The Problem with knowing your story too well
When you return to your world and you feel that comforting welcome, the safety of the known, drawing you in, deeper and deeper...
As a fantasy writer I find solace and safety in my world. I know its nuances, its ins and outs. I know the political systems, the religions, the histories that shaped every established power and every fear lingering beneath them. I know the streets, the buildings, the skylines. I know the forests and where the paths made by woodland creatures lead deep into the heart and mythology of the land. I know everything and I feel safe, content and ready to delve deeper.
This is where the blindness descends. I know why these systems, myths and attitudes exist. My characters know parts of the story. My reader knows nothing and that is where the danger lies for a writer. It is easy for me to forget that not everyone knows the reason why Eldrice is so steeped in religious fear and fanaticism. It becomes easy to forget that the reader is encountering these ideas for the first time. They do not yet know where Edena originated from, or why Eldrice is so steeped in religious fear and fanaticism. Those connections only exist if I place enough of them onto the page. Sometimes going to deep makes it hard to resurface and look at the story from the right distance. This is especially difficult when you've had a hard busy week and all you want to do is exist in the world; to escape. It is so easy for your world to become a refuge.
The world can become obvious to you, as the writer, because you've lived there too long.
I do sometimes think this is harder with fantasy and historical fiction because of the ground work that needs to go into creating the world. You build histories, belief systems and political structures. You create timelines, tensions and myths that stretch far beyond the immediate story itself. You become the bible of the world, you know everything. We spend so much time with it we become attached to the world beneath the story and it is hard to let it go.
It's hard to know when to let something go because it doesn't add value to the story. Of course it's hard, you love it, you created it, you have lived in it. I have absolutely fallen in love with concepts that made the world feel richer and more connected, only to realise they added almost nothing to the actual story. I have even had times where I have tried to wrestle it in because I love it so much. There comes a time where you have to say goodbye to it, perhaps for now, perhaps forever, because, ultimately, it is the story that matters most, the way the characters interact and experience that world, not really the world itself, as much as you love it.
I have recently had a manuscript assessment, as you may have seen in a previous blog entry, I've linked it below if you are interested and this is the key element to this blindness. I have discovered that there is absolutely a time where you need to let other people into your world and let them see it with fresh eyes. You also have to listen to their feedback and ask yourself some, what can feel like, very painful questions. New eyes are so important. They encounter the world for the first time so they see those moments where the idea hasn't quite made it to the page. They still know how to ask the questions you have forgotten as you have fallen deeper and deeper into the lore of the world.
World building itself is not the problem. If anything, that love for the history, the systems and the mythology is one of my favourite parts of writing. The difficult part is learning how to step back from it. To recognise when the world is beginning to obscure the story rather than support it. Sometimes it takes somebody outside the world to see clearly what you no longer can. Perhaps that is one of the strangest parts of writing fantasy; creating somewhere so immersive you can escape there yourself.
The challenge is learning how to guide someone else through it without losing them along the way.
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