Worldbuilding Quickly

After a panel at Comic Con, I had a question about worldbuilding in short fiction. There both wasn't much time to answer, and I was fairly beat after the end of a long (and awesome) con. Here's a much better answer.

There are four techniques that jump to mind for effective, succinct worldbuilding: interweaving and multi-tasking.

Interweaving: This is the opposite of the dreaded info-dump. Instead of cramming all the information the reader needs into one paragraph, it's parsed out bit by bit in the text. Information feels less "info-dumpy" when it's only a sentence long, especially if it's in the characters POV.

Multi-tasking: This applies to novels as well, but especially in short fiction, a sentence or a paragraph can't do just one thing. It can't just be for setting, or worldbuilding, or character, or to advance the plot. If it's not doing at least two things, it probably needs to get cut or get revised. Three things would be even better.

Point of View (POV): This goes hand-in-hand with interweaving and multi-tasking. Those snipits of info should still sound like they're coming from your viewpoint character. And if your worldbuilding info is in its proper POV, it's also multitasking to show you character.

Concrete Details: Of course you don't want to toss clunky descriptive paragraph at the reader, but the right, specific noun can suggest a truckload of information. The restaurant serving fillet mingon over a bed of organic microgreens is not the same one dishing out Kentucky hot browns. Detail after carefully selected detail can imply a world richer and fuller than the one your character has time to explore.

On to examples! Here's the first scene in my novelette, "The Temple's Posthole". I'll dissect it below. This scene is exactly four hundred words long:

            Ayin ducked into the temple, one hand wrapped around her ribs, the other one clutching her son's hand.  The poor filled this place -- some had broken bones, some writhed with yellow snake fever.  The priestesses patiently wended through them, administering bandages, salves, and teas.

            "It smells funny in here," said her son, Tzi.

            A thick, wet cough tensed in Ayin's lungs.  She swallowed it.  "Temples are a place of reverence.  Speak softer."

            He rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed loudly.  Only seven years old, and so dramatic.

            One of the priestesses approached -- a pretty woman with a round face.  "Welcome to our temple.  May the gods see fit to bring you healing."

            The cough clawed up Ayin's throat.  She dropped Tzi's hand and covered her mouth.  She hacked, throat burning.  Tzi rubbed her back.

            And then the cough faded.  Ayin straightened, pulling her hand away.  Orange mucous stained it.  Before she could find a handkerchief, the young priestess was cleaning her hand with a rag smelling strongly of corn beer.  "I need you to sit over here."

            Ayin nodded and followed her to a mat of woven palm fronds.  Tzi managed to be reverent; he bit his lip and stared at his mother. 

            The priestess -- she said her name was Cham -- pressed her ear to Ayin's back and listened.  "Have you been to any Xook ruins lately?"

            "I'm a looter." She'd been at the ruins of a Xook flintknapping workshop last week, but someone had already used up the magic in the postholes.  Two days' trek through the thick of the jungle, and she hadn't even been paid.  That seemed to happen a lot, lately.

            Cham looked in her throat, felt her pulse, and sighed.  "May the gods watch over you, because I can't.  I've seen a cough like yours before.  In their later buildings, the magic-hating Xook poisoned the bottoms of their postholes."

            "I have wet lung, don't I?" Ayin's chest twisted, this time in sinking dread.  She'd hoped  this was some regular cough.

            Cham nodded.  "It's not contagious, at least."

            Ayin squeezed Tzi's shoulder.  Small comfort.  Her merchant-minded husband wouldn't return from the trading roads for another half-year at least.  If she died in a month, who would care for Tzi?  They had no other kin.

            "Thank you," Ayin said.  She took Tzi's hand and left the smells of cotton, herbs, and sickness behind.

First, let's look at names. In this scene, we have Ayin, Tzi, Xook, and Cham. I doubt my readers are familiar with Mayan languages (this setting drew a lot of inspiration from the Classic Maya), but I did pick out two names with phonology not common to English (Xook, Tzi) to show that this isn't Medieval Western Europe. Most of the rest of the names are easy to pronounce, if unfamiliar. I didn't want to make the story too difficult to read, and it would be strange and artificial for all the names to be the most hard-for-English-speakers-to-pronounce.

            Ayin ducked into the temple, one hand wrapped around her ribs, the other one clutching her son's hand.  The poor filled this place -- some had broken bones, some writhed with yellow snake fever.  The priestesses patiently wended through them, administering bandages, salves, and teas.

This paragraph gives us our protagonist: Ayin. We learn she has a son. Given that she just walked into a room with a bunch of other sick, poor people and she's clutching her ribs, there's a good chance she's sick and poor, too. Her unfamiliar name suggests fantasy, the word "temple", and the low-tech level used to treat the ill -- bandages, salves, and especially teas -- all suggests fantasy.

With "yellow snake fever," I didn't want to name a real disease, but I was hoping it would make the reader think of yellow fever and tropical locations.

So in this first paragraph, we get a character who (probably) is ill. She (likely) has the goal of getting healed, and her own health and (possibly) the fate of her son is at stake. We have a plot. We also have a setting: a temple which is stragely filled with sick, poor folk, being tending by priestesses.

Some of the things above are more like hints and nudges in the right direction, but it means that when more details come out, I won't have to belabor what's happening because the groundwork is laid; multi-tasking details are interwoven from the beginning.

            "It smells funny in here," said her son, Tzi.

A bit more setting, and some characterization of Tzi. This is the kind of unapologetic honesty kids often offer.

            A thick, wet cough tensed in Ayin's lungs.  She swallowed it.  "Temples are a place of reverence.  Speak softer."

Characterization of Ayin, and confirmation that she is sick. Plus a little more about temples: even though it's full of sick people, it's still a sacred space.

