When I curl up in a chair, open a book and start reading, I expect to be sucked into a world. I want to be immersed and enthralled by the setting (fantasy, sci-fi, dystopian, mixture thereof) and the characters who inhabit it. I often imagine it like (and forgive the cliche) Alice falling down the rabbit hole. I want to forget where I’m sitting, forget what plans I have, and for 5 minutes, an hour or (on those beautiful, magical occasions) an entire day, live a different life.
So, it’s thoroughly annoying when I open the covers (or less romantically, open the Kindle file) and am introduced to the world’s history, it’s leaders, the dominating politics and the character’s views on those politics, the strange cuisine, curse words in five different, fantastical languages, myths pertaining to the world’s creation, a whole cast of gods, goddesses, demi-gods and whatever lies in between. All within the first chapter.
This is the info-dump Reading that sentence was probably difficult. Writing it certainly made me breathless. It is simply too hard for someone to read and take in all this information at once. At least, impossible to do that and enjoy it at the same time.
Readers read fiction books for entertainment. As a reader, the info-dump is a major obstacle to my enjoyment of a book. Because it so often happens in the first or first couple of chapters, it can really put me off continuing. I haven’t yet had time to engage with the characters, or learn what’s at stake.
SFF is very prone to the info-dump, for obvious reasons. The author has created an entirely new world. That’s new cultures, new languages, new religions, new cities, new fashions, new, new, new. And often, we spend hours doing so (yup, even us pantsers!). It’s natural to want convey all this REALLY IMPORTANT STUFF to our readers. After all, if we hadn’t thought it up, it wouldn’t be important, right?
Wrong. Or. Sort of wrong.
The one thing I’ve noticed in reading – published books or beta reading – is that when conveying information is done right, you can include any little detail you want and the reader won’t feel overwhelmed. Honestly, every tiny bit of world-building detail you thought of – only people from the eastern district of the sub-equatorial Madeupworld can cross their toes; there are 143 types of penguin; folk up north can cook beetroot in 40 different ways – can be included. If you do it right.
How do I get it right?
I think that authors who get it right, have a real grasp on the different levels of information, and when to divulge them. It’s a bloody difficult balance, especially, as the author, you’re so drenched in the world that sometimes it’s hard to distinguish basic information from more complicated concepts.
Authors who have nailed it understand that, actually, the reader doesn’t need to know everything right away to understand the plot. That sometimes withholding information can add to the tension, can draw the reader into the story more, because they want to find out why everyone’s in awe of the people from the eastern district of sub-equatorial Madeupworld.
I’m still learning on how to drip feed information and world-building through my WIP, Winter’s Fire. But from reading authors who do this so well I try a split my information into layers of importance:
- The foundation – the absolute basics. If the reader doesn’t know this, they won’t understand the opening scene, let alone the novel.
- The progression- Builds on the foundation to provide more depth to the world, like introducing another concept or rule
- The details – Elaborates to fill in the annoying little gaps that if not filled, could impinge on the reader’s enjoyment of the novel
- The decoration – or the fun stuff. These are the little unique tit-bits that make your world yours, but maybe don’t actually have much bearing on the story at all
The foundations…or ‘What does the reader absolutely, vitally, 100% need to know to understand this scene?’
This is really important for the start of the novel. I’ve found (and maybe because I’m a pantser and blah blah no planning blah blah what plot? blah blah blah) that the information I end up disclosing in the first couple of chapters changes dramatically in the later drafts. This is because by this time I’ve identified what my book is about. I know the key focus, the key themes and therefore what is absolutely vital to introduce to the story.
Say for example, you have two opposing sides on the cusp of a war that will define your novel, your MC, and change the landscape of the entire world. These sides are probably going to get a mention in chapter one. It sounds pretty damn important.
BUT, do you need to mention the leaders on either side? Do you need to mention what kick-started the war? Do you need to mention where the borders are, how many troops each side has, what the political ramifications of one side losing or winning are?
Maybe one or two of these things. And choosing them probably depends on what your character’s arc will be, and where/how the reader’s meeting them. Say we meet Brad, mid-argument with his wife about the time he’s spending away from home as a general in the toe-crossing eastern-district’s army. What does the reader need to know to understand this scene? Let’s face it, Brad’s probably not going to be thinking about troop placements or the political situation mid-argument (or maybe he does, in which case we can all thoroughly understand where his wife is coming from…)
What the reader has to know is:
- Brad is in the army, potentially in a high-ranking position
- His job is putting pressure on his marriage
- There’s war a-brewing
The progression – building the picture
If you’re writing SFF, you’re in luck. SFF (and in particular epic fantasy) rates in the highest novel word-counts. Use those words.
Each piece of information is like a brick, and you’re building a mansion. You can’t build a roof until you’ve got decent foundations and solid walls (and probably a heap of other stuff, but I’m not in construction so there the analogy ends).
