Bring Your World to Life with Detail
FYI: This post contains affiliate links. If you use these links to buy something we may earn a commission. For more information click here and thanks, as always, for your support!
You can answer all the worldbuilding questions you want, but no amount of preparation will make your world feel real.
The real magic has to happen on the page as you walk that fine line between providing enough description and avoiding the dreaded info-dump (read more about that pitfall in this blog post). Sometimes, writers are tempted to paint with a broad brush—sketching out the basics and leaving the rest to the reader’s imagination. But being too bland and holding back will leave readers with too many questions. They’ll emerge feeling as if they read a story set in an empty box, not in a richly imagined, plausible world. On the other hand, writers sometimes think they have to include everything, even mildly relevant to their stories. They end up lecturing at the reader, bogging down the story with pages upon pages of irrelevant information.
Great worldbuilding comes down to details. But not just any details will do. We need the super-specific, itty-bitty details that make your world feel unbelievably real while also serving the immediate action of the story.
Readers need to feel as if you, the author, stood there in that fantastical setting breathing in the scents and observing the finer details firsthand. But they also need to feel that your POV character is the one experiencing the setting and conveying their impressions to you. No matter how fantastical or futuristic your worldbuilding, your sensory and setting descriptions should feel as real as anything in a realistic novel. But how do you actually make that happen?
When it comes to line-level writing techniques, it’s best to learn from example. So, without further ado, here are some examples of world building details that will help your worldbuilding leap off the page and take on a life of its own.
Example #1: The Bone Doll’s Twin by Lynn Flewelling
Flewelling is an underappreciated dark fantasy writer. There are countless examples of delightful details in her writing, but this one comes from the first novel in the Tamir Triad. In this scene, two POV characters, Iya and Arkoniel are traveling to visit the oracle at Afra. We’re in Iya’s head at the moment as she describes the trail:
The walls of the pass pressed close to the trail here, and centuries of seekers had left their names and supplications to Illior Lightbearer scratched into the dark stone. Some had simply scratched the god’s thin crescent moon; these lined the trail like countless tilting smiles. Arkoniel had left one of his own earlier that morning to commemorate his first visit.
This three sentence description tells us so much about the religion and traditions of this world.
Not only can we imagine the stone walls of the pass pressing in around the travelers, we can see those haphazard crescent moons dotting the walls. This moment works particularly well because we get a hint at the variation in how people approach this ritual. We get the sense that some painstakingly carve words into the walls, approaching their supplications with reverance and seriousness, while others, perhaps those in a hurry, simply make do with a little crescent moon scratched in at random. We also get the sense that others, like Iya, don’t even bother marking their passage anymore. The excitement of youth is gone and the journey to Afra has become a chore like any other in the life of an older wizard.
It’s just like religion in the real world. Some appreciate every holiday and religious observant with zealous fervor. Others simply go through the motions, keeping up the pretense of respectability and social expectation even if they’ve lost faith along the way. That variation—the sense that not everyone approaches this observance in the same way creates realism and makes the world feel perfectly lived-in.
That’s your goal too. How can you incorporate details that show readers the variation in beliefs, practices, and traditions of your world. Bonus points if you can do it with the same marvelous efficiency that Flewelling demonstrates.
Example #2: The Mask of Mirrors by M.A. Carrick
In this example, M.A. Carrick (the penname that represents the writing duo of Marie Brennan and Alyc Helms), is introducing us to the complex political world of Nadezra as the opening of the Rook & Rose trilogy. Rather than boring readers with a passage of exposition about the political structure, the authors root their description in one character’s experience and filter it through a conflict that she is facing in the present. Namely, her family’s insolvency and growing financial desperation. Here it is:
She remembered a time when House Tramentis had been as powerful as the Indestor family. They had held a seat in the Cinquerat, the five-person council that ruled Nadezra, and charters that allowed them to conduct trade, contract mercenaries, control guilds. Every variety of wealth, power, and prestige in Nadezra had been theirs. Now, despite Donaia’s best efforts and her late husband’s before her, it had come to this: scrabbling at one Dusk Road trade charter as though she could milk enough blood from that stone to pay off all the Traementis debts.
This description is relatively dry and it comes close to overburdening the reader with details. But it works because of the context. Donaia has a reason to be thinking about the political & economic structure of their community. The authors also strike a balance between generalities and specifics. We don’t find out the names of every family in the Cinquerat, but we do learn one specific name—Indestor—that Donaia envies. The list of Cinquerat privileges is also a bit generic. But we get one super specific detail in the last line that makes up for it. Instead of a generic trading charter, it’s the Dusk Road charter. We may not know what the Dusk Road is or where it lies, but we get the sense that it lives on a map that we could find and point to.
