Writing - Avoid Too Much World Building

Today is March 4th. That also means it's the fourth day of the Back to Middle-earth Month BINGO, and so far I'm fairly happy with what I've put out there. This year I'm embracing colors and the Dark Side, so I'm attempting to turn my back on fluff. It's working, but it's only Day 4, I'll have to see if I can channel darkness for an entire month. I do have to repost Day 2's story since I messed up the coding, but I might be able to swing that through sometime today. 

I love participating in B2MeM in general, but really have always
enjoyed the BINGO style of challenge. I haven't indulged in
the challenge since 2017, so it's fun to play in the universe
once again. 

Of course, it's now a work week, I have a TON of stuff I have to do at the shop and not a lot of time to spend writing. It's going to get a lot more challenging to push through a tale every day. These are the challenges I like, though. The "think on the fly" and "tap dance over coals" type of events. I'm not writing novels here, not even short stories. I'm just pushing through ficlets this time - no word count and nothing monumental. 

The Tolkien universe is a known universe. It makes it easy
to write a quick story. What is written will fit perfectly
into the already-existing structures. 

The serious advantage to all of us participating in the event is a big one. We're all writing in a literary universe that we know intimately. We don't have to describe the geography, the timelines, the main characters or the history of this land to the readers. It's fan-fiction, and we're all playing in Tolkien's sandbox. In so many ways it's a relief to have the superstructure of a tale already in place. We don't have to world build because that was done so very well by Tolkien, and enhanced on so many levels by hundreds, if not thousands, of other amateur fan-fiction efforts over the years. 

As an author, you have to know the basics of your novel's
superstructure. You have to know there's an exit door and
stairs at the end of the dark hallway. As a reader, you don't
need to know that until you're looking for that door. 

Often, that superstructure is where a writer can get lost. In a novel, you are placing your original characters into a new setting of some type, then watching as they deal with the problems that arise. It could be as simple as a child getting locked up in a store overnight, or as complex as an industrial complex developing travel into interstellar space and time. Either way, the writer sees the whole of that stage, but the end reader only needs to understand parts that apply directly to the story. 

The components of the building don't have to be
specified until the character stumbles down the stairs,
opens a door that should have been closed, or
leaves the house to mow the lawn. Too many details
can stop the action. 

The question comes down to details. When is the child discovered to be missing? Who discovers it? How do they react? How about the child itself ... is it frightened? Is it fascinated by the opportunity to wander the various departments and indulge in fantasies? Is it found by a guard and fed milk and cookies while waiting for the police to arrive? All valid story-lines, and not a one of them requiring much detail of the actual building - just the interior and the affected people. 

Trust that your load bearing walls will hold strong, until
they won't. Make them a part of your story if they are
integral to it. Otherwise, just acknowledge that they
exist, and move on to the plot. 

So stop building superstructures except where your characters will actually need them. Do the research to defend your premise and present things in a logical and reasonable way, but don't get dragged down into the minutiae. That will come clear by the reactions of your characters. 

Have a great Monday. It's -8 F outside, and I have to get gas on the way to the Chiropractor and the gym this morning. Damn, I really hate the cold, but at least we're between snowstorms, so I don't have to deal with that. Huzzah! I'll be back tomorrow.