How to Build Believable Worlds

May 19

Turning Napkin Notes to Living, Breathing Ecosystems

Hey all! It's been a while. I've been neck-deep in The Myth Dimension development lately (more on that saga later), and between that and some client work, I've barely had time to come up for air. Today I want to talk about something that's been on my mind a lot recently — worldbuilding.

Recently, a client of mine stopped in the middle of a worldbuilding coaching session to ask me, "But how do you make it feel... real?" She was struggling with a high-fantasy setting that felt more like a movie set than an actual place people could live in. We had the castles, the magic system, even the politics built out, but something was missing. That question sent me into a bit of a spiral, and I'm sharing the results of that spiral with you today.

The Dirt Under Your Fingernails Theory

When I was 19 and homeless for the second time, I crashed on my best friend's mom's couch in a town so small their local Subway was the hang-out spot. I spent those summer months scribbling worldbuilding notes around a NaNoWriMo project, desperately trying to visualize a world better than the one I was stuck in.

Here's what I figured out then, and what I still believe now: The most convincing worlds aren't the ones with the most detailed magic systems or the most complex political hierarchies (though those certainly help). The most convincing worlds are the ones where you can feel the dirt under your fingernails.

Think about it. When you wake up in the morning, you don't think about the geopolitical situation of the country you’re in, or happen to ponder the historical development of indoor plumbing. You think about how your sheets feel. You notice the bird that woke you up screeching outside your window. You smell the coffee brewing, or you hear your neighbor's annoying dog.

The dirt-under-your-fingernails details are what make a world feel lived in:

What does the air smell like in different districts of your city?
How do people's accents change as you travel?
What do people complain about at the local pub?
What games do children play in the streets?
What's considered rude in one region but polite in another?

Fantasy and sci-fi masters like Ursula K. Le Guin didn't just create elaborate worlds; they created worlds that felt worn at the edges, stained with use, and humming with the small interactions that make daily life what it is.

Worldbuilding as Archaeology, Not Architecture

I think a lot of new writers approach worldbuilding like they're architects drafting blueprints for a perfect building. They meticulously plan every detail, ensuring all systems connect logically, all history flows chronologically, and all cultures develop rationally.

And that approach is... well, it's boring.

Real worlds aren't designed; they evolve. They're messy, contradictory, and full of vestigial elements that make no sense but persist anyway. Why do we still have an appendix? Why do some English words follow French pronunciation rules? Why do we say "bless you" when someone sneezes?

So instead of approaching worldbuilding as architecture, try approaching it as archaeology:

Imagine you're digging through the layers of your world, discovering its history rather than creating it. You'll uncover contradictions, mysteries, and elements that don't quite make sense — and that's exactly how our world works too.

I was explaining this to a group of authors at a workshop I hosted last month, and I could see the exact moment it clicked for some of them. One woman literally gasped and said, "That's why my world feels like a museum display!" She'd been designing everything to be perfectly logical, when she should have been excavating the beautiful irrationality of a lived history. She had even mentioned treating her worldbuilding like Stardew Valley; discovering an item while exploring the world, and then delivering it to the local ‘museum’ - i.e., her worldbuilding bible.

The Economy Problem

Let's talk about something that trips up almost every worldbuilder I've worked with: economics.

Everyone wants to create a civilization with soaring towers, magnificent palaces, and gleaming armor — but they forget to ask who's growing the food. Or who's mining the metal for those swords. Or how goods are transported between cities.

I used to make this exact same mistake, so don't feel bad if this is you. It's easy to get caught up in the cool stuff and forget about the infrastructure that makes it all possible.

Here's a quick checklist I usually give my clients to think through:

What do people eat? Who produces it, and delivers it to the different parts of the city?
What resources are abundant in this region? What's scarce?
What do they trade with neighboring regions/countries? How does that relate to their resources? What do they value?
What's their equivalent of a minimum wage job?
What happens when someone can't work?

You don't need intricate economic models, but you do need to understand what makes your society function on a basic level.

