Here’s one from the archives that feels evergreen. Enjoy, Plumesters!
Setting as Character
We’ve all read something, whether it’s a story, essay, poem, or any other form of literature, where the setting seems to leap off the page in a way that feels visceral and singular. I have always been drawn to stories with a memorable setting, and lately have come across two that have been particularly vivid. A few weeks ago I finished Gillian Flynn’s Sharp Objects, a novel set in Wind Gap, a small, fictional town in Missouri’s Bootheel. The town is mostly poor, but dotted with gentry who exploit the work of their more desperate peers. It’s a murder mystery, and while I won’t spoil anything beyond that, just know that this town is the perfect setting for a southern gothic intrigue, disfunction, and horror. If you’re interested in watching the HBO adaptation, it’s great so far, but as always, I recommend reading the book first.
Once I finished Flynn’s book (which she penned 12 years ago, even before her breakout hit Gone Girl), I moved on to The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters. Usually, I try to balance something light after reading such dark fare, but I’ve joined a book club through a podcast, so I just might end up derailing some of my own reading challenge picks as I pursue these other narratives. I’m about 100 pages into TLS now, so I’m a fifth of the way through this fairly hefty book, which I believe is going to become a ghost story very soon. This is not my usual fair, but I’m riveted by the descriptions of The Hundreds, a country British estate that was once prosperous and well-kept, but at the time of the narrative (just after WWII), it’s fallen into great disrepair, and general, well, creepiness. The structure looms large physically with it’s motley assortment of crumbling facades and empty rooms; emotionally, you can also sense that there’s something not quite right about it or its current inhabitants (again, no spoilers–just a general unease I’m getting as I read). A film adaptation is coming to theaters at the end of August (Remember, adaptations are my jam–as long as I read the book first!).
The Place that Haunts You
So how do we write settings that stick with our readers long after they’ve finished our work? For me, the answer is always to ground the locale in a place that speaks to you. Even if you’re writing fiction, there’s likely some kernel of truth or memory in what you’re writing. When I wrote my first book (as yet to be published), I took a place that obsessed me, my grandparents’ old farmhouse, and centered an entire fictional novel around it. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, both because it was no longer in my family, and because I now live very far away from this house that shaped my childhood. I can’t even creep by to look at it unless I travel 2500 miles!
Particularity of Place
Whether you’re writing about a place that exists and/or that you know intimately, or if you’re inventing it from the ether, it’s always a good idea to make it essential to the narrative. Write something that couldn’t possibly take place anywhere else. For example, my hometown–Kennett Square, PA–is the mushroom capital of the world (no joke!). I love Kennett, but because of its dominant industry, it has a very particular smell about it most days. To be blunt, it smells like poop. It’s a place full of contradictions, not least of all its beauty coupled with its fertilizer stench, so it’s a location that’s begging to be written about. As someone who spent the first 20 years of her life there, my perspective on it is going to be much different from that of the NYT article linked above.
An Exercise
Setting may not be your go-to impetus for writing. Maybe you’re primarily inspired by character or imagery or plot. But I urge you to give setting a chance as a writing catalyst, because you never know what you might dream up. Here’s something to try:
Close your eyes and think of a place you haven’t been in some time. Spend at least a full minute visualizing it. What images do you recall? What smells? What other senses come to the party when you think of this place? Open your eyes and begin writing. Don’t worry about genre or sense; just get the ideas down. Follow your sensory impressions and see if they lead you into some kind of narrative.
What place do you write about, or dream of writing about most? Let us know in the comments and/or on Twitter, Instagram, or Facebook. We’d love to hear about the settings that serve as your muses!
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