This example is also notable in its restraint. We don’t get the full history of the Traementis family, or the Cinquerat, or Nedezra in this scene. We don’t find out what the Dusk Road is, where it is, or what kind of trading charter Donaia is working on. We get just enough information to ground us in this new world and the scene. Then, the writers move us on to the action.
Example #3: The Midnight Bargain by C.L. Polk
Whether you’re writing about magic or futuristic technology, you not only have to describe the mundane aspects of the world, you also have to find a way to make the impossible (or merely unimaginable) feel real. Rendering the feeling of casting a spell or helping readers understand what it’s like to jump into hyperdrive requires a simultaneous feat of storytelling and imagination.
Let’s see how C.L. Polk does it in the opening scene of The Midnight Bargain as the protagonist seeks out a magic book in an otherwise normal bookstore:
The doorbell jingled as Beatrice crossed into the bookkeeper’s domain. Harriman’s! O dust and ink and leather binding, O map-scrolls and star-prints and poetry chapbooks—and the grimoire, somewhere within! She directed her smile at the clerk in shirtsleeves and weskit waiting at the front counter.
“Just having a browse,” she said, and moved past without inviting further conversation. Beatrice followed her prickling thumbs between stacks of books and laden shelves. She breathed in old paper and the thin rain-on-green-stones scent of magic, looking not for respectable novels or seemly poetry, but for the authors certain young women never even dared to whisper to each other in the powder rooms and parlors of society—the writers of the secret grimoires.
Doesn’t this bookstore just come alive as you read? I can imagine the jumbled mess of the inventory, the scent of old books that tickles the nose and brings on an almost sneeze. And, I can feel the magic. I can imagine a prickle in my thumbs and that fresh rainy-day scent taking me over.
This moment also gives us great insight into the main character and the culture in which she lives. I can sense her joy and excitement walking into the bookstore. I know what the magic means to her and I also know that it is viewed suspiciously by those around her. I know that she has to hide her interests and keep the fact that the grimoire calls to her a secret. It’s a beautiful passage that draws me in and makes it easy to imagine that I could visit this bookstore IRL and find a grimoire of my own (if the protagonist hasn’t gotten to it first, of course).
Example #4: Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson
Brandon Sanderson is a master of fantasy. And I think a great deal of his success can be attributed to his worldbuilding. In this passage, readers are introduced to a peripheral character. This moment is small, but it teaches us a lot about the world of the story. Here it is:
Ash fell from the sky.
Lord Tresting frowned, glancing up at the ruddy midday sky as his servants scuttled forward, opening a parasol over Tresting and his distinguished guest. Ashfalls weren’t that uncommon in the Final Empire, but Tresting had hoped to avoid getting soot stains on his fine new suit coat and red vest, which had just arrived from Luthadel. Fortunately, there wasn’t much wind; the parasol would likely be effective.
They key element here is the parasol.
Why? It shows us that ashfall is normal. People plan for it, they have tools and systems with which to deal with it. The fact that Lord Tresting’s servant holds the parasol for him shows us the power dynamics in the world. The use of the word “scuttling” even shows us how he feels about his servants—in his eyes, they are less than human, there only to serve his needs. The mention of the parasol is also a vehicle for adding additional information—the fine clothes that Lord Tresting wears are from Luthadel. Readers can also get a sense of how the rich dress and what is considered fashionable within this society. We also learn that the skies are dim and the light likely dirty. We also know that there is often wind to accompany the ashfall but even without it, the parasol is an imperfect tool. Even those with wealth and power can expect to be tarnished by the ash. It’s inescapable. Pervasive. Oppressive.
And we get all that from two short paragraphs.
I hope these examples inspire you to add these rich, immersive details to your own writing. These are the details that make fantasy and science fiction so exciting for readers. But for authors, creating these details can be a source of hair-tearing angst as we try to create an aura of veracity without spending decades lost in the weeds of worldbuilding.
If you’re feeling more overwhelmed than encouraged, don’t despair! You do not need to create all of these details in one go. In fact, I recommend that you don’t.
Instead, worldbuild in layers. Come up with some of these details as you plan, create others as you draft, and save the bulk for the revision process. Allow the world to emerge as you work through the stages of writing and save yourself the massive headache that comes from trying to do it all at once. Whatever your process, you can build an immersive world for your story. For tips specific to your process, check out these posts on worldbuilding for pantsers & plotters respectively.
Need more help? Check out my editing & coaching services for writers. I’d love to help you bring the world of your story to life!
FYI: This post contains affiliate links. If you use these links to buy something we may earn a commission. For more information click here and thanks, as always, for your support!