I had this moment a few weeks ago when I realized that a client's magnificent island city had literally no way to feed itself. The entire island was covered in buildings, with zero farmland, no mentioned fishing industry, and apparently no food imports. We had to completely rethink the geography to make it work.

The result?

A new smaller archipelago surrounding the island that hosted some cultivated coral reefs and clam banks for fishing - perfect for a solarpunk island society.

Climate Is Not Just Weather!

I'm a fiction writing coach. As a common courtesy, when I meet with new authors, I try to learn as much as I can about their work. The most common sentiment? "Well, it's inspired by Lord of the Rings, and—"

And? And?

What does that mean?

Actually, no, I'm not going to go on that rant again. But one thing that Tolkien absolutely nailed that many of his imitators miss completely is the connection between climate, geography, and culture.

The people of Rohan are horse-masters because they live on vast, open plains. The hobbits are agriculturalists because they live in fertile, temperate lowlands. The dwarves mine because they live inside mountains rich with minerals.

This seems obvious when pointed out, but I can't tell you how many manuscripts I read where cultures seem completely disconnected from their environments. You can't have a seafaring culture in a landlocked country (unless there's a very good explanation). You can't have people primarily wearing light, flowing clothes in an arctic climate - especially without explanation on how they got the materials to make clothes in the first place.

Climate shapes:

Food sources
Architecture
Clothing
Transportation
Cultural values
Religious practices
And so much more

My own worldbuilding revolution came when I started with climate maps. I would draw rainfall patterns and temperature zones before I placed a single city on my maps. It completely transformed how I thought about the cultures that would develop in each region. If you want a deeper understanding, start with Venice.

Magic Systems: Hard vs. Soft Is a False Dichotomy

So here's where I'm probably going to be a bit controversial.

The whole "hard magic vs. soft magic" debate, popularized by Brandon Sanderson's laws of magic, has become something of a dogma in fantasy writing circles. And while it's a useful framework, I think it's created a false dichotomy that's limiting how people think about magical systems.

In reality, most of the best magical systems operate on multiple levels:

There are parts that are well-understood and follow consistent rules (hard)
There are parts that remain mysterious and unpredictable (soft)
And there are parts that fall somewhere in between

Think about science in our own world. We have areas like classical physics that are well-understood and predictable. We have areas like quantum mechanics that follow rules but still contain deep mysteries. And we have phenomena that we observe but can't yet explain at all.

Your magic system will feel more realistic if it has this same layered quality.

I challenged my boyfriend on this once, arguing that the most believable systems are the ones with hard rules. He pointed me to real-world belief systems — like the Evil Eye across various cultures, or feng shui, or even the placebo effect — that millions of people accept as real despite their "softer" nature. That shut me up pretty quickly.

The key isn't whether your system is hard or soft, but whether it feels integrated with your world's history, culture, and daily life.

Character-Propelled Worldbuilding

Here's a technique I've been using recently that's completely transformed my approach: instead of building the world and then placing characters in it, I follow characters through the world and discover it through their experiences.

I'll create a character — not necessarily a main character, just someone who lives in this world — and write a day in their life. What do they eat for breakfast? How do they get to work? What dangers do they face? What pleasures do they enjoy?

This character-propelled approach accomplishes two things:

It ensures your world is experienced on a human scale
It reveals the aspects of your world that actually matter to the story

I have 10 in-progress fiction novels I love to write, but this approach has been particularly valuable for my Hyperwitch series. By following Dom (my protagonist) through Saint Rafael city, I discovered details about the magic system and urban layout that I never would have thought of if I'd just been drawing maps and writing historical timelines.

Handling Religion and Belief Systems

Confession time: religion in fantasy worlds is often painfully one-dimensional. You get the usual suspects:

The corrupt church that's basically just medieval Catholicism with serial numbers filed off
The nature-worshipping "good" religion that's a vague amalgamation of pagan and Indigenous practices
The evil cult serving the Dark Lord

These simplistic approaches fail to capture the complexity and diversity of real-world belief systems.

