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Being Reasonable

I just read this very interesting blog post about female warriors and how to realistically write a fantasy world in which they are common. Its approach, which I find useful and thought-provoking, is to examine why so many cultures through history don’t have lots of female warriors. To summarize:

(1) The reason is NOT because of physical strength. I’ve always detested this ridiculous claim. Sure, the average woman is less strong than the average man, but there are plenty of women who are stronger than plenty of men. And that’s even assuming that all areas of battle rely on brute strength, which is simply not the case.

(2) A much more logical reason why the situation developed: for much of our species’ history, any given group of humans grew in power and security proportionally to the size of the group. A larger band could send more people to war – and then, unlike now, pure numbers were likely to make the crucial difference in a battle. So sending women into dangerous situations made less sense because women were far more necessary in maintaining and increasing population. As the blog’s author points out, if half of a group’s women are killed, then the next generation born will be half the size of the last one. (We’re assuming that the women killed include half of the ones who would otherwise be reproducing. Of course, in many bands of early humans, this would basically be all of the women of reproductive age.) If, on the other hand, half the men are killed in battle, the next generation could go a long way toward repopulating the group.

So women were excluded from battle for reasons which, while once practical if a community wanted to survive, are now totally vestigial. Still, the population issue may be relevant in many fantasy worlds, so the author addresses some ways in which writers might design worlds that need not bow to these reasons and exclude women from combat.

I appreciate the author’s approach because I think it is vital to be able to distinguish reason from justification. My mom used to tell me that there is a difference between a reason and an excuse: an excuse excuses a behavior, making it okay, while a reason explains why it happened but doesn’t, in itself, justify anything. Things usually happen for one or more reasons, but often have no excuse. Most people would agree that it’s important to understand the reasons that a bad thing happens – that way, you may be able to prevent it, or at least know when it is likely to happen again.

I feel the same way about basically anything that a writer does that makes her fantasy world different from the real world. The fantasy world, and the writing, will likely benefit if the writer is aware of what has to be different in her setup so that this new world order will make sense. For this reason, I’m especially interested in work-arounds that allow fantasy worlds to be free of sexism, homophobia, etc. without becoming unrealistic utopias. Because I don’t want a world free of problems – that would be boring to read about – but frankly, I am sick to death of girls having to dress up as boys if they want to fight. As a fan of equality, I’d like to read more stories that have that as a basic premise, but as a fan of logic, I’d like for the equality to make sense.

Of course, figuring all this out is also an exciting opportunity to add depth and uniqueness to your worldbuilding! For example, if you want to write a fantasy world without homophobia (ooh me me, I do, I do!), you have to work backwards from some of the reasons (not excuses!) for homophobia’s existence in our world, and figure out how each reason doesn’t exist or doesn’t cause problems in your world. For example, one issue you might encounter is confusion about how inheritance works for gay couples, especially those who stand to pass on titles and power as well as possessions. How will this be addressed in your fantasy world? If a country’s queen marries the girl of her dreams, who will be the next queen or king of that country? Is there a strong adoption system? If so, how is a child chosen for such an important family? Does the child need to be a blood relation? Or maybe the rule of this country isn’t inherited at all – maybe the queen came to power through combat, or was elected, or was chosen in some kind of magical selection ceremony.

Conversely, I wish many authors would look at the ways in which their worlds are similar to ours (or to their own experiences), and see whether it really makes sense for the reasons behind a certain quality of our own world to also exist in the fantasy world. Perhaps different reasons exist that cause the same effect. Or maybe the author just hasn’t thought about it. I think this is the likely explanation for the many fantasy worlds in which the great majority of people are pale-skinned, often with light eyes and hair. Do they all live in worlds that are perpetually cloudy, causing them to evolve in a way that allows maximum absorption of vitamin D? Did they all evolve in one or a few such areas, then spread over the rest of the fantasy world in a conquering wave, desperate to escape the fantasy equivalent of Siberia? Is magic somehow involved in their coloration? Or is it just that the author primarily knows, interacts with, and reads about white people, and most of the characters s/he comes up with tend to be white?

Have you dealt with manipulating causation to achieve your ends logically when writing fantasy? What are some things you’ve changed in order to make a particular quality of your world make sense?

