Setting

One the past month or so I (Donis) have been trying to start a new series set in a fictional resort town patterned after Eureka Springs, Arkansas, which if any of  you Dear Readers have visited, know is one of the most beautiful little mountain towns anywhere - a resort spa retreat for the wealthy since the mid-1800s. This has caused me to spend a great deal of time trying to figure out how to evoke the beauty of setting - and it's also driven him to me how important setting is to the unfolding of your plot.

In fact, setting is one of the most important characters in the book. (I stole that from William Kent Kreuger) Setting is the location of the plot, including the region, geography, climate, neighborhood, buildings, and interiors. A setting is more than just a place; it's layered into every scene. It's the season, the time period, the weather, the light, the people in the background, and the history. 

I always loved to read stories set in exotic locations and historical settings. I love to go to a place and live there for a while. I love a book that entices you into its world, that says “come in...join us...stay awhile”

Setting is more than just a backdrop to the plot; it’s part of the drama. It’s the autumn leaves crunching underfoot, the sunset in your eyes as you drive down the highway, the musty smell and dark shadows in the library stacks. Setting is about drawing the reader into a story, making them feel they are walking in the footsteps of the characters.

Things happen as they happen because of where and when the novel is set. Setting  acts on the characters. It’s where they live their lives, and you as the author had better know all about it--its rules, how it looks, who else lives there.

My two current series couldn't be more different in setting – one on a farm in Oklahoma, a world so real, so elemental, the other in the moviemaking world of 1920s Hollywood, a world so fake, a not-so-pretty reality hidden behind a beautiful illusion. Makes a huge difference in the way I evoke the two worlds.

Rhys Bowen said that when she begins a novel, she often doesn’t know the complete cast of characters, who’s going to get killed or how, or who did the deed, but she knows where the story will unfold.

The very night before I heard Rhys say this, I was reading P.D. James’ book, Talking About Detective Fiction, and came across this :“My own detective novels, with rare exceptions, have been inspired by the place rather than by a method of murder or a character." 

She then describes a moment when she was standing on a deserted beach in East Anglia. She could imagine standing in the same place hundreds of years ago, until she turned around and saw a nuclear power plant, and “immediately I knew that I had found the setting for my next novel.”

Even if the murder unfolds the same way in two novels you'll have two very different mysteries if the victim is killed in a beach house in Thailand or in a prep school auditorium (custodian find body of beautiful young girl stabbed to death and left on floor of high school gymnasium. Bum stumbles into trash filled alley and finds beautiful young girl stabbed to death and left by the dumpster behind the dive bar); if the suspects live deep in the moors, or in Manhattan across from Central Park; if the detective lives in a fifth-floor walk-up on the south side of Chicago or in a mansion in Beverly Hills. 

If Miss Wonderly had walked into Spade and Archer Detective Agency on the first floor of the Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota, The Maltese Falcon just wouldn't have been the same. 

Location, location, location! (part deux)

by Rick Blechta

My post last week was a riff off one Aline had published the day before.

The importance of setting is indisputable. Every story is set someplace. If it’s a made-up land, then the writer is free to indulge themselves to the max, but what they write must firmly set their location in readers’ minds. The same is true if a writer is using actual locations — or portions thereof. Job #1 remains the same whether you’re utilizing pure fantasy or reality.

There is a large difference, though, when reality is used, either partially or completely: the writer should expect mail, good and bad. Anyone who knows that location well enough will certainly feel the urge to correct errors — and they may act on it. “There’s no bar on that street corner!” “That’s a one-way street and you have a car going the wrong way!” The answer to the first quote might well be that the writer needed a bar to be on that street corner for plot purposes so that’s what was done. Tough boogies. The answer to the second quote might be that the author boobed on the research. If one is using actual places for setting, it is critical that errors are kept to the bare minimum. Much can be gotten away with if the setting is not known to many, but get something wrong in Times Square and you risk being flooded with irate comments. Of course that would mean the book is selling well, which would make responding to irate comments much more enjoyable.

