The Call of the Sea: Finding Inspiration by the Water

There is something ancient in the voice of water. Something older than language, older than land. It moves in waves and whispers, in currents and tides, drawing storytellers closer with the promise of transformation.

Water—whether sea, river, lake, or stream—has always held a unique place in fantasy storytelling. It is boundary and bridge, memory and mystery, danger and desire. From the wild oceans of Earthsea to the mystical lakes of Avalon, bodies of water ripple through our favourite tales, guiding heroes, concealing monsters, and holding truths too deep for words.

In this post, we’ll explore why water is such a powerful force in fantasy fiction and how it can shape not only our plots and worlds, but our characters too. We’ll also reflect on how, as writers, we might find our own creative current by spending time near water—listening to its call.

Water as Threshold: Between Worlds

In fantasy, water is often a threshold—a place where one world ends and another begins. Think of the wardrobe in Narnia, the rabbit hole in Wonderland, and then think of the pond that leads Harry into Dumbledore’s memory, or the river Styx that carries souls between life and death. Unlike doors or gates, water is fluid, shifting, unpredictable. To cross it is to surrender, even briefly, to something beyond control.

Oceans, in particular, represent vastness—the unknown, the uncharted. They swallow ships and stories, hide sunken kingdoms, and stretch into the horizon like a promise you can never quite reach. Lakes can be mirrors or portals, revealing otherworldly glimpses below their glassy surfaces. Rivers carry movement and destiny, often guiding characters toward places they must go, even when they don’t know why.

As a writer, I’m drawn to this sense of in-between. Some of my favourite moments in my own stories happen near or within water: a tidepool that reveals a vision, a moonlit lake that remembers lost names, a stormy sea that answers a question with silence. Water allows fantasy to stretch—not just into imagined lands, but into the emotional and symbolic depths of the human experience.

The Emotional Tides of Character

Water is not only a world-shaper—it’s a mirror of character. Just as it can be still or stormy, shallow or deep, it reflects the emotional landscapes we walk through as readers and writers.

Characters who are drawn to water often carry a sense of longing—perhaps for freedom, for change, or for something lost. Mermaids and selkies embody this longing perfectly, caught between land and sea, duty and desire, love and instinct. Even land-bound characters may feel its pull, as though water speaks a language they used to know.

Consider the emotional role water plays:

• Grief might pool in lakes, dark and unmoving.

• Hope might trickle like a brook through dry lands.

• Transformation might rise with the tide or fall with the rain.

One of my favourite devices is to use water as a turning point. A moment by a riverbank, for instance, might offer a character clarity—or challenge them with a reflection they’re not ready to face. A boat journey might not just move the story forward, but allow for interior growth too, as the waves wear away old fears and reshape resolve.

Water teaches characters patience, endurance, humility. It washes away illusions and reveals the raw truth underneath. In that way, it doesn’t just support a plot—it deepens it.

Folklore and Myth: Water’s Ancient Voice

The allure of water in storytelling runs deep in myth and folklore. Around the world, rivers, lakes, and seas are populated with spirits, deities, and creatures—many of them unpredictable, beautiful, and dangerous.

Here are just a few examples:

• The Lady of the Lake in Arthurian legend, who gives and takes away power with a fluid hand.

• The selkies of Scottish and Irish lore, shapeshifting beings caught between seal and human form.

• Yemọja, the Yoruba goddess of the ocean, tied to motherhood and creation.

• The rusalki of Slavic mythology, haunting lakes with both allure and vengeance.

• Naiads, nymphs, and sirens, whose stories range from romantic to tragic.

These tales endure because water itself is dual-natured. It sustains and destroys, nourishes and overwhelms. To write water into a fantasy story is to tap into this ancient lineage—one that recognises that beauty and danger are often entwined.

When I’m writing fantasy, I love layering these mythic echoes into my worldbuilding. A sea might hum with songs no one has sung in generations. A lake might hold the memory of a drowned queen. A river might demand a toll, not of gold, but of memory or name.

Water holds memory particularly well in fantasy. It’s a living archive, unspooling histories not in stone, but in shimmer and flow. Writing with water allows us to whisper stories that are almost forgotten—but not quite.

Worldbuilding with Water: Landscapes and Lore

When we build fantasy worlds, it’s tempting to begin with the mountains, the castles, the forests, but often, the heart of a world can be found in its waters.

Ask yourself:

• Where do people gather for water? A sacred well? A trading port? A glacial spring?

