What do historical fiction, fantasy, and science fiction have in common? Whether it's ancient Rome, a land filled with gnomes and fairies, or a distant planet, the writer must create a believable world for readers.
A.R. Silverberry writes fantasy and has recently created and released a new world into the universe in his novel, The Stream. I asked A.R. to write a post about world building, and I hope you find the process as interesting as I do.
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| A.R. Silverberry |
World Building
Every novel needs a world, a
ground on which the action unfolds. When I started working on The Stream, I thought creating that ground,
what authors call world building, would be a fairly simple process. I had a
five-year-old boy, Wend. I had boats. I had a waterway. I knew he would face
the hardships of nature, but it all seemed like it would flow like a fairy tale,
so how much detail did I need? I found out quickly just how much!
First, I knew almost nothing
about boats and sailing. My knowledge of surviving in nature was just as scant.
And the trick to writing is that the world, whether it’s a mythic world, such
as that of The Stream, or the real
world, such as found in thrillers, romances, or historical novels, in fact, any
novel, must feel real. You must feel
certain it exists, somewhere. You want to live there. Or not. (Who would want
to live in the world of Katniss Everdeen?) If it doesn’t feel real, the reader
is thrown out of the story. Worse, the characters won’t feel real. No matter
how convincingly they’re portrayed, if they’re prancing around on a set with
painted sheets, the book will feel shallow, unsatisfying, and unbelievable. There’s
a good chance the book might get thrown across the room or deleted from the
e-reader faster than you can say Kindle.
Here’s a short list of some
of the things I needed to learn and integrate into the novel: the flora and
fauna of the riparian wilderness; the technology available to the primitive
people occupying the stream; knife making, basketry; boatbuilding; the myths,
legends, rituals, and beliefs of the culture; and the mainstays of their diet
and how it was prepared. Plus, if I haven’t visited an actual location for a
scene I’m writing, I try to find a photo reference. Fortunately, I was within
walking distance of a beautiful stream, which I was able to study during every
conceivable weather condition.
Having established the
details of the world, the next order of business was to establish its laws; how
it worked. Defenseless and alone, Wend needed a world that would test him and
the others he encountered, a world that was both harsh and beautiful, that
distilled and concentrated the existential dilemmas of life. I needed the
reader to quickly learn and accept the laws of this world. There’s a rule I
learned from novelist Elizabeth George: if you want the reader to get
something, you have to repeat it at least nine times through out the novel.
Once you’ve established how things work, you must be consistent. If you violate
how the world works, you’ve killed the magic, that fragile glue that binds the
story.
Here’s a brief bit of prose I
wrote to establish the world of the stream. I love the prose, but I ended up
not using it because I found others ways to convey what I wanted.
If Wend had
stopped to think about it, he would have realized that his family, searching
for fruit, nuts, and roots, never ventured far from either shore, that
travelers never sailed upstream to tell tales of what lay ahead. Except for
tacking and voyages of a few miles, his family never ventured upstream either.
When he’d asked his father why, he was told, “It’s a law.” Wend must have
looked blank because his father told him to jump as high as he could. Wend
jumped, and after his feet landed on the ground his father said, “Now jump as
high as the top of the mast.” Wend had laughed, but declared that no one could
do that.
“Why not?” his
father asked.
“We come down
first,” Wend replied.
“It’s a law,”
said his father. “And it’s a law that we go that way.”
His father
pointed downstream.
If Wend had
thought of these things, he would have understood that everyone was tethered to
the stream and could only go in one direction. People stopped from time to
time, working at abandoned foundries to smelt metal for anchors, chains, and
knives, cutting trees to build or repair boats, living in villages, taking over
deserted houses like creatures that move into another animal’s shell. They
never stayed long, always returning to their boats, always going with the
current, always traveling downstream.
A final note. From the above sample, you can
see that the world I created isn’t just a fantasy world formed from random
elements. The world is integrally bound up with the story’s theme, plot, and
characters. Sauron and Gandalf can only exist in Middle Earth. The Red Queen
and Madhatter can only exist in Wonderland. Wend could only exist in the world
of the Stream.
Synopsis
of The Stream:
What if your world was six miles wide and endlessly
long?
After a devastating
storm kills his parents, five-year-old Wend awakens to the strange world of the
Stream. He discovers he can only travel downstream, and dangers lurk at every
turn: deadly rapids, ruthless pirates, a mysterious pavilion that lures
him into intoxicating fantasies, and rumor of a giant waterfall at the edge of
the world. Defenseless, alone, with only courage and his will to survive, Wend
begins his quest to become a man. Will tragic loss trap him in a shadow world,
or will he enter the Stream, with all its passion and peril?
Part coming-of-age
tale, part adventure, part spiritual journey, The Stream is a fable
about life, impermanence, and the gifts found in each moment.
Purchase
The Stream:
Ebook:
iTunes: Coming Soon!
Softback:
Follow
A. R. Silverberry:
About A. R. Silverberry:
A.
R. Silverberry writes fiction for adults and children. His novel, WYNDANO’S
CLOAK, won multiple awards, including the Benjamin Franklin Award gold medal
for Juvenile/Young Adult Fiction.
He
lives in California, where the majestic coastline, trees, and mountains inspire
his writing. THE STREAM is his second novel.
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