Building the World Your Characters Call Home

Welcome back, fellow writers! ✍️

I hope you have all had an amazing Christmas holidays!

Over the last few months, we’ve been busy laying the foundation for our stories. We’ve deep-dived into Character Profiles to make our protagonists feel like real people, and we’ve mastered the Five-Point Scene Structure to ensure every chapter has a purpose.

But once you know who your characters are and what they are doing, you have to decide where they are doing it. This month, we’re talking about World Building and Research.

Why the Setting is a Character Too

Whether you are writing about a small town just like the ones we live in or a fantasy realm filled with Vikings and dragons, your setting needs to feel "lived in." If your world feels flat, your characters’ journey won't feel as high-stakes.

When you’re building your world, ask yourself these three questions:

1. What are the rules? (Even in a small-town story, there are social rules. Who is the town gossip? What happens if someone breaks a local tradition?)

2. What does it smell/sound/feel like? (Don’t just tell us the room is old. Tell us about the smell of dust on the curtains or the way the floorboards groan underfoot.)

3. How does the setting affect the plot? (If a storm rolls in, does it trap your characters together? Does the heat of a summer day make everyone a little more short-tempered?)

The Power of Research

I know, "research" sounds like homework, but for a writer, it’s actually a superpower! Even if you're writing fiction, a few real-world details make the story believable.

For example, remember our Viking ship example from the outlining post? I had to research what those ships actually looked like, how they were steered, and what people ate on long voyages. Those tiny details are what make a reader say, "Wow, I feel like I'm actually there."

My Research Tip: Start a "World File." This can be a notebook or a digital folder where you keep photos of locations that look like your setting, maps you’ve drawn, or notes on historical facts you've looked up.

Checking in on the Progress

Before you start writing your next scene using the structure we talked about last month, take a quick second to look at your character profile. Does their personality fit the world you’ve built?

I’v used these steps for my own book, and I’ve found that having the world built before I start the heavy writing helps the story flow so much better.

Writing Prompt for the Month: Describe your character's favorite "hiding spot" in your story’s world. What makes them feel safe there?

Happy writing, and I can't wait to see how your worlds come to life! 

And with that here is the third chapter of my book Who Am I?

     Chapter Three

     Location; Texas, Glenwood Cemetery

     Time; 6:04 PM

     Date; Saturday, February 15, 2024

     I walked through the gate into the cemetery, my gaze sweeping across the snow-dusted gravestones where a few people strolled. The weak sun glinted off the snow, and a shiver ran through me, prompting me to adjust the toque on my head. I turned right, following a recently plowed path.

     Soon, I reached my mom's row. Her gravestone, two feet tall and a foot wide, was a stark black with white words etched into the stone: "Abigail Bordan beloved wife and mother, March 6, 1989 - August 18, 2023, forever loved, forever in our hearts." I walked up and knelt, the snow crunching softly beneath me. Brushing the snow off the top, I stared at the words. A tear slipped down my cheek as I thought about all the moments she'd miss—my wedding, my children, even my college graduation.

     Just as I was about to stand, I felt a prickle, like someone was watching me. I glanced around. From where I knelt, I couldn't see anyone, but the feeling persisted. Standing up, I scanned the hedge that bordered the entire graveyard. Seeing no one, I turned back to Mom's gravestone. I unzipped my pocket, pulled out a rose, and laid it gently on the stone.

     As I started to walk away, I turned for one last look at the gravestone. That's when I noticed a man standing beside the small church, about twenty yards away. I stared hard at him; he seemed so familiar, yet I couldn't make out his face. My eyes dropped to his wrist, catching the glint of a silver bracelet. It was the man from Mom's funeral! Curious, I started to walk towards him, but he turned and began walking briskly away. "Hey, wait!" I yelled, running through the snow. He disappeared around the corner of the church, and by the time I reached where he'd been standing, he was nowhere in sight.

    As I turned to head home, a piece of paper at my feet caught my attention. I reached down and picked it up. It was white, with black cursive writing across it: "Centro Histórico de la Cdad. de México, Centro, Cuauhtémoc, 06000 Ciudad de México, CDMX, México." I stared at the paper for a moment, processing. It looked like an address in Mexico. I shoved the paper into my pocket.

     Location; Texas Home

     Time; 6:24 PM

     Date; Saturday, February 15, 2024

     I shut the front door and took off my coat, gloves, hat and boots. “Hey honey,” my dad called from the kitchen. 

     I pulled the note out of my coat pocket and hung the coat up, “Hey I’ve got something I need to show you,” I replied walking into the kitchen. 

     “What is it?” he asked, sitting at the table with his laptop open in front of him. 

