us your world exists—show us it does.

Weave your worldbuilding directly into the plot, letting it peek through daily life, casual conversation, rituals, job roles, clothing choices, or even what the characters curse about when they stub their toe.

Instead of saying: “In the land of Ulrath, everyone worships the Fire Deity, Skarnak,” show us your characters lighting ceremonial flames, whispering prayers, or recoiling from sacrilegious acts. Let the world reveal itself in action.

Dialogue: The Unsung Hero of Exposition

Dialogue is a brilliant tool to drop nuggets of information—without sounding like a narrator with a clipboard. Let characters discuss history, politics, religion, or impending doom in the way real people talk: sometimes tangential, often heated, rarely monologued.

That said, beware the “As you know, Bob…” trap—when characters explain things they both already know, purely for the reader's benefit. No one says, “As you know, we've been ruled by the Crystal Empress since the Second Ice Reign.” Unless they're being sarcastic. Or drunk.

Still, a well-placed explanation can work, especially if it fits the context and deepens the plot or relationships. Just don't overdo it.

Don't Lecture Me

“Show, don't tell” isn't the holy grail of writing, but it is a nifty scalpel for trimming away the fat of over-explaining. Use physical cues, smells, textures, behaviour—whatever it takes to bring your world to life.

Don't say it's cold. Show a character's breath fogging in the air as they struggle to fasten a fur-lined boot with frozen fingers.

Give readers things to see, hear, smell, and feel. Build atmosphere, not encyclopaedias.

Less Is Sometimes More: Don't Over-Describe

Tempting as it is to describe every brick of your floating citadel or the precise shade of moss on a druid's robe, consider what actually matters. Will this detail:

Set tone?
Show culture?
Hint at a plot point?
Flesh out a character?

If the answer is “none of the above,” cut it. You're not designing IKEA instructions—you're writing a novel.

Characters: Your Built-In Tour Guides

Your characters are the ideal vehicles for showing the world through lived experience. A highborn noble won't see the world the same way as a peasant rebel—and that contrast is your worldbuilding.

Different jobs, beliefs, customs, and class divisions all shape how your characters view and move through your world. Use that.

Conflict: The World's Pressure Points

Nothing reveals a world like tension. Cultural clashes, wars, moral dilemmas, even petty squabbles over land rights—these are where the cracks in your fictional society show. Let those moments speak volumes about your world without ever needing to explain it.

Like Earth, your world has history—and history is often messy. Use that mess to your narrative advantage.

Symbols Speak Volumes

Statues, architecture, public rituals, flags, and relics—these all carry the weight of culture and history. A crumbling statue of a forgotten god tells us more than two paragraphs of exposition ever could.

Use symbols to hint at lore, cultural values, even secrets. Your readers will pick up on more than you think—trust them.

Don't Explain Everything (Really, Don't)

Yes, you've created an entire economy based on crystal-powered airships and an interstellar tea-trading guild. No, we don't need all of it in Chapter One.

Leave space for mystery. Let readers ask questions. Inference is powerful—it makes your audience feel clever, involved, and invested.

Slow and Steady Wins the Race

Especially in epic or grimdark fantasy, the temptation is to unleash the entire universe upfront. Don't. Give readers a foothold—a village, a family, a moment—and slowly expand outward. Think zoom lens, not world atlas.

Let the world grow with the story, rather than crush it under its sheer weight.

Flashbacks & Memories: Let the Past Speak

When used sparingly, flashbacks and character memories are wonderful tools for slipping in world lore without disrupting the current timeline. A character recalling a battle or a betrayal can add layers of context and emotion and deliver essential backstory.

Just don't overdo it. No one likes a memory lane traffic jam.

Epigraphs & Artifacts: Sneaky Worldbuilding Extras

Pop a quote, proverb, or passage from an in-world text at the start of each chapter and suddenly your universe has depth and history. These epigraphs can hint at philosophy, law, religion, or political unrest—without any character ever saying a word about it.

You can also drop in letters, news clippings, wanted posters, diary entries—tactile breadcrumbs for readers to follow. It's a subtle and immersive way to deliver information without breaking your narrative stride.

Show the Shape, Not the Blueprints

Think of worldbuilding as a stained-glass window. Let light through it. Let your readers admire the colours and patterns as they move through the story. Don't tape a building schematic to the pane and expect them to be moved.

Trust your story. Trust your characters. And trust your reader.

The world will be felt—even if not everything is said.

8 Tips to Build Your World Without Losing the Plot

Here's a condensed list of worldbuilding essentials to get your universe up and running:

Start With What Excites You
Language nerd? Start with dialects. Love apocalyptic wastelands? Begin there. Begin where your curiosity sparks.
Lay Down the Law(s)
Who's in charge? What's forbidden? If there's magic, who controls it—and what's the cost?
Pick Your Genre and Setting
Are we on an alternate Earth? A distant planet? A magical realm? Knowing this sets your story's tone and limits.
Sketch the Environment
What's the weather like? Any deadly storms, droughts, or angry volcano gods? Environment shapes society.
Build the Culture
What do people believe? How do they live, work, love, and die? Culture adds soul to your world.
Mind Your Language
Is there a common tongue? Taboo words? Slang? Language reveals hierarchy, conflict, and character.
Dig Into the Past
What historical events shaped this world? Wars, revolutions, or gods falling from the sky? Backstory builds depth.
Steal Like a Scholar
Study how other writers do it. Don’t plagiarise, but let Tolkien, Le Guin, and Pratchett inspire you.

Final Thoughts: Let Your World Breathe

Worldbuilding is like an iceberg—most of it should stay below the surface. Let your characters live in your world naturally. Let your reader explore gradually. Trust your setting to support your story, not smother it.

Write boldly. Build bravely.

But always remember: it's the story we came for.