Oh, Internets

So today, while reading Zoë Marriott’s blog, I realized two things:

  1. Zoë Marriott does not look the way I have always pictured her, which is, I suddenly realize, like Zoë from Firefly. Now it makes sense! I was like, “Why did I just assume she looked like that?” But obviously it is a mystical Zoë connection.
  2. Zoë Marriott has made a Pinterest board of images that inspire her in the planning of a story she has in mind, and this is THE BEST IDEA EVER. I only recently joined Pinterest, or else I like to think this might have occurred to me already, but: BRILLIANCE.

My only concern about this latter point (I can’t say I feel concerns about the former point – Zoë Marriott is allowed to look like or not look like any science fiction character she pleases) is the dubious legality of posting many images on Pinterest. Legality and ethics, actually – even if people couldn’t make a legal case over it, I do think the creator of an image should be able to choose how that image is used. My impression is that a vast number of the images appearing on Pinterest appear there without permission and do not properly credit their creators. I would hate to contribute to that. On the other hand, I feel it would be very difficult to create such an inspiration board entirely out of images that are explicitly pinnable as per their creators.

Anyone have thoughts about this? Good places to find images that can be legally and ethically stuck on one’s Pinterest board? Thoughts on the questions of legality and ethics involved? I figure that if I were to make such a board just for myself, and not share it with anyone, I’d feel a lot less squirmy about including whatever images I wanted. But if I were to, say, link to it on my blog, I’d want to be absolutely sure that every image on it could legitimately be there. Opinions?

On a different note, it seems like everyone’s linking to this (AS THEY SHOULD BE), but if you haven’t seen the article “We Have Always Fought”, check it out. Funny, readable, hard-hitting, and true.

Oh, But Before That . . .

I just read a book that was billed as a companion to another book I’d read, but which turned out to be sort of a prequel. That is, it includes the origin of the villain who’s villainizing around in Book I’d Already Read.

(Just for the sake of simplicity, let’s go ahead and call the first book I read “Graceling by Kristin Cashore” and the prequel “Fire“. Purely random. But, you know, through pure random chance, there may be some major spoilers of those two books ahead. You know, it’s possible.)

So, in Graceling, we have Leck, an adult villain of misty origins. I was very interested to see that Fire included, as one of several antagonists, a character who became more and more clearly the child Leck. I was curious about his background, and also about how the book would handle the fact that Leck, despite being a terrible, murdery-type person, could not be killed off or otherwise permanently dealt with as one generally expects villains to be.

This made me think a lot about the potential and the limitations of prequels. I haven’t read a lot of them. My impression is that direct prequels, sharing many characters or important characters and plotlines, are fairly uncommon. That makes a lot of sense, given that the author would have written the original book with the intention of having its setup stand alone. Besides, as I mentioned above, a prequel means the challenge of writing a book with a satisfying conclusion that still leaves things open for the events of the following story.

Since I was thinking about this while reading this book we’re calling Fire, I thought I’d lay out a few things I noticed that seemed to make the whole prequel situation work pretty well in this instance.

  1. Graceling included a villain whose background was unexplained. This left a clear and significant way for the stories to be tied together. Bonus points for the fact that Leck in Graceling is missing an eye – a useful trait in a world where dangerous Gracelings like himself are identified by their mismatched eye colors – and that makes the reader of Fire keen to discover the story behind the injury.
  2. The books take place in different countries. The author didn’t have to worry about what a lot of the other characters in Graceling should be up to in Fire, because they didn’t appear.
  3. Leck is just one of several antagonists in Fire. Indeed, I think that the real villain of the story might be war. Because of this, it seems more important that Leck be rendered no longer a threat than that we get the satisfaction of a really personal, permanent comeuppance for him. It also might help that, creepy and horrible as he is, Leck is a kid in Fire, and many readers likely do not expect a child to be explicitly killed off, even if he is a villain.

Fire does a great job establishing how awful Leck is. He murders Fire’s best childhood friend – a major character whose death I didn’t see coming – and, oh yeah, also his own doting father. At the same time, as I said, Leck isn’t the Big Bad of Fire. His defeat is the almost-slightly-groanworthy classic non-death of falling into a chasm, which is basically the same as toppling over a cliff, and everyone knows that the cliffs of fictional landscapes are bizarrely non-deadly. Vis-a-vis cliff death, and maybe death in general, the informed reader’s mantra is, “Body, or it didn’t happen.” But in Fire, this is acceptable, because the defeat of Leck isn’t the point. In Graceling, killing Leck means they’ve won. (Though there’s a lot more plot to wrap up, what with romance and such.) In Fire, getting rid of Leck just means Fire is free to rejoin her friends and help bolster their forces against the coming war for their kingdom.