     “There was a man watching me at the cemetery and when I went to go talk to him. . . “ 

     “You went to talk to a random man who was watching you?” he interrupted. 

     “Ummm, yes, and I know that wasn’t very smart. . . “ 

     “Do you know what could have happened to you? What if he was armed?” 

     “Well, when I went to talk to him he ran away and I found this note close to where he was standing,” I said, handing him the now wet note.

 He looked at it closely, then up at me, “That’s the hotel your mom stayed at,” he said, his face white.

     “I’m pretty sure I saw the same man at mom’s funeral.” I said pulling out a chair beside him and sitting down. 

     “Her funeral?” he asked.

     “Yes, he was by the trees in a black coat and hat watching us. I tried to show Theo but the man had disappeared.”

     “Hmmm.”

     A blast of cold air swept through the kitchen as Theo came bounding through the front door.

     “Hey hey, I’m home,” he yelled.

     “Hey bud,” Dad said. 

     Theo unzipped his coat and threw it in the corner, “Guess what? Zack’s mom said I can go with them to the aquarium next week!” 

     “That was nice of her, what day?” dad asked.

  “Ugh, Wednesday or Thursday, I forget,” Theo replied, pulling off his boots and leaving them on the mat.

     Dad nodded and stood up, “What do you guys want for dinner? We can go into town and grab dinner from Lakeside Steakhouse.”

     “Can we just order takeout, I want to watch the game,” Theo asked, switching the TV on.

     “Sure what do you guys want?” Dad asked. 

     “Fries, wings, pizza,” Theo said sitting down on the couch.

     “Sure,” I agreed. 

     Dad pulled out his phone and I went to my room. Glancing at the picture of my mom, I sighed, why did she lie to me? Why couldn’t I know she changed her name? Why couldn’t Dad know? What else had she lied about?"

     My gaze drifted to the window, fixed on the swirling snow that blurred the yard's edges as the sun dipped behind a thick cloud. A black truck, its engine a low thrum, crawled past. An old man, head bowed, walked his German Shepherd, their breath puffing white in the frigid air. A few minutes later, the same truck reappeared, its slow progress unsettling. Then, barely a minute after that, it idled past again, a cold knot tightening in my stomach.

  "Hey," Dad's voice was light as he knocked gently on the open door, peering in. "I'm gonna go pick up dinner. Theo's glued to the Cowboys game."

     My voice was tight, strained. "Come look at this. Tell me if I'm crazy." My eyes never left the street.

     He stepped up beside me, peering out. "What am I looking at?"

     "That black truck. It keeps driving by our house."     We stood in silence, the air suddenly thick with unspoken tension. A moment later, the truck slowly, deliberately, drove past again.     "There!" I whispered, pointing, my finger trembling slightly. Dad grunted, his shoulders tensing beside me as he watched. A minute crawled by, and then, inevitably, the same truck appeared again. 

     "That 

 weird," he murmured, a note of genuine concern in his voice. "How long has it been doing that?"

     "Ten minutes," I replied, finally tearing my gaze from the street to meet his.

     "Okay, well," he said, placing a heavy, reassuring hand on my shoulder. "Maybe with this whole passport thing, we're just a little tense. I'm sure there's a logical, reasonable explanation for all of this. Your mom wouldn't have kept things from us without good reason, or maybe she simply forgot to mention it. We might never get a full explanation, but I promise you, that truck is just a coincidence."

     I nodded, though my eyes flickered to the window, catching the black truck as it slowly drove by once again. 

     Dad's gaze followed mine, fixed on the vehicle. "Lock the door while I'm gone," he said, his voice suddenly firm. He leaned down, kissed my forehead quickly, and then was gone.

     “Bye Theo,” I heard him yell and then a moment later the front door slammed. I locked the doors and then laid down on my bed, staring at the photo of my mom. It was a photo that a photographer had taken when mom had wanted some nice professionally taken photos. I wondered if dad had any more. Curious, I went to the kitchen and sat down at the table in front of his open computer. Moving the mouse to wake up the screen I glanced over at Theo. He was intently staring at the TV with a disgusted face. I glanced back at the screen to see an email open, I was about to close the tab when I noticed the subject. Abigail Bordan’s Death. My eyes scanned over the email, and the more I read the more I was horrified. 

     It read;

     Dear Mr. Bordan,

     As you have been informed, at approximately 1:00 AM on August 18, 2023 your wife passed away in a fire at the Grand Velas Riviera Maya Hotel. What you may not have been told by your local police department is that there were five other people killed in that fire, because of the intensity of the fire the medical examiner cannot identify which body is your wife’s. We have confirmed she was killed in the fire via video recordings taken outside the room. The five people who were killed have all been identified as United States citizens and their bodies will be transported to the United States where the United States government will bury them. 

