Science communication and the art of world-building

I mentioned in my last post that I have a slight SFF obsession. Part of the reason I love this genre is because good SFF is built on the back of excellent world-building.

World-building is the process creating a living, breathing, vibrant universe... all within the confines of your writing. The best fantasy novels hint at larger worlds beyond the confines of the pages - worlds with lore, legends, and history, of which the story currently being told is only a small part. Think of Middle Earth, Earthsea, Shannara or Tortall.

Needless to say, much ink has already been spilled in service of the how and why of world-building as a staple of the sci-fi and fantasy genres. Imagine my surprise, however, when I discovered that many of the steps needed for excellent world-building in creative writing mirror the processes needed for effective science communication!

Let's break that statement down a little...

Physical location - what does your environment look (and feel) like?

Obviously, the first step in world-building is... building a physical world. (Also drawing maps. I love maps).

In a fantasy novel, you're likely doing that from scratch. What sorts of natural resources are there? Are there cities and nation-states? If so, where are the borders? What sorts of environments are there in your world - and are they more concentrated in certain areas than others? What sorts of natural disasters are common?

The most important thing to note about this process is that form dictates function. If you have a town and port located at the mouth of a major river that acts as a "gateway" to the rest of the country, that town is likely to grow in size and reputation. River deltas tend to be pretty flat, so let's say that this city is too. It's built on the rich sediment that makes up the delta, which makes it both excellent for farming... and prone to subsidence. It's prone to flooding during high tides and is often battered by storms - especially now that the growing population has drained parts of the surrounding wetlands to make way for more buildings.

This city exists in the real world. It's called New Orleans.

You can probably see where I'm going with this. As a hydrologist, one of the first things I do is to learn about what the natural and man-made landscape means for the communities I work with. Context is key here: soil type, climate, biome, existing natural features, and prevailing natural hazards all shape a community's needs and wants... and a scientist's potential suite of solutions.

Inhabitants - who lives here (and for how long)?

The next stage once you've got the bare bones of your world is to start populating it. Who lives here? Where do they live - in cities, towns, or scattered settlements? Are there long-lasting alliances - or enmities? What are some of the key events that have shaped the cultures and social mores in the area?

Especially in my line of work - which is mainly centered on urban areas - these questions are important ones to ask. One of the most important things to learn about engineering (especially in a relatively conservative field like civil engineering) is that no matter how clever the design or concept, if the client - the community - doesn't engage with your idea, it won't last.

This is especially true for designs that require routine maintenance to perform at their best. Or for projects that require public-private partnerships to really scale. Green infrastructure, because of its inherently localized, decentralized nature, is particularly prone to this challenge. Especially when the power structures in play are actively working against innovative design.

Which segues nicely into...

Rules and regulations - who holds the power (and why)?

No matter how egalitarian your fantasy society may be, there will always be haves and have-nots. Maybe your story is a classic fairy-tale, with a ruling monarchy that passes on power through the royal bloodline. Or maybe your story centers on an isolationist mageocracy slowly being corrupted by the power they wield over their own people (spoiler alert for my latest writing project).

The very best stories take our ingrained concepts of hierarchy, shake them, and set them on their heads (looking at you The Sleeper and the Spindle...) And that's sometimes what we need to do with our engineering designs as well.

Often, what we build is hard-wired by the codes and regulations that we need to meet as engineers, or the desires of individual clients. But what would it look like to center our designed on marginalized communities rather that just those who have the loudest voices at the decision-making table?

Design Justice is a design framework that is led by marginalized communities and creates designs that actively dismantle - rather than perpetuate - structural inequities. I'll dive a little further into its principles and how they synergize (and differ from) community-oriented design in a later post. But for now, let's dive into our last - and most important - world-building question.

Beliefs and values - what is important to this community?

This question lies at the core of both good story-telling and effective communication.

All communication is values-driven. The question is whether the values you're communicating are yours - or your audience's.

A lot of scientists mistake "bare bones", factual communications as being values-free, when they actually foreground a whole host of implicit values about the nature of truth and the value that Western society places on science as an objective arbiter of policy. In truth, plain facts very rarely change minds... especially if the decision in question is one that has a lot of strong emotional associations for a particular community.

The most important thing that a scientist can do in these situations is to know when to stop talking and start listening. Be curious, ask questions... and don't be afraid to bring a social scientist, organizer, or local community leader onto your team. You'll probably learn something in the process too.