Just a tip: on settings
The start of a new monthly thing!
The title might be a lie. I'm guessing this is Part One, although I can't tell you when Part Two or even Three might be published. It just seems like a good place to start.
(Hopefully there will end up being several parts to this, so it'll seem like I was actually incredibly organized, and not an accidental liar.)
Last week, we talked about the importance of setting the scene. How some books are driven by scenery, propelled forward by looming danger in the walls and floor. How you can use it to engage your reader, and bring them into your story by sharing the details that only exist in your head. How painting the picture, however difficult, will be worth it in the end.
HOWEVER.
I didn't actually tell you how to do it.
(Ye gods, forgive me.)
One of my biggest pet peeves of how-to-write books is that they don't actually tell you how to do things. They hint, and poke, and prod, and say things like "do this" and "don't do that", but they never actually break it down and tell you how. Writing is a craft that you practice in action. Reading about how to do things is wonderful, and you absolutely should do that. If I didn't believe that, I wouldn't write this newsletter. But there's only so much circumstantial advice that you can take before it all muddles together like yesterday's coffee going down the drain.
So. My sincerest apologies. And without further ado: How to Set the Scene.
A while back, I wrote a piece about a room. It was mostly an experiment, to see how many ways I could describe things without boring the pants off my reader. Here's a snippet of it:
There's a note on the door, too faded now to read. Once upon a time, it may have had a word of caution, or encouragement, scrawled upon its face. Now, the ink has faded into the past, and no one can read what its warning may have been. One can only push the door open and discover fate for themselves.
A fire burns merrily in the hearth, as if the magician tending it has only stepped out for a moment, and will return at any time. A workbench sits to one side, bearing the scraps of a hasty, last-minute healing serum, the tools scattered around instead of neatly organized. There are holes on the wall where they used to hang, but the heavy layer of dust suggests they haven't been there for quite some time. Years, if the fire didn't suggest otherwise.
Above the workbench, a bowed shelf holds rows of potions. Some green, some blue. A handful of purple and red. Nothing has been marked, no labels or handwritten scraps to identify them. It would be death to guess which are real and which are poison, but the temptation to try them is there. They look like jewels, alluring and silent, holding beautiful secrets.
Not bad, right? Okay, it's not perfect, but you get the picture. Room, faded note on door, a friendly fire, potions. There's stuff out of place, laying haphazardly on a workbench instead of being organized. Tons of dust, even though a fire suggests that somebody was there recently. The potions lining the shelf may indicate that someone bought or crafted them, but if so, why leave them behind? Was there a scuffle? An argument? Or merely someone trying to hastily escape?
It's also not exactly clear what the room is. It's probably safe to assume that it's a workshop, given the tools. Or an alchemist's lab, because of the potions. Or maybe somebody who could do both?
Here's a spoiler: it IS a workshop. But I don't even know what kind.
(Or do I?)
If your writing style is more straightforward, you might just come out and say it: "The door pushed open to reveal a workshop, empty, save for the flickering fire in the hearth." Still communicates the setting, but the air of mystery becomes slightly clearer. Now we know what kind of room it is. The disarray of everything is still confusing, but at least we're all on the same page. This room = workshop. Done.
If you want to keep your readers in the dark, don't tell them what it is. Describe it to them. Tell them about rock walls, the smell of sulfur, of the tinkling sounds of an underground river. Give them clues about the room - or the world, whatever it is - but let them draw their own conclusions. Mystery books sell because the story is implied, and the reader creates their own (often incorrect) assumptions. It's the same with setting. Because you have the whole picture, you can choose what to direct your reader's attention to. This is perfect for giving them information about the environment - or your characters - that they otherwise might have missed.
Think of it like a camera, sweeping grandly across a scene in a movie. In that moment, all you see is whatever the director gives you. By pointing the camera like a finger, he or she directs you to certain details: a glittering golden ring on a flirty individual's finger, a coat of arms that doesn't match the castle flag, the grime on a horror house's window. Each detail, when focused on, gives you a piece of information. You're doing the same thing, just in words.
In the snippet above, I tried to put my reader in someone's shoes. How do you enter a room? Through the door. What's the first thing you look at? Probably something casting light or shadow, like a fire. From there, my camera swept to the side, continuing around the room like a stranger turning in place. It creates a smooth transition from one place to the next, allowing my reader to build a semi-replica of the room in their mind. It takes their attention off the words on the page, and hopefully allows them to fade into something magical - a mystery room, filled with fire and tools and potions - instead of being stuck in real life, looking at lines of black and white letters.
At this point, it's probably fair to point out that like normal writing, setting the scene is more fun to read when you don't just say stuff directly. You could say, "The day was very pretty, and so was she." Depending on your writing style, that might fit perfectly with everything else on the page. Or, if you enjoy more description, it might feel cheap. Building an environment requires detail, even if it's just a couple paragraphs of it. Add enough to let your reader see it in their own mind. They'll fill in the details you didn't give and finish the picture on their own. It might look slightly different from yours, but that's okay. As long as they get enough to keep the story moving, it's all good.
Now, that's all great, fine, and dandy. Anybody can talk about setting. That's not particularly special.
Okay, so let's write it.
Pick anything. Imagine a room in your head, or describe the one that you're currently in. Even if you're stuck at work in a cubicle, you can practice setting the scene. Tell me about what you see: colors, textures, design. Is it grey? Fabric-covered? Steel or concrete? Are there shapes, angles? Pictures on the walls? Every single thing is a clue about where you are, what you see, and what kind of person spends time there. People design their own environments or hang out in places that reflect them somehow. How does your setting reflect you?
And don't just say what's in the room. "There's a green couch, and a picture on the wall, and a chair at the table." Technically descriptive, but it could be any room, anywhere, at any time. Add some personality. Tell your reader things that could only come from this room: a layer of dust on the shelf, a stain in the corner of the carpet where the cat used to spray, etc. Anybody can take a look at a photograph and say, "Oh, look, it's a living room. There's a couch." Not only is that a cop-out, but your reader will feel cheated. Describe it in a way that only someone standing there, looking at everything, could say.
Talk about the floor, the ceiling, the walls. Talk about colors, shapes, and angles. Talk about the pictures on the wall - or the lack thereof. Describe the room to someone who's never been there before, and let them see it through your eyes.
Think about it. Write a few paragraphs. Leave them in the comments below, if you want - maybe it'll help us understand each other's world a little bit more.
When you get stuck, remember this: stories are about discovering the world, or seeing it in a new way. When you set the scene for your reader, share what they would find interesting. Cracks in the wall, dried-up houseplants, or just grey concrete everywhere. Leave little clues about your characters or their hobbies. And if your story is more sinister, mention something suspicious... like a bloodstain dripping down the table.
Setting isn't everything, but it's very important. It's how you make your stories believable.
(Photo by Rene Asmussen, Pexels)