Any questions you may have can be addressed to the email address above. 

Medical Examiner Office

     My face drained off color. If they didn’t know which body was my mom’s then what did we bury? An empty casket? Was my Mom’s body buried in a random field with hundreds of others? Why wouldn’t my Dad tell me about this? I sat pondering the news. 

     A sharp knock on the front door startled me, pulling me from the dark vortex of my thoughts. I slammed the laptop shut, rushed to the door, and peered through the peephole. My dad stood on the other side, two large paper bags overflowing with takeout in his hands. I fumbled with the locks and swung the door open. He stepped inside, a blast of cold air whipping through the house, and handed me a bag of food, an enticing aroma wafting from it. "That's the fries," he said, his gaze falling on my face. He paused, his brow furrowed with concern. "Is something wrong?" Still grappling with the news, I simply shook my head.

     “All right,” he said, pulling off his boots and coat, “I got three large fries, three pounds of wings, and one large three meat pizza,” Dad announced as Theo grabbed the buckets of fries and set them on the coffee table.

      “Cowboys are up 3,” Theo said before sitting down on the couch and opening the fries. Dad nodded, opening the pizza and setting it down on the coffee table. I joined them on the couch and began eating.

     Location; Texas Home

     Time; 9:00 PM

     Date; Saturday, February 15, 2024

     “Hey honey,” Dad called from the kitchen as I came out of the bathroom. I brushed my wet hair from my face and went into the kitchen. 

     “Yeah?” I asked, he sat on the couch the TV playing post game interviews in the background.

     “What’s wrong?” he asked.

     “I saw the email.”

     His shoulders slumped, and he sat silent for a moment before motioning for me to sit beside him. “I didn’t want to make you guys upset,” he explained, “I thought it would be easier if I just kept that information to myself.”

     “So technically it’s possible mom didn’t die in the fire.”

     “I wish honey, they have video footage of her entering the room an hour before the fire started and never coming out.” he said, placing a hand on my leg.

     “Why didn’t she leave the room?” 

     “It looks like the fire started right at the door, and there were no windows, but the feds are still trying to figure out why the fire was so hot.” 

     “So hot? I asked.

     “The fire was so hot they couldn't get DNA, that’s very unusual.” he replied.

     I couldn’t imagine what my mom had gone through in her last few moments on earth. Dad put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer. Sighing, I leaned against him. 

     Location; Texas Home

     Time; 8:00 AM

     Date; Sunday, February 16, 2024

     I woke up to the spell of bacon and coffee. Sitting up I glanced around, I was on the couch in front of the TV. I must have fallen asleep last night while talking to my dad. “Hey honey, if you get dressed, I’ve got breakfast ready,” dad called from the kitchen. I sat up and brushed my hair behind my ear. “Okay,”

     Ten minutes later I entered the kitchen after getting dressed and brushing my teeth. I pulled out a stool and sat down beside my dad at the counter.

      “Where is Theo?” I asked taking a bite of bacon. 

     “Sleeping,” my dad replied with a chuckle. 

    “I want to go to Mexico,” I blurted out. 

     My dad stopped mid bite and stared at me, “What?”

     “Something about the fire seems weird, I think that it was arson, and we can't find out the truth if we stay here. Mom didn’t deserve to die like that, and I want to know what actually happened.” 

     He stared at me for a moment before answering, “I think that finding the truth is a job for the police.”

    “Yeah, because they’ve done a great job,” I shot back, frustration bubbling over.

     “Listen, honey. . .” Dad started, but a sharp rap on the front door cut him off. He slid off his chair, his gaze fixed on the door. “One second,” he muttered to me.

     “Yes, officers?” I heard him say, his voice losing its casual tone.

     I jumped off my chair, my heart hammering, and peered around the corner. Two men, broad-shouldered and unsmiling, stood on our porch. Bulletproof vests stretched taut over their chests, the letters "FBI" stamped starkly across the front.

     “You need to come with us,” the one on the right stated, his voice flat and authoritative.

     “Concerning?” my dad asked, his voice steady despite the shock.

     “The death of Abigail Morris,” the FBI agent replied.

     “What do you need to know about my wife?” my dad asked, a hint of steel in his tone.

     “Just come with us,” the agent said, his gaze flickering over my dad’s shoulder to me. “Do you have someone who can watch your children?”

     Dad ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in confusion and growing alarm. “I . . . I don’t know. What’s going on?”

     “If you refuse to come with us, we will simply arrest you, sir,” the agent said, his voice chillingly polite.

