Beautiful Worlds Aren’t Always Stories
(And That’s Not a Bad Thing)
Because I’m a story editor working in animation, a lot of incredibly talented artists send me their scripts or writing for review.
And I’ve noticed a fascinating pattern:
Some of them have absolutely stunning world-building—
like Pirates of the Caribbean meets Harry Potter.
Fully imagined. Deeply aesthetic. Wildly creative.
But after a while, I realize:
There isn’t much of a story at all.
So here’s something I gently want to offer to those creators:
Even the most beautiful world gets exhausting
if we don’t understand why we’re there.
If there’s no emotional arc,
no soul truth,
no message—
then we’re just watching design.
Beautiful, stunning design!
But eventually, the eye needs a reason to stay.
And here’s the twist:
I don’t think these people are failing as writers.
I think they might already be in the right spot—
just maybe not as writers.
If what lights you up is world-building,
you might thrive in:
-visual development
-set design
-live-action art departments
-environmental storytelling
You may be an artist—not a writer.
And that’s a wonderful thing to be.
Or… maybe you do want to write.
And the world you built was the safest way you could start sharing.
In that case, I gently invite you to look for the poet inside you.
The one who isn’t just designing what’s seen—
but daring to reveal what’s felt.
I only say this because I lived the flip side of it—
a poet trying to be an artist,
drawing what I could show
instead of saying what I needed to say.
So if you feel stuck, ask yourself:
Am I an artist who loves worlds?
Or a poet who’s still afraid to share the one inside me?
Both are sacred.
And they’re very similar.
But ultimately, they’re not quite the same—
and that nuanced difference?
It’s the deal-breaker when it comes to making a story that truly lands.
This also happens at the studio level.
Sometimes you see a film where the art, the lighting, the effects are absolutely state-of-the-art—
but the story just… doesn’t land.
No one quite knows why,
but you leave feeling like you were dazzled,
yet untouched.
That’s the difference between storytelling with soul
and storytelling with polish.
I’ve seen pitches get greenlit because the world-building is so fresh and imaginative—
but the pitch doesn’t really tackle the emotional heart of the story.
And what happens?
The project moves forward.
They start writing.
Nothing quite works.
And eventually… it’s cancelled.
Not because people weren’t talented.
But because the pitch was 80% world, 20% story—
when it should’ve been the other way around.
The story is what everything else stands on.
Without it, even the most dazzling world can’t hold an audience for long.
(And That’s Not a Bad Thing)
Because I’m a story editor working in animation, a lot of incredibly talented artists send me their scripts or writing for review.
And I’ve noticed a fascinating pattern:
Some of them have absolutely stunning world-building—
like Pirates of the Caribbean meets Harry Potter.
Fully imagined. Deeply aesthetic. Wildly creative.
But after a while, I realize:
There isn’t much of a story at all.
So here’s something I gently want to offer to those creators:
Even the most beautiful world gets exhausting
if we don’t understand why we’re there.
If there’s no emotional arc,
no soul truth,
no message—
then we’re just watching design.
Beautiful, stunning design!
But eventually, the eye needs a reason to stay.
And here’s the twist:
I don’t think these people are failing as writers.
I think they might already be in the right spot—
just maybe not as writers.
If what lights you up is world-building,
you might thrive in:
-visual development
-set design
-live-action art departments
-environmental storytelling
You may be an artist—not a writer.
And that’s a wonderful thing to be.
Or… maybe you do want to write.
And the world you built was the safest way you could start sharing.
In that case, I gently invite you to look for the poet inside you.
The one who isn’t just designing what’s seen—
but daring to reveal what’s felt.
I only say this because I lived the flip side of it—
a poet trying to be an artist,
drawing what I could show
instead of saying what I needed to say.
So if you feel stuck, ask yourself:
Am I an artist who loves worlds?
Or a poet who’s still afraid to share the one inside me?
Both are sacred.
And they’re very similar.
But ultimately, they’re not quite the same—
and that nuanced difference?
It’s the deal-breaker when it comes to making a story that truly lands.
This also happens at the studio level.
Sometimes you see a film where the art, the lighting, the effects are absolutely state-of-the-art—
but the story just… doesn’t land.
No one quite knows why,
but you leave feeling like you were dazzled,
yet untouched.
That’s the difference between storytelling with soul
and storytelling with polish.
I’ve seen pitches get greenlit because the world-building is so fresh and imaginative—
but the pitch doesn’t really tackle the emotional heart of the story.
And what happens?
The project moves forward.
They start writing.
Nothing quite works.
And eventually… it’s cancelled.
Not because people weren’t talented.
But because the pitch was 80% world, 20% story—
when it should’ve been the other way around.
The story is what everything else stands on.
Without it, even the most dazzling world can’t hold an audience for long.
