This week, we journey into the realm of fantasy and uncover how to build worlds that feel alive without overwhelming your readers with exposition. Tune in for writing advice, publishing insights, and a well-deserved writing break.

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Overthinking Couch Topics:

• Roddy Doyle’s blunt remarks about weak submissions, fonts, and page counts
• The role of rules when world-building
• The common pitfalls of fantasy writing
• What takes center-stage when writing fantasy

• Booker prize chairman laments poor quality of entries
• Free Style Sheet Templates
• Free Writing Tips

Music licensed from Storyblocks.

If you have plot bunnies coming out of your plot holes, it’s time for a writing break.

Gather close, brave adventurers of the written realm, for today we journey beyond the borders of the ordinary and step into the extraordinary.

Epic quests, high magic, and immersive lore are the hallmarks of fantasy, and world-building is a must, but how do you keep your readers enchanted without drowning them in exposition?

As much as you might want a textbook of the history and rules you invented for your fantasy novel, most readers don’t want that. So, today we’re reviewing how to set the rules of your world, how to reveal those rules in a natural way, and then how to bend those rules to make your fantasy captivating.

As adventurers, we know that information is priceless, which is why we’re starting today’s journey with some publishing news. The Writing Break cafe is open, so grab your wizard’s staff, your enchanted sword, or maybe just a really strong cup of coffee, and let the adventure begin.

Let’s overthink it.

The Booker Prize is one of the most prestigious literary awards in the world. Every year, it crowns the best novel written in English and published in the UK or Ireland. Just being shortlisted can transform a writer’s career, catapulting them onto bestseller lists and into dozens of translations.

First, though, the work being submitted must meet key requirements. The current official rules are that the book must be written originally in English, the author must be from the UK, Ireland, or the Commonwealth (plus Zimbabwe). So, yes, US-only authors are not eligible. The book must be published in the UK or Ireland within the prize year. The work must be a novel, which means no short story collections, novellas under 50,000 words, non-fiction, or poetry. Publishers must send print copies to the judges by the deadline, and publishers also commit to making the book available for sale widely in the UK if it’s long-listed.

So let’s say you meet all of these requirements, are you allowed to submit? Authors are not allowed to submit to the Booker Prize. Instead, their publisher must submit their work. Each publisher is allotted a number of submissions depending on their past success with the Booker. How many long-listed, short-listed, and winning titles they’ve had in the last five years affects this quota.

Bigger houses with past Booker wins get more slots; smaller presses might only get one. Publishers can also recommend extra titles outside their quota, which the judges may choose to call in for judging. Big publishers like Penguin Random House, Bloomsbury, and Faber & Faber usually dominate the submissions because they have more slots. Their resources make it easier to submit multiple titles and campaign for them.

Independent presses are eligible as well, but self-published titles are not allowed. The rules require that submissions come from a publisher with a track record.

So, in short, if you’re published by a major or established indie press in the UK, Ireland, or the Commonwealth, you’re in the game if your publisher chooses to put you forward.

Judges receive finished copies and read throughout the year before announcing a longlist, a shortlist, and finally the winner.

Now let’s demystify the judging panel. The chair of the Booker Prize judging panel is different every year, as is the entire panel of judges. A new five-person panel is appointed annually by the Booker Prize Foundation to select the winning book. This year, for example, Sarah Jessica Parker was on the panel of judges.

And what he said was blunt. He claims that out of 153 submissions for the Booker Prize for 2025, only 31 were worth serious discussion. In some cases, he said, the judges wondered “why we had been asked to read them.” Reading what he considered to be two weak books back-to-back made him feel “a bit low.” He even griped about typography, saying cramped fonts and repetitive layouts made some novels feel like he was reading the same page over and over. He said that if the books “were all uniform and came in at 200 pages with a reasonable font it would be great.”

These comments, as you can imagine, have rippled through the literary world. Some critics applaud Doyle’s honesty, saying it’s a wake-up call for writers, editors, and publishers to raise the bar. Others caution that such candor risks demoralizing authors still honing their craft.

As for me, they seem like the grumblings of a tired man with aging eyes.

Griping about fonts and page counts doesn’t exactly sound like a robust critique of literary standards. It sounds more like a man who maybe just needed a nap and a large coffee. Complaining about design choices doesn’t illuminate the state of contemporary fiction; it just makes him look cranky.

What good does it do to make these comments publicly? If the point is to encourage publishers and writers to aim higher, there are more constructive ways to do that.

Do publishers submit weaker titles? Probably. But let’s be honest: if a publisher has four slots, they’re going to use all four. It’s a marketing tool as much as a literary one. If you’ve got authors on your list, you put them forward, even if you know only one or two have a real shot. Submitting widely is part of the game.

Doyle admits he willingly signed up to be on the judging panel, but maybe he simply wasn’t up to the task. Perhaps he underestimated the volume of reading or overestimated his tolerance for and understanding of contemporary literature. The weight of responsibility is heavy, and maybe even the politics of big publishers crowding the field surprised him. But his flippant and dismissive tone risks souring the very prize he’s meant to champion.

And while Doyle’s candor got headlines, it also raised eyebrows. Complaining about fonts and page counts makes him sound less like a literary statesman and more like a man who needed a stronger pair of readers.

Like I said, the Booker panel changes every year, so is this really about the state of fiction or just about the state of Roddy Doyle? Do panelists feel the same way about submissions every year but have the decorum to keep quiet? Publishers will always fill their slots—they’d be foolish not to—so taking shots at the submissions feels like misplaced frustration.