The takeaway here is, the less evil or the less important a villain is, the less is expected – required – to happen to him. (Remember Voldemort being completely destroyed while Draco doesn’t even get locked up?)

Reaching a satisfying conclusion in a prequel does involve special challenges when that prequel includes the same villain as the next (previous?) book. To look at some possible routes authors can take, we return to Listland, because I love it there.

  • Show the villain just starting out in the prequel, and don’t make her bad enough or central enough to require that she get comeuppance in that book in order for readers to be satisfied. You could do this by not making her villainous at all – picture Harvey Dent appearing in Batman Begins, if that were a prequel to The Dark Knight rather than being made first. Or you can be hardcore like Fire and make the villain really bad, but not the Big Bad.
  • End with the villain locked up, exiled, etc. This is a great way out if your baddie is not yet bad enough to clearly merit being offed by a hero. Prisons can always be escaped, and incarceration can be an interesting element in your baddie’s backstory.
  • Do the fake death, like Fire does. I would not recommend this if your villain actually is the Big Bad of the prequel. You should know up front that many readers are not going to believe in the death unless they see it. Even if they do believe it, they may resent that the story’s villain didn’t get a worthy, dramatic death scene – which is going to be hard to pull off if the character isn’t really dead.

There are plenty of other options. If your original book allows it, I think it would be very cool to end a prequel with a minor villain who seems reformed but who, as is seen in the following book, was actually just biding her time and scheming, waiting to become a major villain.

What prequels have you read, and how do they tie into the stories they precede?

And, in unrelated linksys, I like Pixar’s rules of storytelling, especially number nine, which I hadn’t thought of before.

Puttin’ On the Printz

Yes, that is the title I’m going with. I REGRET NOTHING.

When this year’s Printz award winner, In Darkness by Nick Lake, was announced, a flurry of e-mails came through the Young Adult Library Services Association listserv. Most came down on one side or the other of a divide over whether it is right that the Printz award explicitly excludes in its criteria any consideration of the books’ popularity with teens. For any unfamiliar with it, the Michael L. Printz award is the big award for teen literature – the older sibling of the Newbery. The question now is whether it is a cool older sibling that makes you eager to reach high school because you’re sure it’s going to be just like on Buffy and you and all your friends will be attractive and have fun all the time and never actually seem to go to class, or a really smart but kind of socially awkward older sibling who can be super pretentious sometimes and also makes people uncomfortable by talking about all the suffering going on in developing nations and then glaring around accusingly. The corollary is, which of these siblings is really a better one to have?

I admit, I see both sides of this. We had a lot of people saying, “The Printz needs to focus only on literary quality, because we have to have something to distinguish teen books of high literary quality and it helps them get noticed and sell well and also brings prestige to YA lit as a whole.” We also had a lot of people saying, “I cannot get teens to pick up the Printz winners, but I’m still expected to buy them with my limited budget and store them with my limited space.”

(Then we had one guy who freaked out with plenty of colorful language about how anyone dared to criticize the decision of the hard-working Printz committee, and then an avalanche of people decrying his lack of professionalism on this professional listserv. I bet you thought librarians were quiet!)

Anyway, to the latter of the two main opinions, I would add, “And it might make teens feel like the Printz winners are really not chosen for them.” When I was a kid, I would basically read anything with words on it that held still long enough, but I learned quickly to avoid the shiny round Newbery sticker. My associations with it were exactly my associations with books assigned by my teachers: adults like this and think you’d better read it, but they know they have to do something to make you, or else you never would because it’s no fun at all. I had vague ideas that adults judged the quality of a book by how many characters died in it, or how many dragons and mysteries and smooches and other intriguing things were NOT in it.*

And if Teenaged Nic looked at the Printz winners, I suspect she’d feel much the same. I did enjoy Ship Breaker (a previous winner), but I looked at In Darkness – because, as a teen services librarian, I’m now ordering a copy for our collection – and thought sadly that it sounded like a total depressing chore with absolutely minimal dragons, smooches, etc.

