Late last year I shared a list of story ideas I decided not to use. It wasn’t that they were bad (okay, some of them were) but that they just didn’t work for me. Either they didn’t fit my preferred writing niches, or they didn’t give me enough to work with for the creation of actual books.

There are a lot of ideas I keep in reserve, but I try not to talk about them until they become a solid part of my writing plan. A lot goes on behind the scenes that I never talk about, but since one of those ideas has recently slipped from the idea folder to the trash can, I thought I’d take a few minutes to talk about this quiet part of my writing process, where only my husband and a few close friends get to see me bouncing around raw ideas.

Two and a half years ago, I worked on developing an idea for a sort of sci-fi YA novel. It revolved around a girl who was determined to escape the city she’d been assigned to, wanting to find a better life with the other half of her family. The cities rested on an alien planet filled with monstrous creatures. There were two problems: getting past the alien life to make the trek to her father’s home city, and getting out of her city at all. The cities were protected from the alien life by a device called the Adrammelech, named for the ancient Earth Mesopotamian deity. The Adrammelech was powered by the sun, a massive arm of fiery energy that swept around the city’s protective barrier and burned everything in its path to cinders, be it friend or foe. Her chance for escape arrives when an unexpected celestial event causes the Adrammelech to shut down, leaving the city defenseless. It’s the only time she may ever make it past the Adrammelech’s arm, but leaving means abandoning her younger siblings when her survival skills are all that can save them from the encroaching threat of the wildlife.

It was enough of an idea to create a book from and I was excited to add it to my roster of titles to write. I created a preliminary cover for it–something I do for almost all my books, so I can visually sort the project folders–and stockpiled ideas for when I’d eventually get around to writing it. But instead of writing it, eventually I decided the project was a no-go, and I moved my existing work on the idea to the no-man’s land of my Abandoned Projects folder. Here are the biggest reasons why.

1. It’s outside my comfort zone.

There’s nothing wrong with pushing boundaries, and you can learn a lot from doing it. But when I’m so early in my writing career, pushing boundaries and expanding into new genres isn’t going to help, especially when it’s one I won’t visit often, if ever again. Writers shouldn’t pigeonhole themselves into just one category of writing, of course, but building my early catalogue should be in something I’m both familiar with and in love with. Branching out into other ideas can happen later, which means there’s no point in keeping this one around now.

2. The stakes are too small.

This is a big problem for this particular book. The heroine might not make it out of the city because her family needs her. Ultimately this is such a small issue that when I read back over my story notes, I stop and think “so what?” Not all stories need to be big stories, but they need to have enough impact to resonate with readers. If it’s not resonating with me, something is wrong. Sometimes issues like this can be fixed, but when coupled with the problem of this one not fitting within my preferred genres or the direction I ultimately want my writing to go, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of point in trying to beef the plot up enough to give it real impact.

3. Sometimes you just lose interest.

The years that pass between having an idea and having the time to write it are the best thing to separate the wheat from the chaff. It’s pretty normal for writers to jump into a half-baked idea with both feet, only to find it too superficial to complete. If an idea is worth executing, it will stick around for the long haul, drawing you back in over the course of years and years. This is why Emberheart, one of my current WIP stories, is still on the table and scheduled to be tackled next after more than a decade. An idea’s lasting power is almost as important as the willpower to muscle through to a project’s end.

What are some reasons you’d put aside a project, writing or otherwise?

I’ve always liked reading people’s writing tips when I have a free moment. With the advent of smartphones, it’s easier than ever to peek at my feeds or pop in to check Pinterest for a few quick and creative ideas. I can research while I eat my breakfast cereal, instead of reading the nutrition facts of Raisin Bran for the 800th time, so that’s pretty cool.

Since I read a lot of advice from a lot of people, a lot of tips pop up over and over again. One of those is that if you want to be a better writer, you should write short stories. I don’t entirely agree. Should writers try writing short stories? Definitely! But maybe not the kind most people are thinking of.

Before I go too far, let me be clear that I don’t necessarily mean short stories in the traditional sense. Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) defines a short story as anything 7,500 words or under. This is what most people are talking about when they encourage people to write short stories. Small enough to fit on a few pages, small enough to be printed in a literary journal. I do think the idea has merit, and yes, there’s a lot to be learned from writing short stories. more importantly, I think we should encourage people to write shorter stories, and that’s a different thing.

See, I tried writing short stories. I wrote a whole bunch of them for writing prompts, and there’s even a section over there on the left devoted to those short stories. I started because everyone told me I should, and I did learn from the experience, but you know what I learned?

That I hate writing short stories.

There are only a few things in that section that I actually ended up pleased with. The two short stories I planned to be short stories (Disposable Bodies and Eiri and the Dragon) and a handful of writing prompts, all of which have something in common.

Three of the four prompts I loved gave me a glimpse into the lives of characters who I can’t touch until I get to their books, all of which are at least a few years away. The fourth featured a character who was to appear in Born of the Moon, but ended up being cut to streamline the story. This is one of the reasons I ultimately decided short stories weren’t for me; the only reason I could make some work was because they were part of a bigger world.

On the other hand, there’s Gale’s Gift, and a second novelette I’m working on that I won’t talk about just yet. These are too long to be considered short stories, but they’re still shorter than most of what I write. And while I didn’t like doing short stories, I’ve loved working on these.

