Writing Worlds That Feel Real
Seven Writing Prompts Inspired by Damien Larkin’s Approach to Worldbuilding
As this post goes out during the week of Christmas, I’ve been thinking about Immanuel—God with us—and how that truth meets us not only in rest and celebration, but in the work of our hands.
Every season looks different. Every year reshapes us. And yet, hope remains present—working quietly in and through what we’re creating, even when we don’t fully see it yet.
One verse that’s been anchoring me this week is Romans 15:13:
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
That sense of hope—present, active, unfolding—connects deeply with the way Damien Larkin approaches storytelling. In our conversation, Damien talked about letting worlds grow organically, layering meaning over time, and trusting that realism and depth emerge through lived experience rather than rigid planning.
The following prompts are inspired by that philosophy. They’re designed to help fiction writers build worlds that feel inhabited rather than constructed.
Choose one. Write for ten to fifteen minutes. Let the world surprise you.
✍️ Fiction Prompt 1: The World Carries Its Scars
Prompt:
Your character enters a place shaped by a conflict that ended long before they were born. No one explains the history outright—but signs of it are everywhere.
What physical damage still exists?
What customs, fears, or unspoken rules came from that past conflict?
How does your character misunderstand this place at first?
Let what remains tell the story.
✍️ Fiction Prompt 2: Terrain Is Not Neutral
Prompt:
Place your character in a landscape that actively resists them—desert, forest, frozen ground, ruined city, or sea.
What does the terrain demand physically?
What does it demand emotionally?
What small detail reveals whether your character belongs here—or doesn’t?
Write the setting as a quiet antagonist.
✍️ Fiction Prompt 3: A Society Built for War
Prompt:
Imagine a culture shaped by centuries of expansion, invasion, or survival.
How does this history affect daily life?
What does a child learn early that others might not?
What happens when someone in this society doesn’t want to fight?
Focus on an ordinary moment that reveals extraordinary cost.
✍️ Fiction Prompt 4: Darkness With Purpose
Prompt:
Write a dark or violent moment that serves a clear thematic purpose.
What truth does this moment reveal?
Who is changed by it—and how?
What would be lost if this scene were softened or removed?
Let darkness illuminate meaning, not overshadow it.
✍️ Fiction Prompt 5: Worldbuilding by Omission
Prompt:
Write a scene where something important is deliberately not explained.
What does the character already know that the reader doesn’t?
What background detail is hinted at but never clarified?
How does restraint deepen the world?
Trust the reader to lean in.
🌿 Writer’s Reflection Prompt 6: Letting the World Grow
(Ideal for journaling or a quiet podcast pause.)
Reflection:
Think about the story or world you’re currently working on.
Where are you trying to control it too tightly?
What might happen if you allowed it to grow draft by draft?
What experiences or histories are shaping it beneath the surface?
Write a paragraph beginning with:
“If I trusted this world more, I would…”
✨ Reflection Prompt 7: Immanuel in the Story
(This is the Christmas-light addition — gentle, optional, and deep.)
Reflection:
Immanuel means God with us—present, not distant.
Consider your current work-in-progress:
Where is presence felt more than explained?
Where does hope appear quietly rather than triumphantly?
How might light exist in your world—not as an answer, but as endurance, companionship, or mercy?
Write a short reflection or scene beginning with:
“Even here, we were not alone…”
Let this be about presence, not resolution.
Listen to the Damien Larkin Interview
Find Damien Larkin's Books
Closing Encouragement
Worlds don’t need to be fully mapped to be meaningful. Sometimes the most honest stories are the ones that allow space for mystery, growth, and hope—both on the page and in ourselves.
As you write this season, may you be filled with peace, steadied by hope, and reminded that the work you’re doing matters—often more than you can see in the moment.
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