I was thinking this morning. Sort of. More, a stuttering Morse-coded pulse of half-formed ideas fueled by a small cup of coffee. Out of these disparate telegraphs came one actually useful realization…holy crap, I am a creator (and sometimes destroyer) of worlds! (MUAHAHAHAHA?)

Terrifying, in the wrong context. But as a writer, it’s kind of my job to terraform, conjure, weave my magicks, and build-build-build. We wordsmiths have a tremendous amount of power. We scheme and plan and imagine and create. We establish the rules, systems, and patterns governing our creations. We populate our vistas with myriad creatures, with stunning fauna, or with desolate wastelands. Out of the raw stuff of our minds, we fashion heroines and villains and all the shades of gray in between. How freaking awesome is that?

There is nothing like that lightning-strike instant when, over tea and the sound of rain pattering against the windows, something hits me–an idea. A vision, face or a snatch of song. That snippet gives way to a rickety bit of scaffolding that then morphs into an empire. Amazing. There is so much possibility in this nascent phase of writing. So much magic–particularly in spec-fic, where I can create whatever I can imagine. It’s the playground of writing where I linger before the hard work of plotting and hammering out those pesky words. I surround myself with music that inspires me, with movies and games that fan the flames. Suddenly, a world is born. And I push up my sleeves and get to work crafting the stories that take place in this newly forged world. Anyone reading this–do you experience that same sense of wonder? Or is world-building a Herculean task that you find more daunting than all the plotting in the universe? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

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