The Invisible Architecture of Storytelling

Have you ever wondered what goes on behind the scenes before a writer puts words on the page? For me, it's all about the details – the ones you'll never read, but the ones that make everything else possible. Before I write a single scene, I need to build a complete world in my head. I need to know my characters' environment intimately, every corner of it, so their reactions feel authentic.

This means I spend what some might consider an absurd amount of time researching and inventing details that may never make it onto the page. But here's what I've learned: those invisible details are what make the visible ones feel real.

Building a World One Detail at a Time

When I started writing my first novel, Out of Time, I couldn't imagine writing a single scene without knowing everything about the time, place, and characters first. My initial reaction was to hesitate putting any words on the page until I'd mapped out countless details in notebooks and spreadsheets. I likely overdid the early research, unable to overcome my technical and business writing background that demanded everything be completely grounded in facts. The way I taught myself to write fiction was to create a nearly complete world first, then let my imagination take over and allow my characters to play out their story within that fully realized world.

This approach means diving deep into specifics that might seem excessive to other writers. Take Maddie's dress for the gala scene in Next Time. I could have written "she wore a beautiful evening gown" and moved on. Instead, I found myself diving into newspaper archives, scrolling through holiday advertisements from stores like Holt Renfrew, studying the silhouettes and fabrics that would have been fashionable in the late 1970s. I needed to know the weight of the fabric, the way it would move when she walked, whether it had sleeves or if she'd need a wrap for the cool evening air.

This research led me down fascinating rabbit holes. I discovered that evening wear in the late seventies was experiencing a shift toward more flowing, romantic silhouettes after the structured looks of earlier in the decade. I learned about the specific designers who were influencing Canadian fashion at the time, the price points that would have been accessible to someone in Maddie's position, and even the seasonal timing of when such dresses would have been advertised and available.

All of this for a dress that gets perhaps two paragraphs of description across multiple scenes.

The Ring That Became Real

Or consider Nate's engagement ring for Maddie. To get the design right, I spent hours playing around on those "design your own ring" websites, adjusting settings and stone shapes until I found the one that felt absolutely perfect for who Nate is and what he'd choose for her. When I finally found "the one," I actually printed out the picture and kept it beside my computer while writing those scenes.

The process taught me so much about Nate's character. A man of his generation and background would have specific ideas about what constituted an appropriate engagement ring. He'd want quality without ostentation, classic beauty that would stand the test of time. The setting needed to be secure – he's practical above all else – but with enough elegance to honor Maddie's sophisticated taste. The final design I chose was distinctive: an emerald cut ruby as the center stone, set in a double band that crisscrosses on either side of the ruby, with diamonds inset along both bands. The crisscross design held special meaning – symbolic of how their lives had intersected multiple times before they finally came together. It was bold enough to match Maddie's personality while being sophisticated enough for Nate's refined taste.

Here's where life took an unexpectedly sweet turn: unbeknownst to me, my husband Mike – my biggest fan and supporter – found that printout. Shortly after I published Out of Time, he surprised me with an anniversary gift. He'd had Maddie's ring made for me. I still get emotional thinking about it. There I was, creating this fictional love story, and my real-life love story was quietly supporting it in ways I never imagined.

The Science Behind the Art

My background in science has probably influenced this approach more than I initially realized. In research, you gather far more data than you'll ever use in your final paper. You need to understand the complete picture before you can distill it down to the essential elements that tell your story. Fiction writing, I've discovered, works much the same way.

When I'm building a scene, I'm essentially conducting research on a world that doesn't exist yet. I need to know the weather that day, what music might be playing in the background, how the furniture is arranged, what scents are in the air. For my current work, Our Time, set in 1966 Japan, this research has been a critical element of being able to build the world for the story. I research historical details obsessively – not because I plan to include every fact I uncover, but because that knowledge informs every choice my characters make.

For my 1960s and 1970s settings, this has meant diving into everything from the specific models of cars that were popular in Toronto during those years to the types of birth control that would have been available to women like Maddie. I've studied salary ranges for various professions, housing costs, social attitudes toward working women, and even the specific brands of makeup and perfume that would have been sold at department stores like Eaton's.

The Ripple Effect of Research

This detailed research creates unexpected ripple effects throughout the story. I knew that women were not common in engineering in the 1960s, but I researched whether there were any at all – and yes, there were a few women in the graduation lists from Canadian engineering schools in the years Maddie would have graduated. This discovery didn't just inform her job situation – it influenced her relationship with her parents, her financial independence, her confidence levels, and even her choices about marriage and family.

Similarly, understanding the social dynamics of the era helps me write more authentic dialogue. Characters from the Silent Generation express themselves differently than Baby Boomers or Gen Xers. They have different reference points, different assumptions about how the world works, different comfort levels with emotional expression.

When Details Become Characters

Some writers might find this level of detail obsessive, but I've come to understand it's essential to my process. These details don't slow down my writing – they fuel it. When I know exactly what Maddie's dress feels like against her skin or can visualize every facet of that ring catching the light, the scene comes to life in my imagination. The characters move through their world with confidence because I've given them a world that truly exists, at least in my imagination.

And even if readers never know that Maddie's evening shoes pinch slightly by the end of the night, or that Nate chose a ruby center stone because red reminded him of Maddie’s fiery personality – those details inform how the characters move, speak, and feel in that moment. The authenticity readers sense in a well-crafted scene often comes from these invisible supporting details.

It's like building a house: readers only see the finished rooms, but the foundation, the electrical work, the plumbing – all the infrastructure that makes the house liveable – that's what makes the whole structure sound. In storytelling, research provides that essential infrastructure.

The Universal Application

This attention to detail isn't just useful for historical fiction. Whether you're writing contemporary romance, science fiction, or literary fiction, the principle remains the same: the more completely you understand the world you're creating, the more authentic it will feel to readers.

Even in genres that seem to require less research, the details matter. A contemporary story set in a coffee shop benefits from understanding how espresso machines work, what the morning rush feels like from behind the counter, how the aroma of freshly ground beans affects the atmosphere. A science fiction story gains credibility when the author understands the real science that underpins their fictional technology.

The key is knowing which details to research and which to invent, and more importantly, which ones to include in your final story and which ones to keep as background knowledge. It's a delicate balance between authenticity and accessibility, between showing your research and drowning your readers in it.

What about you? Whether you're a writer or simply someone who pays attention to the world around you – have you noticed how the smallest details can completely change how a moment feels? I'd love to hear your thoughts on what details matter most to you, whether in the stories you read or the life you're living.