But let’s hunt for the truth in his complaints. We have talked on this show about the tension in contemporary fiction between quality and quantity. Publishing is under pressure to release more titles faster, partly because of algorithms, BookTok trends, and market saturation. That rush can lead to books that are fine, even good, but not extraordinary.

And extraordinary is what it takes to stand out in a prize like the Booker. The judges used a traffic-light system: green for must-reads, amber for “good but maybe not shortlist material,” and red for “why are we reading this?” Most fell into amber or red. But, again, maybe it’s like that every year.

So, putting aside Doyle’s crankiness, what does it mean for a book, even a work of literary fiction, to stand out today? Is it originality of voice? Is it depth of craft? Or is it simply timing and catching the wave of a trend?

The bar for literary prizes remains sky-high, and that’s as it should be. And, for writers listening, it’s good to know that the hunger for fresh, surprising, unforgettable voices has not gone away. If anything, Doyle’s comments show just how badly those voices are needed.

But, writing is not easy, which is something Doyle seems to have forgotten.

Enough about cranky judges and cramped fonts. Let’s refill our mugs, adjust our cloaks, and step into the wide-open worlds of fantasy writing.

Fantasy allows us to escape, but just as importantly, it allows us to return. Fantasy readers want to step into a world so vivid that when they close the cover, they carry a little of it back into their own lives.

Fantasy is about the impossible made believable. It’s the genre where dragons can soar overhead, portals to other worlds open in your wardrobe, and magic is as common as electricity.

But no matter the setting, readers expect three things: (1) a world that feels immersive; (2) rules that make sense within that world; and (3) a sense of wonder.

We’ll be discussing the different subgenres of fantasy in episode 13 of this season, but every fantasy world, no matter how magical, needs rules. Rules give readers boundaries, and those boundaries create tension. So when you’re writing fantasy and world building, ask yourself: What can magic do here? What can it not do? What happens when someone bends the rules or breaks them?

No matter the subgenre, consistency is key. If your magic system works one way in Chapter 1, it needs to work the same way in Chapter 20. Otherwise, the spell is broken for the reader.

So how do you bring a fantasy world to life?

You start small and then expand. Instead of explaining your entire world up front, let readers discover it alongside your characters. Show them the marketplace where the bread smells of saffron, the street where the cobblestones glow faintly at dusk, or the ritual where villagers light candles to keep away spirits.

Sensory detail is your ally. Instead of dropping an info-dump about a kingdom’s politics, show us how those politics affect daily life. Maybe a character pays extra taxes at the border or a law forbids certain clothes in public. Those small, lived-in details tell readers far more than a lecture on royal bloodlines.

Think of lore and history like seasoning. Sprinkle it in as needed, but don’t serve it in giant slabs. Tolkien gave us appendices for readers who craved more, but his main narrative kept moving. Ursula K. Le Guin’s Earthsea series shows how a leaner style can still feel rich and layered.

Ask yourself: what do my characters take for granted that readers need to learn? Then reveal it naturally through action, dialogue, or conflict.

Once you’ve built a consistent world, you can start bending the rules.

Readers know the tropes: the chosen one, the wise mentor, the dark lord, the dragon guarding treasure. But what if the chosen one doesn’t want the job? What if the wise mentor is unreliable or the dragon is overworked and unionized?

Subverting tropes gives your fantasy freshness. So does blending genres. Why not fantasy plus mystery? Think of a magical detective solving enchanted crimes. Or fantasy plus romance? That’s romantasy, which as we’ve discussed, is a subgenre currently topping bestseller charts. Fantasy plus sci-fi puts you in space opera territory.

Look at writers like N. K. Jemisin, who took the bones of epic fantasy and reshaped them with bold structures and new voices. Once you know the rules, you earn the right to bend them.

Of course, we must avoid the pitfalls.

First, there’s the dreaded info-dump. Resist the temptation to stop the story and lecture. Instead of five pages of backstory, let your world reveal itself in action and dialogue. Maybe a bard’s song hints at an old war. Maybe the tools a farmer uses tell us what monsters roam nearby.

Give readers just enough detail to whet their imagination and let them do the rest.

The second pitfall is unclear magic rules. If spells work one way on Monday and a different way on Tuesday, readers will lose trust. Even soft magic systems where the rules aren’t fully explained need internal consistency.

The third pitfall is overloading readers with names, terms, and invented languages all at once. If your first page throws twenty unpronounceable names at us, we’re already lost.

And finally, keep your characters center-stage. A dazzling world means nothing if readers don’t care about who lives in it.

At its heart, fantasy is about people. No matter how strange the setting, readers connect through human emotions: love, fear, ambition, betrayal. Anchor your magic and your myths to relatable stakes.

Don’t forget, culture is part of the story as well. How do your characters eat, celebrate, and mourn? These small touches turn a map into a living world. Fantasy thrives when its worlds feel alive, not because you gave us a thousand years of backstory but because you showed us how people travel, love, fight, and dream within that world.

So, if you want to write fantasy that feels alive, build your rules, reveal them with care, and ground your work in the emotions we all share. You don’t want your readers to just visit your world. You want them to carry your world with them.

In the next episode, we’ll discuss science fiction. And, no, that is not the same as fantasy. Sci-fi asks one question: what if? It’s a matter of balancing imagination with believability.

Once again, thank you so much for listening, and as always, you deserved this break.

Thank you for making space in your mind for The Muse today.

Writing Break is hosted by America’s Editor and produced by Allon Media with technical direction by Gus Aviles. Visit us at writingbreak.com or contact us at podcast@writingbreak.com.