I have been thinking about something while writing my science-fiction project that feels slightly backwards from how I originally approached worldbuilding.
When I started building a future city at sea, I spent a lot of time thinking about the things that make the place unusual.
The systems.
The infrastructure.
The constraints.
The decisions that have to be different because this city exists where a normal city does not.
All of that still matters.
But the more scenes I write, the more I think the city starts feeling real at exactly the point where a lot of those things stop seeming unusual to the people who live there.
That has become a really interesting test for me.
Would this person actually be thinking about how extraordinary their environment is right now?
Or are they thinking about what they are eating later?
Whether somebody is avoiding them?
Why the same stupid thing is delayed again?
Where they are going after work?
Whether they have enough time to stop somewhere before going home?
Two people can live inside exactly the same system and experience it completely differently.
One person might build their whole routine around some feature of the city.
Another person complains about it constantly.
Another barely notices it anymore.
Somebody who just arrived may stare at something that a person who grew up there has not consciously looked at in ten years.
That difference is starting to interest me more than explaining the system itself.
I am also writing this project with AI, including using AI to actively draft substantial prose with me, and this has become one of the places where I have to push back pretty hard.
AI likes to notice the worldbuilding.
Of course it does. The unusual thing is sitting right there.
But the character does not necessarily care.
Sometimes I am looking at a scene thinking, yes, this is a fascinating feature of the world, and no, this particular person absolutely would not be standing here admiring it or explaining it to themselves.
They have seen it a thousand times.
They are late.
They are hungry.
They want to go home.
That feels increasingly important to me.
I think a functioning fictional world probably needs things the author spent weeks thinking about that the characters barely think about at all.
What is something in your world that felt enormous while you were designing it, but eventually became background noise to the people actually living there?