Who is responsible for deciding what your worldbuilding choices mean? You? Your editor? Your audience? Take a moment. Have a think. While you do, I’ll tell you what sparked this idea.

It’s an old question that I was pondering again this morning, after reading Sean Äaberg”s recent Substack article on Orcs. This is a solid rundown of how the perception of Orcs has changed over the years and it’s worth a read. Whilst I might quibble over the odd detail, the only important thing I’d like to add is that the modern look of GW Orcs is almost entirely down to an excellent sculptor called Brian Nelson. Games Workshop are very poor at crediting their creatives, but I think he deserves to be recognised here. I was working in the studio at the time, and I remember his project on them. They’ve not really changed their looks since. 

Anyway, now you’ve had time to think about my question, I’ll give you my answer: all of the above and more. You, your editor, and definitely your audience all (mis)interpret what your worldbuilding choices mean. And, not just the audience now, but the audience at different times in the future too. 

You’ve heard the phrase “everyone’s a critic”. Add to that “everyone’s an interpreter”, and you get to one of the intriguing theoreticals about worldbuilding. While there are all sorts of articles and advice on how to build a world, and you’ll definitely have ideas about what each aspect means to you, the way your work is interpreted by your audience is somewhat out of your hands. Sure, you can make bad folk do bad things, but the motivations assigned by your future audience are likely to shift over time, and will always be reinterpreted in the light of their contemporary social values. 

This leads me to a couple of thoughts. The first is that I’m often more interested in what a creator meant than what the current accepted view is. It often requires a lot of digging, isn’t always at all clear, but is generally very rewarding to find out what they were thinking when something was made. It often tells you a lot about the time they lived in, and I love this sort of experiential archaeology (a term I just made up). You might think you know what Orwell had in mind when he wrote Animal Farm, but do you? Really? Who are the pigs? Who is the horse? It’s very much a product of the world he lived in, and we don’t share that experience, so we interpret it differently, in a smoothed off pastiche of the raw vision that was originally present. This is normal. Inevitable, even. Your work, whatever form it takes, will be reinterpreted (and possibly horribly misinterpreted) as long as it exists. Another example would be the famous gaming celebration of capitalism called Monopoly. It was based on The Landlord’s Game, which was written specifically as a critique of monopolies. 

When I think about the potential distortions in interpretation that any story or character or image I make will inevitably be subjected to, I find that initially rather demoralising. I’m trying to tell a tale, make a point. Why aren’t they getting it? Soon though, I realise that it’s actually the opposite: it’s both positive and liberating. I’m free to create whatever I like as regardless of what I do it’ll be misinterpreted anyway. So, I’ve no need to try to pander to an audience. They’ll wander off in their own direction whatever I do. Maybe a few will get close, who knows? In the end though, does it matter? I get to create what I want, and everyone else can like it or not as the case may be. Sure, I may get tarred and feathered due to some peculiar reading of my text, but there’s not a lot I can do about that. Being potentially misunderstood is a staple of creative work. No way around it. So ignore it and move on with a smile. 

This idea is related to the discussion of separating authors from their work. That’s normally about “problematic” authors who’ve done something that’s frowned upon in their private lives and people who want to find a way to enjoy that work without the taint. In a way, it’s just an accolade for the work. People are bending over backwards to find a way to keep it. In reality though, audiences don’t know or generally seek to know what the creator really intended, and don’t always believe them when they do explain. So why waste everyone’s time? Just get on with it, whatever it is. Let it run free in the world. Offering the fruits of your creativity to the public is a risk in many ways. This is just one of them. It shouldn’t stop you creating. It should liberate you. 

In the end, build the worlds you want. You’re free to please yourself with your creations and whatever audience you have will find their own interpretations to enjoy. Everyone gets what they want. Wins all round.