     Dad turned to me, his eyes wide and worried. "I have to go with them," he said, the words heavy.

   “When will you be back?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

     He glanced at the federal agents. They offered no answer, only a collective shrug that spoke volumes. He turned back to me, a forced, helpless smile on his lips. “Soon?”

     “Okay,” I managed, though my stomach churned.

     “I’m sorry, I love you,” he said quickly, pulling on his coat and boots with desperate speed, then leaned down to give me a quick, tight hug. He stepped out, and the front door slammed shut, the resounding thud making the entire house shudder around me.

     Location; Texas Home

    Time; 11:00 PM

     Date; Sunday, February 16, 2024

    I sat in front of the TV watching Spiderman with a bowl of pretzels beside me, Theo was sitting on the other end of the couch half asleep with a bowl of popcorn. The front door banged open and dad peered around the corner at us. Theo jumped off the couch and ran to him, Dad reached down and hugged him. 

     “Thought you guys would be asleep,” Dad said smiling at me.

    “I wanted to wait for you, Addie said that you would come home tonight,” Theo said, peering up at him. 

    "That's fine, but you should probably get some sleep. We're gonna have a busy day tomorrow," Dad said, walking into the kitchen and shrugging off his coat.

     Theo sighed. "Can we just skip school?"

     "Yep, you aren't going to school tomorrow. We're gonna get on an airplane and go for a little vacation, so pack your bags. We need to leave the house by six in the morning," Dad added,looking at me.

     "Seriously?" I asked, standing up with a grin.

     Dad nodded. Theo pumped a fist in the air. "Where are we going?" he asked.

     "That's a secret, you'll find out tomorrow," Dad replied. "So pack your bag, it's very warm where we're going, and then get some sleep." Theo hugged Dad one more time before bolting to his bedroom.

     "Mexico?" I asked, my voice a whisper.

    "Yep," Dad confirmed, sitting down at the counter.

     "What made you change your mind?" I asked, joining him at the counter and sliding onto the stool beside him.

     "The FBI is looking into me as a suspect. They think I killed Abigail," he replied, his voice low.

     "What? That's crazy! You were at work; can't you prove that?" I exclaimed.

    "Yes, but they think I might have hired someone. So, we're gonna go to Mexico and try to find out what we can. Maybe we won't find anything, but you're right, she didn't deserve to die like that, and we need to find out the truth."

     I nodded. "Okay, I'm gonna go pack."

     Location; Mexico City

     Time; 11:48 AM

     Date; Monday, February 17, 2024

     As I walked out of the airport with my brother and dad, a genuine smile touched my lips. For the first time in months, it felt like we were actually doing something to find the truth.

     Theo grinned up at me, his eyes wide with wonder. "This is gonna be so sick! We're in Mexico!"

     Dad smiled, squeezing Theo's hand. "We have to go to the Grand Velas Riviera Maya Hotel."

     Theo stopped short, looking up at him. "Isn't that where Mom died?"

     "Yes, it is," Dad replied, turning to face him. "We're going to stay there for a few days."

     "Oh, okay," Theo said hesitantly, his excitement visibly dimming.

      As we hailed a cab and loaded our suitcases into the trunk, I took a moment to truly 

 the city. The air was warmer, thicker than back home, carrying a blend of diesel fumes and the sweet scent of street food. Brightly colored pesero buses whizzed by, blasting cumbia music. A vendor pushed a cart, his rhythmic call of "¡Elotes! ¡Esquites!" piercing through the general hum. A stray dog darted across a narrow street, a group of boys kicked a well-worn soccer ball down the sidewalk, and women in vibrant blouses laughed as they entered a nail salon. But then, something else caught my eye: a man in a red sweater and jeans standing outside a coffee shop. He wore sunglasses, hiding his eyes, but his body was angled in our direction. My gaze instinctively dropped to his wrist—a silver watch gleamed.

     I turned to my dad. "Do you recognize that man?" I asked, turning to point at the coffee shop. But the spot was empty.

     "I don't see anything, honey," Dad said, his hand resting on my shoulder.

     "He was just there, I swear," I insisted, my eyes darting up and down the busy street, past colorful murals on building walls and the bustling crowds.

     "Well, he's gone now," Dad conceded, turning to get into the cab. "Let's head to the hotel and get settled in our room. Then we'll decide what our next move is."

     With one last, lingering look around, I slid into the cab. As we pulled away from the curb, the taxi driver's radio quietly played a mariachi tune. I glanced in the rearview mirror. The man was there again, standing a few feet back, watching us as we drove deeper into the heart of Mexico City.

If you have questions about how to organize your "World File" or want to share your progress, email me @ everythinginbetween55@gmail.com