• How do they speak of it? Do they name rivers as gods? Do they fear or revere the ocean?

• What lives beneath the surface that no one has seen?

A single stream can divide kingdoms—or reunite them. A drought can start a war. A hidden spring can heal or curse. And a great sea can isolate a people, or connect them to cultures beyond imagining.

In my own writing, I often return to island settings. There’s something magical about being surrounded by sea—about watching the tides carve your days, and knowing that the horizon holds more than you can ever reach. I’ve invented tidal calendars, boat-blessing ceremonies, sea-glass currencies. These small, watery details ground the fantastical in the believable.

Don’t be afraid to get specific. What does the water smell like? How does it sound at night? What creatures rise with the moon? These sensory layers are where your world comes alive.

The Deeper Current: Memory, Change, and the Creative Flow

Water is more than a setting. More than a mirror. In fantasy, it often becomes a keeper of memory, a symbol of transformation, and a guide to the inner tides of the writer’s own creative journey.

Across cultures and stories, water holds memory like no other element. It is where lost things dwell—sunken kingdoms, forgotten truths, voices of the past. A still lake might show visions of what once was. A river might echo with songs that no one has sung in centuries.

Water doesn’t just reflect—it remembers.

This is a powerful tool in storytelling. When a character kneels beside a quiet pool, what do they see? Themselves? Someone they’ve lost? Something they need to understand? In these moments, water becomes emotional terrain. A landscape of longing. A truth-teller.

Just as water holds the past, it also heralds change. In many hero’s journeys, a crossing of water marks a key turning point. To step onto a boat, to dive into deep water, to survive a storm—these moments strip a character down and begin to reshape them. It’s not just the journey across the ocean that matters—it’s what is left behind on the shore.

This makes water one of the most versatile metaphors in fantasy. Transformation isn’t always dramatic—it can be quiet. A slow erosion of fear. A rising tide of clarity. Characters often emerge from water changed—washed, reborn, or carrying a deeper burden. It’s the emotional rhythm beneath the plotline.

Perhaps that’s why, as writers, we’re drawn to it too. There is something about water that calls to the creative spirit. It invites stillness and motion at the same time. A lake asks us to look inward. A river reminds us to keep going. Rain gives permission to pause. Oceans stretch our thinking wide.

When we write beside water—or even imagine water—we access a quieter, deeper part of ourselves. The flow of water can become the flow of story. The act of writing becomes a kind of current: one that pulls us under and lifts us up, again and again.

In your writing life, consider how you might consciously connect with water. Let it be muse and mirror. Let it hold your memories and show your characters theirs. Let it remind you that change, like tides, is constant—and often, necessary.

Water is timeless. So is the need to tell stories. The next time you sit down to write, ask yourself: What lies beneath the surface? And are you brave enough to bring it to light?

Writing Near Water: Inspiration in the Real World

There’s also the very real magic of writing by the water. I often take my notebook down to the coast, or wander beside the local river when I’m stuck in a story. There’s something about moving water that dislodges stuck thoughts. It makes room.

Sometimes I sit and listen. I watch the waves fold and collapse, the ripples scatter across a lake, the way the reeds bend just slightly with the current. I try not to write anything immediately—I let it steep, and more often than not, by the time I return home, the idea I was waiting for has surfaced, smooth and sure.

Here are some of my favourite water-inspired writing prompts:

• A message is found floating in a bottle—but it’s in a language no one has spoken for centuries.

• A character is drawn to a specific spot by the sea, returning every year—until one year, something has changed.

• A town is built beside a river that grants one wish every seven years, but the price is never the same.

• A mirror-like lake shows people not their reflection, but their true self—and no two people ever see the same image.

Even if you can’t get to water, you can remember it. Picture a childhood holiday by the coast, the scent of seaweed, the glitter of light on waves. Picture a rainy windowpane, a fountain in a courtyard, a bath drawn after a long day. Water is everywhere—it’s just waiting for you to notice.

Let the Current Carry You

Fantasy stories often begin with a call—a whisper on the wind, a dream, a map, a door. But sometimes, it’s the call of water that beckons us. The ocean that says go farther. The river that says follow me. The rain that says start again.

There is no end to the inspiration water can offer. It can be place, plot, metaphor, memory. It can shape a world or crack a character wide open, and in the act of writing, it can move us too—pulling us out of the shallows of fear and into the depths of creativity.

So next time you find yourself stuck or searching, go to the water.

Listen.

Let it speak.

And then, when the tide turns, write.