The Hidden Ground: Layers of Meaning in Storytelling

When I paint, I begin with a ground—a foundational layer brushed across the canvas to prepare the surface. Sometimes it’s a neutral tone, sometimes a subtle color. You don’t see it in the final image, not exactly. But it’s there, affecting everything laid on top. A cool blue ground makes the warm tones above it vibrate with contrast. A red-toned ground can lend even a green landscape a strange sense of urgency. It is hidden, but it is not silent.

Writing works the same way. We build in layers. There is the world, the atmosphere, the emotional palette. Then there’s what happens—what the characters do and say. Then there’s who they are, and how they interact with everything else. And like in painting, sometimes a buried layer—barely seen—can shift the whole feel of the final piece.

Layer One: The Ground — The World

Imagine a castle.

Is it magnificent, with soaring towers, flags snapping in the wind, trumpets blaring the arrival of some noble quest? Then we’re in one kind of story—a world of order, glory, and purpose.

Or is the castle crumbling? Are its towers hollow, its gates rusted, its courtyards flooded with lichen-choked weeds? Are the only passages across vast gaps makeshift, decaying bridges of old timber that groan beneath each footstep?

Both are castles. But the ground layer—the tone, the world—has already begun to tell us a story. It paints a backdrop against which all else will be interpreted.

This is the emotional canvas of your setting. It sets expectations, primes the reader’s mood, and whispers in the background even when no one is looking directly at it.

Layer Two: The Underpainting — The Moment

Now come the birds.

If they chirp and flit from one tree to another, the place feels alive. Safe. Hopeful.

But if the trees are black and bare, and the only birds are crows whose eyes track our movements with eerie precision, the same castle—same architecture, same world—feels ominous. The moment has shifted.

This is the underpainting—what’s happening now. The way weather, light, sound, and movement fill the frame. The present-tense brushstrokes that give the scene its current flavor. It’s not the deep world underneath; it’s the scene in front of us, activated.

Layer Three: The Glaze — The Character

But the final layer—the one that makes the painting breathe—is how the character walks through it.

The same ruined castle might fill one character with awe and nostalgia, while another sees only danger and decay. Rain might make one person playful, spinning with joy, and another huddle inward with silent resentment. The sunlight might make someone squint warily, while another tilts their face up in welcome.

The environment doesn’t just tell us about the world. It reveals character. How a character responds—not just to action, but to tone, to mood, to the world’s temperature—is where the real magic happens.

Tolkien knew this well. Sam and Frodo walked the same blackened plains of Mordor. But where Frodo stumbled under the weight of the Ring, Sam held onto hope and memory. One landscape, two emotional journeys. Their reactions told us as much about them as it did about Mordor.

Building with Intention

Good writing doesn’t just describe. It layers.

• The world layer tells us where we are and sets our expectations.
• The moment layer tells us what is happening, how this part of the world is expressing itself now.
• The character layer tells us who is seeing it, and what that says about them.

When all three layers interact—when the world affects the character, and the character refracts that through their own inner lens—you get resonance. You get a painting that glows from within. A story that breathes.

So when you write your next scene, ask yourself:

• What is the ground tone here?
• What kind of light is falling across it today?
• And what does my character do with it?

Every scene becomes a painting, and every layer a chance to say something more.

How do you write? Do you think in layers or do you conceptualize things differently? As always, I hope this was helpful, or at least thought provoking, and I welcome all thoughts and feedback in the comments below!