That said, I do see the value of having an award based just on literary quality. I think it’s just a matter of really considering who the award is for. Is it for teens who enjoy really good writing? Is it to tell teens what they “ought” to read? Is it for adults looking to choose books for teens (teachers, parents, etc.)? Or is it really just the favorite among, or most impressive to, the (all adult) judges?

I guess what I wonder is, if popularity with teens is not included as a criteria, is any criteria considered that reflects the book being a good one for teens? (No such thing appears in the official posted criteria.) One of the YALSA listserv contributors made an interesting suggestion: due to the surging popularity of the YA category of books, it may be that publishers are putting out books as YA that would really be more appropriately classed as adult but, for example, have teen protagonists. These books, really meant for adults, might appeal very much to the adult judges who allocate the Printz awards.

Thoughts?

*I still think some people judge books this way.

My Kind of Holiday

It has come to my attention that today is Appreciate a Dragon Day. (Although really, shouldn’t every day be?) So, I had to think about some dragons that I appreciate. Want to know which ones I came up with? No? Oh, okay. PSYCH, you’re hearing about them anyway! (Deep inside, you know that’s what you wanted.)

  • The various dragons kind enough to appear in my own writing, mostly in Rabbit and Cougar. Without them, the Dragonfolk would have to really rethink their culture.
  • Kazul of the Enchanted Forest Chronicles, because she appreciates the value of a “captive” princess that won’t run away and can make cherries jubilee. Reading this book, I had no idea what cherries jubilee was, but I wanted it.
  • The red dragon of the Bone series, because those. Ears. Just Google him, okay? “Red dragon bone” should do it.
  • Smaug in the upcoming second Hobbit movie. (Revenge of the Hobbit? The Hobbit Strikes Back?) Because he will be voiced by Benedict Cummerbatch, and he will be playing opposite Martin Freeman, and it will basically be Sherlock, but with a dragon. Be still my heart.

How about you? What dragons do you appreciate?

Themed Thursday

At work today, I put together a list of winter- and cold-themed YA books. Thought I might throw a few titles on here in case anyone needs a wintry read to pair with their hot cocoa. Each title will be accompanied by a brief, highly subjective, and generally useless commentary by yours truly.

cold wolf

“It is mad cold out here, and I’m angry because I have no delightfully winter-themed books to read!”

cold leopard

“I know, right? And who does a leopard have to maul around here to get some cocoa?”

As Simple As Snow by Gregory Galloway – Ooh, it’s all mystery-like! Hmm, from the description, this could go really dark, or possibly not. (How’s THAT for helpful commentary?)

Dash and Lily’s Book of Dares by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan – Haven’t read this one, but I did read a different book by David Levithan, Boy Meets Boy, and I pronounce it both cute and important. And I also read Scott Westerfeld’s book Leviathan, which sounds like Levithan, and it was amazing, so I’m willing to throw this book a few random points for that, too. Because it’s the holidays, y’all.

The Iron King by Julie Kagawa, and also Wicked Lovely by Melissa Marr. I’m putting these together because they seem to have the same connection to winter, namely a summer-vs-winter faeries (or fairies, or fae, what have you) storyline. I read The Iron King and vaguely remember coldness occurring. I much more properly remember that the world was very well designed but the protagonist a grade-A wuss with a minor in obliviousness. Still, a lot of people like these books very much.

Let It Snow by John Green, Maureen Johnson, and Lauren Myracle – Haven’t read this one, either. Indeed, I have read nothing by any of the authors. Well, I picked up a copy of Myracle’s ttyl in the store once and flipped through it. Seemed fun. And boy do people like to ban it . . . sorry, librarian tangent.

Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater – Bonus: I’ve read this one! And cold is both pivotal to the storyline and well-described.

Trapped by Michael Northrup – I’ve read this one, too, and found it gripping. Which is amazing, considering that the teens spend a non-negligible amount of time partaking in such thrilling activities as eating canned peaches. But I was like I MUST KNOW WHAT HAPPENS, and then I was like OH NOOO, I AM READING THIS IN WINTER IN NEW ENGLAND, AND THEREFORE I WILL FREEZE TO DEATH! But I didn’t, so in that sense I guess there’s a happy ending.

Winter Town by Stephen Edmund – Cute cover, and the main character sounds nerdy. I approve.

