World-Building Your Story: Four Key Components

Our world has a lot going on. No surprise there. But stepping back, we could say that our very big (or very small) world has four main components—people, place, period, populace. Depending on the genres we write in, these may not look anything like what we see on earth, but we still need to fully develop each part, for ourselves and our readers.

People
While we’re using the word people here, fiction can comprise any type of living being. One writer created a story world where flowers were the life representatives. Ask these questions when creating and developing the beings in your story:

• What types of beings will inhabit my story world?
• Which characteristics will they share and which will differentiate them?
• What does “life” mean in my story and to those in it?
• How will my characters depend on each other and themselves?
• To what degree will those in my story change, evolve, grow, die, remain the same?
• What effects will these realities have on them and their world?
• How will I address ethnicity, race, diversity, and how does this connect to what my story is about?

Place
Where your story happens can be cosmic and epic, small as a mouse hole, visible or invisible, or anything in between. Here’s what to consider about the place(s) where your story happens:

• Where is my story set? Is it urban, suburban, rural, a combination?
• How well do I know the setting(s)?
• What research do I need to do, and where can I go to find approximations of my setting?
• Why have I chosen these places, and how will they impact the story and those in it?
• How does place fit the theme of my story, what the story is about?
• Does it fit the scope or size of the story?
• Does the setting serve as a metaphor for the theme?
• What is the landscape of my story; what does/do the location(s) look like?
• How will I connect place with those who inhabit it?

Period
On the surface, the choice of when the story is set seems simple. The three basics are past, present, future. But there’s a lot to consider here, too, such as:

• Will I choose only one of these or work with more than one?
• Why am I making these choices?
• How will the time(s) when the story is set effect the characters and plot?
• How well do I know this era?
• If I’m not familiar with it or am constructing one from scratch, what do I need to learn to accurately depict it?
• What does this period look like, meaning the architecture?

Populace
In this case, populace means society and culture. Of all the components, this is perhaps the most intricate and the one most shaped by and responsible for shaping the others. Key components of society include education, freedom, maturity, customs, traditions, languages, values, governance, styles of dress, art, and how wisdom and information are passed along. Here are considerations when building this very important aspect of your story world:

• What place does education have in my story world, and how does it impact life in my story?
• How free is the culture, and will this element improve or decline? How is freedom defined in this story?
• How advanced is the culture, and will it evolve or devolve?
• What are the story’s customs and traditions, and how do these impact those in my story?
• Which languages are spoken, and to what degree do these connect people, separate them, both?
• What are the culture’s values, and where do they come from? Will they change? If so, how? And what effects will this have on the story and people?
• What style of governance does my story world have, and how does this impact life and story?
• What are the styles of dress and art, and how do these reflect those in my story and their values?
• How are wisdom and information passed along, for example, in oral tradition, advanced technology, written form? What do these forms look like?

Answering Tough Questions
The aspects of our world are many and complex. The four main categories of world-building—people, place, period, populace—and the questions surrounding them are meant to stir our imagination as writers so that we create detailed, believable story worlds that captive readers and make us better, deeper writers.

Tips
To personalize and deepen your mapping strategy, add questions of your own. When making choices, ask yourself why you’re making them. The answers to this question, possibly more than any other, will help get you where you want to go.

Resource: Steering the Craft, by Ursula Le Guin, a guide to sailing the sea of story.

Happy writing!

Adele Annesi is an award-winning writer, editor and teacher. Her new novel is What She Takes Away (Bordighera Press, 2023). Adele was managing editor of Southern Literary Review and has taught writing for Westport Writers’ Workshop. She received her MFA from Fairfield University. Adele’s long-running blog for writers is Word for Words. Her website is Adele Annesi. For questions, email Word for Words.

I Can See Clearly Now: Patterns in Long-Form Fiction

Sometimes writers don’t think much about the form a story will take because stories often seem to take on a shape of their own. But writers of long-form fiction should be aware that all stories have a shape, or pattern, and that they can craft and mold that pattern to suit their vision for the work. First, what do we mean by “pattern”?

In the classic reference work Aspects of the Novel, E. M. Forster refers to pattern as the shape a longer work takes because of the choices the characters make. Here’s an easily recognizable pattern.

Our characters meet, their lives converge, then their lives ebb and recede, with each going their own way. Whether or not we or our readers stop to note the pattern, it draws us in because it's recognizable, and familiar patterns enable us to feel comfortable with the story and the characters, as if we’re traveling a familiar road but with a new group of friends (or enemies).

Then there’s the story pattern Forster calls the "grand chain," where characters appear in short bursts then return for short bursts. Having our characters strut and fret their brief moments on the stage then repeat the action works well in humoristic pieces, where tone and timing are key.

No matter which pattern we writers create, we need to be aware of the following:

• Whether or not a story’s pattern is familiar, every story has one. Many stories have more than one.
• One way to know what our story’s pattern is and how we can discern it is to read the work and mark each major decision the main character(s) make, then track the results or effects of these decisions, asking these questions:
• Do the choices draw the characters closer to each other or disperse them?
• Do the choices strengthen reader engagement or distance it?
• Which of these effects do we want? Which work best for the story?
• Patterns can be shaped. For instance, maybe our characters make a lot choices early in the story but few later on. In a case like this, readers may engage with the work early on and lose interest.
• One way to avoid this is to recalibrate our characters’ choices and where they make them. Think of your car or cell’s GPS. Choosing a route that differs from the GPS’s instructions can alter your entire journey.
• Patterns make a difference—to the characters, the story, the reader, everything. To get a sense of this, we need to give our stories time and distance then come back and read them through, asking:
• Where does my story sag (low interest), lag (lose pacing), pick up speed (mover faster, maybe too fast)?
• To correct these common problems, consider what different choice(s) your character(s) could make at these crucial junctures and how the choices impact the rest of the story.

Patterns appeal to our aesthetic sense because they provide symmetry and enable us to discern the story as a whole. While we writers continually make decisions about what our characters do, the place to rethink our choices and theirs is in revision. Here, we can do what Nathalie Goldberg referred to Writing Down the Bones as “re-seeing” the work and making organic adjustments that enhance the story, maybe even raise the stakes.

So in the classic pattern noted above, what if instead of having the characters meet, converge and go their separate ways the writer decides that the characters never meet. Instead, the main character spends their life seeking the object of their desire. If the story is about someone with selfish motives, thwarting their efforts and showing how the character responds can reveal (show versus tell) just how self-centered they were in the first place. A classic film with this theme is All About Eve.

So how do writers work with pattern in long-form fiction? Consider these questions:

• Have you planned your story’s pattern or simply plotted the story?
• At which points in the story do your characters make life-altering decisions?
• What happens to the characters and the story as a result of these choices?
• How can you tighten the story to strengthen the pattern, for example, by eliminating an unnecessary character or plot thread?

Whether or not we writers plan our story patterns, we certainly have a plan for our stories. The key is knowing that patterns exist and how to shape those patterns for what we want to achieve. Like us, our characters make decisions, then their decisions make them—and more.

For questions, email Word for Words.

Happy writing!

Adele Annesi is an award-winning writer, editor and teacher. Her new novel is What She Takes Away (New York: Bordighera Press, 2023). Adele was managing editor of Southern Literary Review and received her MFA from Fairfield University. She teaches for Westport Writers’ Workshop. Her website is Adele Annesi.