Real religions are:

Internally diverse (different denominations, sects, or schools of thought)
Culturally embedded (influencing art, language, social structures, even food)
Evolving over time (reformations, schisms, syncretism with other beliefs)
Intertwined with politics, economics, and daily life

Even if your story doesn't focus on religion, taking time to think about how belief systems shape your world will add a layer of authenticity that readers will feel, even if they can't immediately identify why.

I had a moment a few years back, teetering between falling behind and over-succeeding in my work, when I realized that every fantasy world I'd created had belief systems that were essentially just metaphorical representations of my own existential questions. Once I recognized this pattern, I was able to consciously push beyond it and create more diverse and complex religious landscapes.

Technology: Not Just about Gadgets

In fantasy worldbuilding, we often focus on magic systems while neglecting mundane technology. But the level of technological development in areas like agriculture, construction, textiles, and transportation will profoundly shape how your world functions.

And here's the thing: technology doesn't develop in a straight line. Different cultures prioritize different types of technological advancement based on their needs, resources, and values.

Ancient Romans had sophisticated aqueducts and concrete that we couldn't replicate until modern times, but lacked other technologies that contemporaneous cultures possessed. The Incan Empire built incredible road systems and agricultural terraces but never developed the wheel for transportation (though they did use wheels in toys).

When building your world, ask:

What problems would this society most need to solve?
What resources do they have available?
What cultural values might encourage or discourage certain types of innovation?
How does magic (if present) interact with technological development?

In one of my client's worlds, a desert civilization developed incredibly sophisticated water conservation technology but remained relatively primitive in other areas. This focused development made perfect sense given their environment and created a unique cultural identity that went beyond the usual "desert nomad" tropes, cliches, and stereotypes.

Common Worldbuilding Pitfalls

In no particular order, here are some worldbuilding traps I see new writers fall into:

The infodump: Trying to explain everything about your world to the reader at once. Remember, reveal your world gradually through character experience.
The homogenous culture: Creating entire planets or continents with a single, uniform culture. Real societies are diverse, with regional variations, subcultures, and countercultures.
The historical stasis: Designing worlds where nothing has changed for thousands of years. Real societies evolve constantly.
The planet of hats: Giving every member of a species or culture the same personality traits. Real groups contain immense individual variation.
The convenient geography: Creating geographical features that serve the plot but make no geological sense (like having a desert right next to a rainforest with no mountains between them).
The nonsensical economy: Building elaborate civilizations without considering how people feed themselves or produce goods.
The universal language: Having everyone in your world speak the same language without a compelling historical reason.

I've been guilty of every single one of these at some point. We all make these mistakes. The key is recognizing them and adjusting course.

The Final Ingredient: Imperfection

Perfect worlds don't feel real. Real worlds are messy. They have inconsistencies, inefficiencies, and elements that don't quite make sense. They're full of beauty and ugliness, wisdom and stupidity, kindness and cruelty — often existing side by side.

Don't be afraid to include:

Inefficient systems that persist for historical or cultural reasons
Contradictory beliefs that somehow coexist
Beautiful traditions with problematic origins
Wonderful innovations used for terrible purposes
Good ideas that failed in implementation

These imperfections and contradictions don't weaken your worldbuilding — they strengthen it by making it feel authentically human.

Bringing It All Together

When I started writing this post, I wanted to give you a comprehensive guide to building believable worlds. But as I wrote, I realized something important: there's no single formula. The most compelling worlds aren't built by following a checklist; they're grown through curiosity, observation, and a deep engagement with the messy complexity of reality.

Take that curiosity and apply it to your fictional world. Ask the uncomfortable questions. Explore the unexpected connections. Dig beneath the surface to find the hidden systems that make societies function.

And finally, remember that your world exists to serve your story. All the elaborate worldbuilding in the universe won't matter if it doesn't create a meaningful context for characters to live, struggle, fail, and triumph.

If you're interested in working with me on your writing, you can check out my coaching services at https://austinardor.com/writing-coaching. Until next time, keep building worlds that feel real enough to touch.

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Austin Ardor https://AustinArdor.com