The White Darkness by Geraldine McCaughrean – I haven’t read this, and frankly, the cover terrifies me a little bit. I’m pretty sure that girl is a white walker.

We Need to Talk About Scrivener

Hey guys. Guys. So I went to this conference, and it was neat and everything, and I hope to recap it soon. I also read a bit of my writing aloud with other authors at the Brewster Literary Evening at our library, which I was strong-armed into doing because they had so few people sign up who weren’t poets and they wanted more variety, but which I nonetheless greatly enjoyed. Now, busy though I am with preparing to be clobbered by a hurricane with the same name as my mother (if this were fiction, there would be a really unsubtle metaphor in there), I have to share with you a thing that is great. That thing is Scrivener.

You may have heard of it already – I had. I’d thought, “Eh, it’s probably neat, but mastering it would involve time and I’d have to pay money and would it really make that much of a difference to my work and life?” (This is, incidentally, a fair description of how I feel about the idea of watching Doctor Who.)

And yeah, it does cost money (though I hear that you get a discount if you finish NaNoWriMo). But not all that much, and can I just say that it’s awesome? Multiple author panelists at the conference I attended raved about it, and I really liked the idea of the little corkboard displays and stuff, so I thought I’d give it a try. I bought the software and spent about an hour going through the full tutorial. And the niftiness factor, it is high.

I’d been thus far unsatisfied with other programs I’d used to organize my writing thoughts and research. A paper notebook is fine for brainstorming, but when I’m actually writing, there’s a laptop on my lap and nothing else, so I really wanted something on the computer. I tried just writing my notes out in my regular word processing program, but I would either wind up with one long, rambly document that I’d have to search through for a specific detail or an unwieldy number of shorter documents, usually scattered through folders in an inconvenient way. I tried the free downloadable program GrowlyNotes and, while some aspects of it are neat, it just didn’t work for me. Scrivener was the only such program I’d heard of designed specifically for writers, so it seemed worth a shot.

And it is great. Basically, opening a Scrivener document gives you a virtual binder (mine, at least, had been thoughtfully emptied of women) which you can divide into folders. The project I’m currently working on has a folder for characters, a folder for locations, a folder for general information about the geography and culture of this fantasy world, and a template folder. The template folder allows you to create templates – e.g. a character sheet – from which to easily create files. Each of these can hold text files, images, even sound files, which can be linked to each other, tagged with keywords that you can use to sort them, and viewed in a bunch of different ways.

For example, you can put them on a corkboard (corkboard!) as index cards (index cards!):

Screen shot Characters

Each of these index cards represents the “synopsis” I’ve given to a full character sheet within the Characters folder.

Notice the different-colored pushpins in the upper right corners of the index cards. These represent colors I’ve assigned to keywords: in this case, the turquoise represents male characters and the gold female characters. (Turquoise and gold are the colors of this country, Liratora.)

If you don’t like the corkboard, then you’re strange, but you can see the files in a folder with their synopses in outline view, too:

Screen shot cities

You can also split the screen:

Screen shot split screen

This view can be especially useful if, for example, you’ve found a picture that looks like one of your characters, and you put the picture in one panel and your current draft in the other panel.

Because that’s another thing. Even though I’m not currently using Scrivener for this purpose – I just wanted a place to put my notes – it has a lot of handy features for you to use in writing the actual draft. (Especially if you’re writing a script, which I’m not, but that’s cool.) Plus, when you go to export a draft at the end, it has some cool options, like exporting it directly into e-book-friendly format.

Plus, click on one of these to make it bigger and check out the little icons I got to choose for my Characters, Locations, etc. folders. How great are they? That’s what happens when you create a program specifically geared toward writers. Those icons are designed to represent “characters” and “locations” folders. And they’re not even the only options. I’LL BE SHALLOW IF I WANT TO SHUT UP.

So, Scrivener. Nic approves.

If You’re Going to Dance in Storms, You Should Probably Research Them First

So, awhile ago, I was looking at upcoming teen books to potentially order for the library where I work, and I saw this:

stormdancer

And then I saw this:

“. . . Japanese Steampunk novel with mythical creatures, civil unrest, and a strong female protagonist . . .” – from Patrick Rothfuss’ blurb

My heart, it went pitter-pat.

