The Things You'll (Hopefully) Never Notice

Behind every believable adventure are countless small decisions that quietly disappear into the background, leaving readers free to become lost in the story.

One of the highest compliments a writer can receive isn't about beautiful prose or unforgettable dialogue.

It's when a reader never stops to question the world they're reading.

If I've done my job well, you'll never wonder why a trail bends where it does.

You won't question how long it took someone to hike from one place to another.

You'll simply keep turning the pages.

That's because a surprising amount of writing happens long before I write the first sentence.

Sometimes I'll spend an evening sketching a map that may never appear in a book.

Other times I'll measure walking distances on satellite imagery, study topographic maps, or think about how rain would change the way a creek flows through a particular valley.

Not because readers need those details explained.

Because they help me write with confidence.

If I know where everything is, I can focus on telling the story instead of inventing it as I go.

There are pages of notes that will probably never be published.

Sketches that exist only to help me understand a place.

Landmarks with names no reader will ever see.

Conversations with myself about where the sun would be at a particular time of day or whether a fallen tree would still be there after a spring runoff.

Most of those decisions quietly disappear into the background.

Exactly where they belong.

The goal isn't to impress readers with research.

The goal is to create a world that feels consistent enough that you forget someone had to build it.

In many ways, it's not that different from photography.

When someone looks at a finished photograph, they usually aren't thinking about where the tripod was placed, how long I waited for the light, or how many compositions I tried before settling on one frame.

They simply enjoy the image.

The work behind it fades away.

I think stories work the same way.

The best adventures don't feel carefully constructed.

They simply feel like they happened.

So if you finish one of my books without ever wondering how far the characters walked, why a creek is exactly where it is, or why a trail seems to naturally lead somewhere...

I'll consider that a success.

Those are the things you'll (hopefully) never notice.

Continue the Journey

For more about the questions that quietly hold the world together, read Building a World One Question at a Time.

For a glimpse of the rough work that supports a finished story, read This Page Will Never Be in the Book.