How to Build a World Without Losing Your Mind

Less fuss, more feels: worldbuilding for storytellers

Hey there,

I know my past few newsletters have been a bit… doom-y, so I wanted to write something a bit more uplifting this time around.

I wanted to talk about worldbuilding. Specifically... how much I absolutely used to hate it.

I can already hear you saying “But wait, Matta! You said you weren’t going to rant this time!”

I’m not, I promise. Just hear me out.

When I first started working on Sacrimony, the idea of “building a world” sounded like the most exhausting thing imaginable. I pictured those creators who had giant lore bibles, flowcharts of political systems, paragraphs about trade routes, and diagrams about the species of moss growing in the northern regions. You know the ones.

That was... not me. Never has been.

I didn’t come into this thinking, “I’m going to create a fully fleshed-out fantasy world.” I came into it thinking, “I have characters. They live somewhere. I guess I should figure out where that where is.”

And honestly, that’s how my whole approach evolved—as needed, bit by bit. Not because I love designing complicated world systems, but because I love figuring out what makes people tick.

Whenever I asked myself, “Why is this character doing this?” the next question naturally became, “What about their world made them this way?” Little details started showing up on their clothes, in their traditions, in the way they talked about gods or complained about their jobs. It was like the world was quietly sneaking in through the back door while I was busy writing dialogue.

I wasn’t plotting a political history. I was deciding whether someone’s house had wooden floors or stone tiles and why. Whether their coat had six buttons because it was fashionable, ceremonial, or just because they were cold. Whether their religion made them pray twice a day or made them deeply question the meaning of their existence every time the sun came up.

It was never about “how do I design a world?” It was always, “what do my characters believe is normal?”

And you know what? That’s when it clicked. The world feels real when the characters believe in it. If they think their weird little traditions and habits are normal, the reader will, too. You don’t have to stop the story to explain it. You just let it exist.

I used to think worldbuilding was this big, intimidating task—like building Rome in a day. Turns out, it’s more like... every so often, leaving piles of bricks everywhere until you realize you’ve built a city over a long period of time without having to try so hard.

The funny part? I still don’t think of myself as someone who loves worldbuilding. I just love characters who have very strong opinions about how the world works—and half the time, they’re wrong anyway. And the other half, they’re right but nobody listens to them!

So if you’re someone who’s ever looked at worldbuilding guides and thought, “Nope. Not me. Too overwhelming,” I get it. Truly. My advice? Forget about worldbuilding. Just think about people. What stresses them out? What’s normal to them? What’s totally bizarre but also makes perfect sense within their little corner of existence?

And if you’re wondering whether you need to explain the entire economy or the lineage of kings or how the moon affects tides... nah. You don’t. Throw in a couple confident details and keep moving. The illusion holds.

At the end of the day, the world exists because the characters exist in it. The story gives the world meaning—not the other way around.

And that’s how I, someone who once said “I hate worldbuilding” with my whole chest... slowly became a worldbuilder anyway.

Thanks for reading! And hey, if this resonates with you, reply back. I love hearing how other people fight through their creative processes.

Have a great weekend!
-M

Worldbuilding is hard. I know.

That’s why I document the messy middle on Patreon—from concept sketches to lore-building breakdowns. It’s the story behind the story.
👉 https://www.patreon.com/sacrimony