Which brings me to my own experiences. As I mentioned in last week’s post, I used the living room and garden of a good friend’s home in Scotland for the climax of When Hell Freezes Over. I didn’t think of asking if this was okay with him. I described the location of the house pretty specifically (it was critical to the plot). Only later did it dawn on me: “What if this book becomes a bestseller, a classic if you will, and people start showing up on my friend’s doorstep?” Don’t laugh. It has happened. (And I should be so lucky to write a classic thriller…)

Since that time, if I’m using real places for setting, I weigh my considerations more carefully. Two of my novels, The Fallen One, and its sequel, Roses for a Diva have my protagonist living in a large apartment block in downtown Toronto. It is easily identifiable. To my mind, that’s not an issue. It has concierges at the entrances. However, I would never use a specific apartment number. A private person does not need to dragged into my scribblings.

I always try to use real places for setting. It helps me to have a fixed image (plus reference photos) in my mind as I write. But now I’m more circumspect in being too specific (or shall I say 100% accurate if I’m using a private individual’s residence or a small business. If I set something in a public space, I consider that fair game.

To finish off about locations, I recently watched the second series of the Netflix production, Jessica Jones which is shot in and around New York City. The final episode used two locations with which I am very familiar. One is a diner in Ossining, NY that my mother-in-law really likes and we’ve eaten there frequently over the past two years. While watching, I’m thinking, That looks like Route 9 in Ossining. As the camera moved around I thought, That’s gotta be DD’s. A minute or two later my guess was confirmed when Jessica escaped from the place (after ripping out a table top and throwing it at two cops. Funny thing was, the signage out front was changed for the shoot, and unless one knows the specific area, you wouldn’t be able to find it. (I wonder if the owner’s didn’t want the notoriety.)

The climax in that episode, though, was the real kicker for me, It takes place at Playland, an amusement park in Rye, NY and is fully identified in the episode (the title of which is “Playland”). What’s really incredible is the climactic action takes place on the park’s Ferris wheel, which my future wife and I rode moments before she told me she loved me — and the location of that event appeared in one of the final scenes in the movie Big.

How’s that for locations with real impact — well, for me at least.

Location, location, location!

by Rick Blechta

My reference photo of Loch Striven

My post this week spins off what Aline was speaking about yesterday. One thing I’ve learned over the course of 10 books is that location can bring a story to life as much as great characters.

I agree with Aline that fiction writers should never apologize for their imaginations. So what if we add a castle to the landscape? If it helps our story, then go for it. The only disappointed people will be those who travel to the locale and don’t find the castle there. If they have their own good imaginations, they’ll “see” the castle where the author placed it and understand why it was placed there.

I have my own Scottish story to relate. While researching in Argyll for my novel When Hell Freezes Over, I needed a lonely house in a picturesque location. We were staying with a friend and not having had much luck on two research forays from his home just north of Dunoon, I asked him for some help.

“What you’re describing we would call a bothy, basically a farmhouse. There’s a road that goes around the bottom of Loch Striven. You should try that.”

Off my wife and I went. The views from the road were really lovely, but there was no building placed anywhere which would work in my story. None that we saw gave me what I was looking for: lonely but with a great view. Reaching the end of the road, we turned back. It wasn’t until we returned again to the bottom of Loch Striven where the road is about a quarter to half a mile from the shoreline and up fairly high that I realized the location was perfect for my needs — except there wasn’t even a shed in sight. And then I though, Well, there could be…

Back at our friend’s house after taking some reference photos, I sketched out a description of my old bothy, the outbuilding I needed, and a short but precise description of the view, and voila! I had just what I needed.

And I did not feel a twinge of guilt.

For the record, I used our friend’s house (particularly his living room) for the climactic scene of my novel.*

We fiction writers lie for a living. Really. Everything we do is made up. Sometimes it might be based on fact, but at their hearts, our works are always made up, aren’t they? If that means adding buildings to a landscape, so what?

I’m with Aline on this one.

Next week: *the dangers of using recognizable landmarks in fiction writing.