So I ordered the book for our library. It arrived, looking just as pretty as the image above, and has so far circulated a couple of times. I have not read it. But recently, I started reading some reviews that made my heart go things other than pitter-pat. Things more in the general vein of “sink,” if I had to be specific.

The first review I saw was this one at lady business, which broadly and briefly covers some facts that have been bothering people: author Jay Kristoff seems to have got a lot of his Japanese culture stuff (notably terms of address, whether or not pandas live in Japan) wrong, and then basically brushed off all criticism: “It’s fantasy, folks, not international frackin’ diplomacy.”

For a much more detailed, blow-by-blow account of problems one reader had with the book, see the review at You’re Killing Me. While I, too, would probably take issue with the Bathing Scene of Unexamined Creepiness (I must here recommend this excellent post on the male gaze in writing), the thing mostly under scrutiny in Stormdancer is that it’s inaccurate to Japan and Japanese culture.

Kristoff’s main response to this criticism seems to be a claim that the story actually takes place in a land like Japan, and not actual Japan. Some people are brushing this off, but I think it’s an important point. I strongly believe that people should be able – even encouraged – to write settings that are loosely based on non-European civilizations in the same way that oh so many fantasies take place in settings that are loosely based on European cultures. You shouldn’t be held to the historical facts of a country that your setting is only based on, any more than we should shake our fists at dozens of popular fantasy authors because medieval Europe didn’t really have this term or that animal.

I wrote myself awhile ago about coming up with another name for garments my characters were wearing that are close to saris in part because I didn’t want people assuming my setting was India when it isn’t; a similar concern is expressed by blogger Linda in this excellent post on her desire to write fantasy with Asian characters that isn’t set in Asia. (Yes, technically, one is only Asian if one comes from Asia. What she means is that she wants to write characters who, if they were in our world, would be considered to look Asian, in the same way that legions of blonde and blue-eyed fantasy heroes and heroines would look recognizably Caucasian, despite the fact that their fantasy worlds presumably have no Caucasus regions.)

BUT. The blurb right on the front cover of Stormdancer refers to the novel as “Japanese,” and Kristoff doesn’t correct it. There is, apparently, very frequent use of Japanese terms – the book actually includes a glossary. Curiously, some of the terms, like -sama and hai, are used incorrectly throughout the book but have their correct uses described in the glossary. This does rather support Kristoff’s claim that he has fudged and changed things a la George R. R. Martin, who bases his famous A Song of Ice and Fire fantasy series loosely on England during the War of the Roses, but changes spellings (“sir” to “ser,” for example).

Still, the impression I get is that Kristoff has crossed the line into appropriation territory. (For a good article on the location of this line, see the Zoe-Trope.)

I also get the impression he makes some choices that are just plain unfortunate. Linda, whose blog I mentioned earlier, also gives us an excellent rant on how frustrating it is that, in a world populated with characters who look Japanese, everyone swoons over the protagonist’s love interest . . . because of his green eyes. Certainly being attracted to people who look different from you is common – and often genetically useful – but to make everyone wildly attracted to (and not even a little, um, freaked out by) an eye color that presumably they’ve never seen on a human before? And an eye color that, not gonna lie, is pretty much a white thing? Kiiinda problematic.

Related to that, one thing I’ve personally gained from all this: the idea of researching different cultures’ standards of beauty. I think that paying so much attention to eye color is really kind of a white thing – if everyone in your culture has brown eyes, are you going to notice it when you meet a new person? That would be kind of like noticing that they have a nose. (On a side note, how hilarious would it be if a character did describe each person s/he met without taking anything for granted? “He walked upright on two legs, with one head located at the top of his body . . .” Somewhat hilarious, is my guess, followed by very tedious.) I’ve already tried to emphasize other, non-eye-color features in the aforementioned not-set-in-India fantasy, but I’ll be curious to learn more about how other cultures measure attractiveness.

How about you? What features do your characters notice about themselves and others? What features do their cultures value and devalue?

Stick People as World Designers

The other day, I found a little worldbuilding resource in a very unexpected place: the What If? section of the website XKCD, best known for ridiculously clever comics featuring surprisingly expressive featureless stick people. If you’re building a fantasy world from the ground up, and you wonder something like, “What parts of this continent would have what kind of climate?”, then have a goggle at this little wonder. Rock on, XKCD.