Worldbuilding Without Losing the Plot
When you hear the term worldbuilding, you might picture sci-fi blockbusters or sprawling fantasy epics. But every screenplay has a world. Even if your story unfolds in a modern-day coffee shop, the audience still needs to know where we are, when we are, and how this particular version of reality works.
But good worldbuilding isn’t about wedging in every detail, no matter how mundane or fantastical. It’s about orienting your audience so they can sink into the story without confusion or frustration.
What worldbuilding really is
At its simplest, worldbuilding is everything you do to create the specific “where and when” of your story — and, if it applies, what makes this world different from the audience’s own reality.
That “where and when” might be distinct and obvious right away, like “1930s Chicago” or “Mars, 200 years from now.” Or it might be more subtle, like a present-day city that’s just a little more corrupt, a little more magical, or a little more dangerous than the one we know.
So the details you provide aim to answer these two questions for the audience:
Where and when are we? Setting, time period, location, culture. Are we in a bustling metropolis or a sleepy fishing village? Is this the near future, ancient history, or an alternate timeline where the Cold War never ended?
How is this world different from ours? Technology, rules, social norms, magic systems, existing species, historical changes. The more unfamiliar it is, the more you’ll need to establish so the audience can understand and appreciate the story.
Whether your world is a galaxy far, far away or a small town that looks suspiciously like your hometown, these two questions form the foundation that holds the whole story together.
The “Why here, why now?” test
Every element of your world should serve the story. If a rule of that world could be removed or changed without affecting the plot, it may not belong.
When the rules are essential, they can become the hook itself. Like in Minority Report, where the pre-crime technology doesn’t just color the backdrop, it’s the reason the story exists. The entire premise hinges on this rule: murders can be predicted and prevented before they happen.
So think about why your story happens here and now, and nowhere else. Include the details that have some effect on the events of the story. Avoid building an elaborate story world that burdens the audience more than it enhances the story you're telling.
Conveying the rules without an info dump
The further your world is from the audience’s “normal,” the more they’ll need to know. But that doesn’t mean paragraphs of backstory or exposition-heavy dialogue. Show them how things work instead.
Here are a few ways to do it:
Use narrative shorthand. Where possible, lean on cultural references and genre conventions to speed up understanding.
For example, if you tell us the characters in your story are zombies, that's narrative shorthand. We have a set of existing expectations you can build on, even if you're tweaking them in some way to come up with a fresh version. On the other hand, if you tell us the characters in your story are "hollowers" and they drain personal memories, leaving victims alive but hollow... that's going to require more in-story explanation because it's an unfamiliar idea. It may be a great idea, and it may even be the hook of your story — just know that it's going to require a bit more worldbuilding so the audience can follow along.
Use "who knows what" to your advantage, and to create context. You can give an audience a lot of information by letting us learn alongside characters who are being introduced to the information too. For example, in the Scandal pilot, newcomer Quinn is our window into how Olivia Pope’s world and business operate.
But there are times when all of the characters are familiar with the rules. What then? Show us how the characters usually interact with or navigate the element(s) you're establishing. For example, in the Timezone screenplay (written Bill Marsilii & Terry Rossio), the rules of the world quickly become clear through how characters use unique technology in their normal day-to-day.
Show the rules through consequences. If a character drops a sandwich and it floats instead of falling, we instantly grasp that gravity works differently. In Timezone, when Griffin rides his bike over the surface of the water, this unexpected outcome tells us that certain law enforcement officers can operate at super speed.
Showing beats telling. Find ways to dramatize. Let us see things in action. When would we naturally see an element in play? What situation would reveal a particular rule of this world? Then build those moments into your scenes so we learn by watching.
Stay consistent. Rules lose power when they’re broken without warning. Introduce them early and reinforce them often, otherwise they can feel like cheats.
Research as a worldbuilding tool
Research isn’t just for elaborate invented worlds. A contemporary drama, a workplace comedy, or a period romance all benefit from specific, believable details — the way people talk, the tools they use, the social rules they follow.
Unfortunately, research can too easily turn into a procrastination tool. But focusing on these two priorities will help keep your research on track (and limit the scope):
What’s intrinsic to your concept. If your murder mystery is set in 1978, research how investigations worked in that era — the protocols, technology, and limitations.
How people interact in this world. Understand relationships, hierarchies, and social norms. In that same 1978 cop story, are there women on the force? Is loyalty to the unit everything? Is the culture rigid or more like a fraternity?
Be targeted and strategic. The goal is to get enough to move forward without falling into a research rabbit hole. You can always layer in more detail later.
And keep in mind that even the most accurate, authentic details can become a problem if they start to overwhelm the story or slow it down. The key is balance: give us enough to understand and believe in the world, but not so much that it overshadows the story itself.
A world that holds the story together
The “where and when” you choose, the rules you establish, and the way you reveal them should all help the audience understand the world well enough to fully invest in the characters’ journey.
When the details are purposeful and the rules are consistent, the world becomes more than a backdrop. It becomes part of the story’s spine, holding it together and giving it shape. And when that happens, your audience won’t just watch the events unfold — they’ll feel like they’ve lived in your world, if only for a couple of hours.