They give me enough space to do world building and add a sense of adventure, but they’re one tenth the length of the fantasy epics I’ve been working on the past few years. They’re also short enough that they demand more story be covered faster, cramming as much meaning into every paragraph as possible. And that’s why writing these shorter stories helped me improve; it drives home the need to make every piece of text valuable, probably better than any piece of writing advice I’ve ever read.

It’s not just something to apply to novellas and novelettes; it should be applied to every book written. Don’t skip writing the story that’s really important to you, just write it shorter, trying to cram it into as little space as possible without losing your meaning. It improves pacing and makes you more conscious of word usage. It also eliminates filler chapters, because you can’t spare a single page for something that isn’t actively moving some part of the story forward.

In some respects, you can think of it as a more hardcore form of editing, especially since the best way to practice is to take a page or paragraph from your existing story and then rework it, changing phrasing to convey the scene in as few words as possible. If the short paragraphs lack emotional impact, that gives you a clear indicator of where you need to improve, making you mindful of your word choices. It makes you more aware of the words that evoke emotion, drawing attention to the parts where they’re missing.

So no, writing short stories won’t necessarily make you a better writer. But taking your stories and making them shorter? That definitely will.

I have a small group of people I allow to read my early book drafts. They’re the ones who give me solid, truthful feedback, are great at catching typos, and call me out when pieces of my story don’t add up. Last month I popped in to visit one who is currently working through the second book in my work-in-progress fantasy series. We turned the kids loose on a box of LEGOs, plopped on a couch, and the subject immediately turned to books.
“This book is so much faster,” she said. I agree; mostly because the world is already built.

As I’ve shared my fantasy books with both friends and strangers in seeking feedback, one consistent statement they make is they enjoy the world building that happens in the novels. Creating worlds is something I enjoy, so I’ve read a lot about doing it, but there are a few key points that I’ve had to learn myself. Everyone develops their own pieces of writing advice, though, so here’s some of mine: The things I wish I’d been told about world building before I started doing it myself.

 

1. Blend, Don’t Build.

When you need a quick start, blending real cultures to create new ones to populate your fictional world is the best and easiest starting point. You can always add on later, fleshing them out however much you want, but taking a few key elements from people and places around the world and mixing them lays the ground work fast. Blurring the lines between the two is where your imagination fills in the blanks, creating new and unique twists to the civilizations you’ve created. Plus, having a real-life basis for your creations lends an air of familiarity, which makes it easier for people to connect to your fictional world.

There’s one catch, though: You can’t just clip whatever you want and toss it in with no thought. If there’s something you like about a culture, you have to research it first before creating a mash-up with something else. Remember that what you’re building on is the framework that real people have created over thousands of years. Be respectful.

 

2. Opposites attract, which makes for interesting worlds.

This, of course, grows out of the point above. It’s a cliche saying, but it’s true. We like things that conflict, because we want to know what makes it work. The most interesting blends come from mixing cultures that contradict each other.

One good example is James Gurney’s Dinotopia series, which blends a technologically developed society about on par with Victorian ages with the prehistoric wonder of dinosaurs. That resplendent era clashes with the primitive nature of the beasts that populate the world, creating an intriguing setting. In that setting, dinosaurs have their own developed and refined purpose, which makes their inclusion more believable and adds a unique flavor to the world.

 

3. Fill in the empty space.

Generally speaking, most books don’t contain a ton of globetrotting. Even if you create a vast world for your stories to take place in, you’ll probably only visit a handful of locations in each volume. But these aren’t the only places you should be creating; your world is much bigger than that.

Open any map and just glance over it. There are hundreds of major roadways and thousands of cities, probably more than you could ever visit. Fictional worlds are like that too, and the people who live in these worlds know it. They might mention a grandmother in a certain township, or a childhood vacation to a city on the coast. If nothing else, when creating a map, take the time to fill all your empty space with a variety of locations. It’s a small step that can lend a lot of flavor to your world, even if these places never come into play.

 

4. When you visit a book’s world, you’re a tourist.

That’s why simple insights into a culture are almost always best. Characters live in this world, but we don’t; they’re already familiar with the ins and outs of traditions and cultural norms. Filtering everything through that lens paints an interesting picture. People feel a sense of awe when they only get peeks into what a world is like. It’s new and exotic and spurs curiosity.

It also meshes well with the “show, don’t tell” principle, and the practice of sprinkling background information in just a little at a time. Build your world in a way that makes people eager to peek down the next narrow street when your story takes a turn.

 

5. Don’t let world building interfere with a first draft.

This one seems to be a big issue for people, and I admit it was an issue for me, too! It’s easy to get caught up in the idea that you need to have your world fleshed out and developed before you get started, but it’s simply not true.

Rarely does the story being told depend on more than the most basic information about the world it’s in. More often than not, the world works better if it’s shaped by the actions of the characters within the story, anyway. Just think of it: Our world’s cultures and countries are all the result of people’s actions. They’d develop in fictional worlds the same way and, sometimes, the best way to get a feeling for the world you’re creating is to jump into it with both feet and see where the trip takes you.

Not only that, but a first draft is always rough. All the fleshing out and refining of the story–and the world–will happen later, so don’t let it bog you down. A well-built world offers a lot of support to a good story, but a bad story can’t save a good world.

I could talk about world building for pages, but from my experience, those points are the most important to me–and also the points I’ve rarely (if ever) seen anyone talk about.

Do you have any writing tips you’ve picked up in your experience?