Brad’s war against the toe-crossing-haters of the Western District is complicated by the fact there’s a third party involved, who may or may not be investing in both sides. AWESOME! But mentioning this in the first chapter, when the reader is coming to terms with the fact that a whole population can cross their toes, and they’re hated for it? It’d be too much.
As an aside, this is why the apprentice character is so popular in SFF. It gives the writer a really natural way to drip feed the reader information, often in a classroom-type setting, without it coming across as dry or contrived.
The details – make the finish product
Details are important. Just as important as the foundations and the progression. They give your novel substance, and drag the reader so far into your world that they’re going to struggle escaping it. But you simply can’t give the reader all the details, all at once.
You can drop details into the first chapter. In fact, it’d probably be bland without them. But not all the details! We don’t need to know about the currency, the most popular pop artist, fashion, travel modes and rubbish collection all at once. Use details to build tension, drop hints at what’s to come, use them to enhance your character. Use them sparingly, like little gems that your reader can savour and will gradually collect into a treasure hoard by the novel’s end.
Decorate – hang paintings, polish floors, and paint those walls
Oh, this is the fun part! But you can’t decorate unless you have the foundations, walls and roof to keep your precious belongings safe… Once you have the bones of your draft, without the massive info dumps, the right information conveyed in the right places, you can see the natural points to slot in some world-building nuggets. Things that don’t necessarily link to the plot, but enhance the world. The unique identifiers that make your world, well, yours. If you’re super clever about it, those little gems will pay dividends later on in the main or subplot…
For the plotters (or for the pantsers on the 19th revision)
Look at your outline and identify what the reader needs to know to understand what’s going on in every scene. This helps me make a rough outline of the nuggets I need to drop into the scenes coming before it, and thus steadily build my mansion from the ground up. After using this method, I’ve definitely reduced the moments half way through chapter 15, when I need to launch into a three paragraph explanation about something not yet mentioned in the novel.
Information giving by implication
Readers are not stupid. You don’t need to say a tree is green, unless you’ve already specified that all the trees in your novel are blue. Use simple language, and show the reader what is going on in the scene – they’ll be able to connect the dots between scenes to get a full picture. Use the way your characters react to things – perhaps they run screaming after seeing a penguin on the street. Well, it’s probably safe to say the reader is a) going to assume penguins are somehow fearsome in this world and b) be wondering why c) be sad that someone has made such sweet creatures into killers. Aren’t even penguins safe now?!
A(very rough) example
Example A
“I can’t believe you’re leaving again,” Betty said, slamming the tea towel on the draining board. “You’ve only just come back.”
“Needs must,” Brad sighed. “I have a council meeting with Generals Fillip and Justic tomorrow. The situation is dire.”
“But I’ve invited Ellis and Marjory back home for Sunday dinner!” Betty stood with her hands on her hips. “I’ve even made your favourite pie.”
“The war won’t wait. The Western District is poised to attack at any minute and we must be ready. If I don’t attend this meeting, Filip and Justic will take my men and the Eastern District’s only defense.”
Betty sunk onto the chair. “I’m sorry. I know those 3,000 men need you. We all need you. I just miss you so much.”
Example B
“I can’t believe you’re leaving again,” Betty said, slamming the tea towel on the draining board. “You’ve only just come back”
Brad sighed. He wanted to take her into his arms, hold her and never let go.
“I’ve even invited the children back home for Sunday dinner.” Betty’s lip trembled, and she reached out for Brad’s hand.
He looked away, out the window and across the rolling skyline of the Eastern District. There were others that depended on him too.
“I’m sorry, love. War won’t wait.”
Dialogue’s a brilliantly natural way to convey information, but only if the conversation is natural. In example A, the dialogue is stilted. People just don’t speak to each other in this way. It kills off emotions and disengages the reader.
The specificity hasn’t helped either. ‘3,000 men’ is a nothing number. At this point, we don’t know if this is a big force or a small portion of the Eastern district’s army. Imagining 3,000 people is actually quite difficult. It’s impersonal. The same goes for the generals and the names of the children – frankly, I don’t gives a flying f*ck who these people are.
In Example B, more is left to the reader’s imagination. We’ve shown that Brad is torn – he wants to stay with his wife, but has what sounds like a city to defend. The implication is that Brad might be the only one standing between those people inhabiting the skyline and the disaster of war. Hopefully, the reader will be more engaged as they’re actively taking part in the story by filling in the gaps, and will want to find out more about why it’s all up to Brad when what he really wants is to eat dinner with his family.
You could build more urgency into Example B, if needed. Perhaps Brad sees fire on the horizon, outside the city walls. Or maybe the blast of a defensive canon punctuates the conversation.
By mixing implication, showing instead of telling, and gauging what the vital information is for a scene, you’ll be able to avoid the info dump, and hook readers from the first paragraph, right through the novel.
Well done if you made it this far, and hope these rambling thoughts have been of help!
How do you avoid the info-dump? What are your top tips?