I’ve had some somewhat contradictory reading experiences of late. On the one hand, I’ve read several wonderful short stories in a fairy tale or folklore tone that inhabit a vague and floaty world in a beautiful way. On the other, I’ve written a few different feedbacks for After Happy Hour submissions where one of my major issues was a lack of grounding—that the world felt too floaty, to the point I couldn’t picture the world the characters were inhabiting.

The right level of worldbuilding and description is a tricky balance to strike for writers in any genre, and I think particularly so for those in speculative worlds. Not every type of story lends itself to lush, lengthy descriptions, either. In some modes, sparse details are a defining characteristic of the genre. Stories that stem from an oral storytelling tradition tend to fall into this category, which includes genres like folklore and fairy tales. Mythic voices give more flexibility for detailed descriptions, but even so it can break the effect to spend too many words grounding the reader. There are other genres that need this kind of deft hand, as well. Magical realism is one example—the rules of the world need to be established enough that the reader isn’t confused, but if you explain too much then it can lose the “magic” part of the name, or start to read like a different type of fantasy.

What's especially challenging about fairy tale writing is that a vaguely defined setting is a common genre trope. Fairy tales often take place somewhere “far away” and “once upon a time”, intentionally placed outside of a historical context. There are exceptions to this rule, of course, but the more solidly a story is tethered to reality, the less like a fairy tale it seems.

When writers are creating their own legends and folk tales, whether as stand-alone short stories or to integrate into a broader fictional world, there's a minimum threshold of details that they need to provide. There needs to be enough of the world defined that the reader can picture the setting, understand the rules that govern the characters, and navigate this reality without getting completely lost in the mire. The more a story world differs from our reality, the higher this threshold goes.

And that’s the rub: how to provide this needed context without bogging the story down with descriptive language its form doesn’t support. The answer, I think, comes down to weaving the worldbuilding into the fabric of the story. If you can do that, the reader won’t need lengthy descriptions or backstory that can break the voice and pull them out of the story. Here are some strategies that I've found to create this kind of integrated world.

1. Be precise and thoughtful in the details you include.

When you don't get much space to devote to descriptive passages, you need to make the ones you do include count. Seek out the details that really show the things that make the world what it is—ideally, things that are unique to this place and different from what we’d expect in reality. The details you can skip over are the ones that are expected, or that readers would assume from this type of story or setting.

The specific details that define a world aren’t always obvious right away. When I’m trying to find these, I’ll often start by brainstorming all of the world’s details—every little thing that I’m picturing in my head goes down on the list, however mundane or seemingly small. Once I’ve written all of these out, I can see more easily which of those details are the most useful, unique, or interesting, and those are the ones that actually make it onto the page.

The best details to highlight are ones that can do double-duty, not just filling in the physical present of the world but also helping to show its history, adding stakes or tension, or giving insights into characters. These are the details that can single-handledly replace whole paragraphs of description because they serve as short-hands.

This is highly useful when you’re writing at a flash length. I also feel like this approach works well in fairy tale type voices at any length. Zooming in tight on the little details keeps the big-picture setting more fuzzy and vague, which helps to reinforce that “once upon a time” type feel.

2. Let the language and voice do the heavy lifting.

How things are described can matter as much as which details get included. The way details are presented on the page gives readers insights into the broader world—what’s considered normal in this world, how characters fit into it, and the worldview, culture, and history of a place’s inhabitants can all be conveyed through word choice and phrasing decisions, without needing to spell it out directly.

One thing that great fantasy writers excel at is using the intrusion of the strange to convey what’s normal by contrast. This spares you the need to write out mundane details of the character’s day-to-day. Instead, “normal” can live in the white-space around what’s actually on the page, and the reader can infer it from how the character reacts to, thinks about, or describes the abnormal.

The first step to using this approach is to try and put yourself in the mindset of your world’s inhabitants. What kind of vocabulary fits in this setting? What metaphors or figurative language would they use? Tone is a big part of this, too—whether a character sees something as positive or negative, views things with hope or dread or indifference, tells you as much about them and their world as the thing itself.

Also think about what other associations or frames of reference from the real world you can bring in—again, this is a useful potential short-hand because the reader will make the leap themselves, without you needing to devote on-page words to defining it.

3. Give characters objects to interact with.

This is one of the biggest things in my view that separates well-written vague settings from a lack of grounding. Readers can still navigate a setting that’s non-specific. The problem often creeps up when the setting feels like a set-piece—it lacks dimension and realism, so it’s hard to imagine the characters actually inhabiting this space. Often, when I get this sense in a story, I read through it and realize the character has just been passing through and observing their surroundings, rather than actively engaging with them.

In this context, physical objects serve as anchors. They’re something tangible for the character to interact with, which helps to root them in place within that setting. The types of objects that are in their world can also convey other things about it. It’s an easy way to show the world’s level of technology, the resources or materials they have access to, the economic or class divisions, and the culture and history of the setting. These are all things that add realism and depth. You can also use objects as a sneaky way to explain the world’s rules, both in a law-and-order sense and when it comes to things like magic systems or speculative elements.

Objects are equally useful tools for characterization. It tells you a lot about a person to know what things they keep close at hand, which items they use most frequently or rely on for their work and life. This relates back to the last point, too, because how characters feel about objects they own, use, or encounter can also be deeply telling.

Giving characters objects to engage with can also be an easy way to add movement and activity to otherwise stagnant scenes. If there are moments in your story that are just two characters sitting in a room talking—or just one character sitting there and thinking—this is a perfect place to insert some physical thing for them to handle. Doing that keeps both the character and the reader connected to the physical present of the scene, rather than feeling like they’re just floating around in thoughts, memories, and dialogue.

Really, I think the ultimate answer comes down to mixing all 3 of these approaches: using physical objects and precise, unique details, described thoughtfully in a way that further illuminates the world.

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#Worldbuilding #Folklore #Fantasy