            He rolled his eyes heavenward and sighed loudly.  Only seven years old, and so dramatic.

Characterizes Tzi by his actions, and Ayin by her reaction: she thinks his behavior is "so dramatic." We also get Tzi's age. "Heavenward" by itself doesn't tell us much, but it is keeping up with the temple setting.

            One of the priestesses approached -- a pretty woman with a round face.  "Welcome to our temple.  May the gods see fit to bring you healing."

Introduce a new character. Also tells us that Ayin looks sick, because the priestess doesn't ask why she's here. Also confirms that temples are meant to be a place of healing.

            The cough clawed up Ayin's throat.  She dropped Tzi's hand and covered her mouth.  She hacked, throat burning.  Tzi rubbed her back.

Characterization of Tzi. Continuing the plot with details about how bad her illness is.

            And then the cough faded.  Ayin straightened, pulling her hand away.  Orange mucous stained it.  Before she could find a handkerchief, the young priestess was cleaning her hand with a rag smelling strongly of corn beer.  "I need you to sit over here."

I've given no indication that this priestess is remarkable/strange, so all of her actions also serve for explaining typical temple procedure. Then there's the corn beer. I doubt most readers are thinking Mesoamerica at this point, but tropical + corn again points to not-Europe.

            Ayin nodded and followed her to a mat of woven palm fronds.  Tzi managed to be reverent; he bit his lip and stared at his mother. 

We're getting to the diagnosis, and we see how worried Tzi is. Palm fronds once more tell us we're someplace warm.

            The priestess -- she said her name was Cham -- pressed her ear to Ayin's back and listened.  "Have you been to any Xook ruins lately?"

Here we get the names Xook and Cham, discussed above. This paragraph also suggests that ruins and disease are somehow correlated.

            "I'm a looter." She'd been at the ruins of a Xook flintknapping workshop last week, but someone had already used up the magic in the postholes.  Two days' trek through the thick of the jungle, and she hadn't even been paid.  That seemed to happen a lot, lately.

This is where POV and interweaving helps a lot. This is essentially a mini-info dump, but it doesn't feel out of place because it's what Ayin would be thinking about, and how she'd be thinking about it. I could have written this paragraph like this:

"Last week, after trekking through the jungle for two days, she'd come to some Xook ruins. She'd investigated the postholes, but the magic in them had already been used up. Most of her work lately had only turned up used postholes, so she hadn't been getting paid and was feeling poor and distressed."

Ugh, ugh, ugh. That's an info-dump. A telling-not-showing info-dump. In Ayin's voice, it works. These are the things she's actively thinking and worrying about. And with those worries, the reader can gather that she's a looter and confirm that her money situation is indeed poor. We also learn that magic is tied to postholes.

And I get to mention flintknapping! Hurrah for flintknapping! Since these were Xook ruins, it's possible that Ayin's civilization does have metal...but this detail should make it not-shocking-at-all later when people are using obsidian tools.

Here, we also finally get confirmation on the details above, like yellow snake fever, corn beer, and palm fronds that all pointed to jungle. This should feel, again, not-surprising to the reader.

            Cham looked in her throat, felt her pulse, and sighed.  "May the gods watch over you, because I can't.  I've seen a cough like yours before.  In their later buildings, the magic-hating Xook poisoned the bottoms of their postholes."

Plot and worldbuilding: Ayin's not just sick, she's poisonously-bad-sick. Also, the Xook (some? all? I don't say here) hated magic -- suggesting there's quite possibly something bad/dangerous about it.

            "I have wet lung, don't I?" Ayin's chest twisted, this time in sinking dread.  She'd hoped  this was some regular cough.

Ayin is good enough/seasoned enough at what she does that she already knows about this bad news. And it's worse than just being regular-sick.

            Cham nodded.  "It's not contagious, at least."

Consistent w/ Cham being a kindly nurse; important worldbuilding tidbit (Ayin doesn't need to worry about being in contact with others).

            Ayin squeezed Tzi's shoulder.  Small comfort.  Her merchant-minded husband wouldn't return from the trading roads for another half-year at least.  If she died in a month, who would care for Tzi?  They had no other kin.

Plot pinch, confirming the set-up in the first sentence: Tzi and her health are at stake. Here we get our second mini-info dump, but it's in Ayin's POV and it's brief. "Show-don't-tell" is really confusing advice, but here I want to "show" that she's worried about her son, so I give her this train of thought where she "tells" about her family. There's no reason to have a long scene where she goes home and we "see" evidence of a missed, currently-absent husband. He's only important in that his absence means that Ayin can't die right now.

            "Thank you," Ayin said.  She took Tzi's hand and left the smells of cotton, herbs, and sickness behind.

This shows/finalizes that there's nothing this priestess-nurse can do for her. We get a final image, which hopefully also gives some mood/character emotion, as she leaves. Cotton also matches the Mesoamerica setting...but since it's also in the Old World, I didn't highlight it as being super-specific.

In these short four hundred words, we learn a lot. Every paragraph adds a little more (interweaving). Any given paragraph isn't there just for worldbuilding; it's also setting mood or forwarding plot or establishing character (multi-tasking). Keeping in Ayin's POV saves the highlighted sections from becoming bland (if short) info-dumps. Using specific, concrete words (Ayin, Xook, Tzi, Cham, yellow snakes fever, [bandages, salves, teas], corn beer, flintknapping, palm fronds) gives us an idea of the technology level of this society and the environment they live in, even though we're inside a single building.

 Further Reading:

IsWorldbuilding for Short Stories Different From World Buildingfor Novels? by Juliette Wade. This has a great windows vs. doors analogy.