Up next: A late-night thread about worldbuilding secrets and things in proximity to Lando Calrissian's pants.
Worldbuilding! A term with a lot of baggage. A craft and a theory that causes headaches for creators at every experience level. A dirty word to some, but only, I would argue, because we too often misapprehend what it can mean.
Worldbuilding is just a hook on a belt.
Worldbuilding is just a hook on a belt.
Worldbuilding has a dread reputation as an act of homework, an act of self-entombment under tons of trivia. An act of penance! First the creator suffers! Then the audience is made to suffer! Everyone involved must prove their worthiness in the NERDLORE CRUCIBLE!
What a crock.
What a crock.
Worldbuilding only becomes punishment when we view it purely on the macro-scale, as reams of factoids, endless pages of exposition and explanation, a vast anxious morass of detail.
Forget all of that.
Think instead of worldbuilding as one tiny thing.
Just a hook on a belt.
Forget all of that.
Think instead of worldbuilding as one tiny thing.
Just a hook on a belt.
Lando Calrissian's belt, in fact. 
At the end of THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK, Lando ascends through the top hatch of the 'Falcon to rescue Luke, who has just been, uh, *handed* a setback in father/son relations.
On Lando's way up, we get a glimpse of him hooking a safety line to a rail inside the hatchway. Click!
On Lando's way up, we get a glimpse of him hooking a safety line to a rail inside the hatchway. Click!
Lando doesn't need to do this for the story, or for the shot composition. The scene is already moody and dramatic, as perfectly lit as the rest of ESB.
The hook adds nothing crucial to the scene itself. What it does, is significantly enhance the world the characters inhabit.
The hook adds nothing crucial to the scene itself. What it does, is significantly enhance the world the characters inhabit.
Nobody would miss that hook if it had been left out of a one-second bit filmed nearly forty years ago.
But that hook sends us a message: Lando takes his world seriously.
Lando doesn't know he's a character in a story.
He worries about falling off the friggin' ship.
But that hook sends us a message: Lando takes his world seriously.
Lando doesn't know he's a character in a story.
He worries about falling off the friggin' ship.
A LONG TIME AGO IN A GALAXY FAR FAR AWAY
Somebody trained Lando to use that hook.
Somebody designed it.
Somebody drafted procedures for storing, donning, employing it.
Somebody required the 'Falcon to have a load-bearing point to secure it to.
Somebody made regulations.
Somebody trained Lando to use that hook.
Somebody designed it.
Somebody drafted procedures for storing, donning, employing it.
Somebody required the 'Falcon to have a load-bearing point to secure it to.
Somebody made regulations.
We, the audience, know Lando is an imaginary guy opening a hatch on a ship that floats via technobabble magic. But one second of screen time for Lando's safety hook gives us deeper context.
It anchors the floaty magic to our conception of real risks and real precautions.
It anchors the floaty magic to our conception of real risks and real precautions.
The logical implications of the safety hook are clear. They can be followed in a chain. They suggest an entire galaxy of planning and procedures and industry and experience. A galaxy where fictional people behave like real ones when taking risks.
Now, let us admit that the Empire has no fucking idea what a safety rail is, and in space nobody can hear your strongly-worded grievance to the Death Star Safety and Hygiene Compliance Office.
These little details appearing anywhere in the story are still an enhancement.
These little details appearing anywhere in the story are still an enhancement.
That's what worldbuilding can be-- little details that ground grand fantasies in realistic considerations of logistics and mortality. Well-placed clues that imply bigger and bigger things for any audience member willing to follow the chain of deductions.
A woman buys an apple from a fruit vendor in a small town.
Where did it come from? Someone must have grown it.
What did they grow it in? There must be an orchard.
What comprises an orchard? It must have individual trees.
What creates an apple tree? A seed.
Where did it come from? Someone must have grown it.
What did they grow it in? There must be an orchard.
What comprises an orchard? It must have individual trees.
What creates an apple tree? A seed.
Elegant worldbuilding is the act of using little things to invite big inferences.
When you tell us that a woman in a fictional world has bought an apple from a vendor, you have also told us (if we care to make the inferences) about farmer, orchard, tree, and seed.
When you tell us that a woman in a fictional world has bought an apple from a vendor, you have also told us (if we care to make the inferences) about farmer, orchard, tree, and seed.
In fact, you've also told us something about transport, about economics, about culture and trade, about security, about pollinating insects! About climate! All because your fictional woman paused for a moment to buy a fictional snack.
Chains of implication from little worldbuilding clues can explode in every direction, out to a narrative distance you never imagined. The animal mascot of the worldbuilding trade is a butterfly, flapping its tiny wings and diverting the entire story five years later.
In summation:
If huge-ass lore-encrusted worldbuilding bores or daunts you, try shifting your thinking to the small and the local.
Think about just one hook on one belt.
The secret of elegant worldbuilding has been hanging from Billy Dee Williams' waist since 1980. 👍
If huge-ass lore-encrusted worldbuilding bores or daunts you, try shifting your thinking to the small and the local.
Think about just one hook on one belt.
The secret of elegant worldbuilding has been hanging from Billy Dee Williams' waist since 1980. 👍
