A setting is more than a place. It is the time of
day, the season of the year, and the weather. As a reader, I take it personally
when a story has a few asterisks to indicate a passage of time because it takes
so little effort to use a few words to tell us we are not in the same place or
the same day. I believe it was Faulkner who once wrote a short story using a
different word for each paragraph: Later, Finally, At last, Next, Afterward,
etc. A different setting is equally functional.
No setting is exactly the same throughout the story.
The sun makes its way across the sky, constantly changing the shadows until it
disappears from view. Some days the sun is unobscured so that the sky looks
like buttermilk. Other days it plays peek-a-boo with clouds that look like
cotton balls.
Occasionally, roiling clouds move in, and it rains or snows. The moon appears new
like a bright smile against the ebony sky and gradually the shadowy veil slips
away to reveal a full moon. We feel at peace or war with nature, depending on
whether it rains on our plans or enhances them. A change in plans might affect
not just the immediate venture but creates a domino effect that alters our
remaining days. The character runs late and misses being in the 20-car pile up
on the highway but takes an alternate route and sees a house for sale, which
puts her next door to the marine on leave or serial killer or…
Settings Affect the Mood and Activities
The creak of a rocking chair on the front porch of
an isolated house in daylight says leisure and peace. At night, with the palest
of moonlight, add the snap of a twig nearby, and goosebumps slither up our arms.
Settings affect the mood and attitude of the viewpoint character in subtle or
overt ways.
As important as the setting
is, we sometimes get so caught up in writing about the characters’ struggles to
reach a satisfying solution, that the time of day, the season, or where we are is
forgotten. Every location affects the story and its characters. Where I live,
characters cannot descend steps into a dark basement. They rarely have attics
sufficient enough to hold treasures from past generations. At sea level, homes
were built on pillars before the 1950s
and on concrete slabs afterward. If I need my character to find an abandoned
trunk in the basement, I need to move my story to a different location.
The realtor is correct: Location is everything. It
affects the noise your character hears: Sirens or bird chirps, automatic garage
doors or loud voices on the other side of the wall. What kinds of flowers and
trees flourish? What insect species annoy her? Each one of these details makes
excellent transitions from season to season.
Where you set your story affects the weather and seasons, and whether we call that dark,
rotating column of air a twister, cyclone, or a tornado. In a mystery it might
tell your detective that the speaker is not from “around these parts.” Are
water spouts dancing across the water or dust devils whipping up dry leaves
more common? Details help set the mood.
Settings Transition between Seasons and Time
The setting can transition from one season or
passage of time to another:
The
sun was no longer visible above the city skyline when Derick got the call. His
brother was about to do something stupid. He shoved the gear into D1 and raced
toward the lake.
By
the time he spotted Bob’s yellow Mustang, the full moon had drawn a shimmering silver line across the dark water.
We don’t need to spend any words telling the reader
how long it took Derick to arrive or that he left the city behind or even what
he thought as he drove. The switch from the sun to the moon, from the buildings
to the lake told us all we need to know without unnecessary exposition.
I remember clearly the opening of a Joan Aiken novel
from about 30 years ago. Died on a Rainy
Sunday [http://www.worldcat.org/oclc/18887733]
began with the setting: the puddles, the rusting toys, and the pale
yellow-green sprigs deprived of chlorophyll for many weeks. It set a mood that
kept the reader clammy and cold, and in full dread until the solution, and the
sun, brought hope at last. The barely furnished house and the weather were
metaphors for the wife’s situation.
Time is a good
way to add suspense to the setting. The viewpoint character believes that he
has plenty of time to get to the dry cleaners
to claim his suit for the important job interview, and then realizes that his
watch has stopped. Or he sees the city hall clock tower and realizes that he
forgot the time change, and it’s really an hour later. Has he lost his last
chance to get the coveted position? Setting a time limit, and then shortening
it can revive suspense once the reader is relaxed.
The time of year affects where and when the sun or
moon rises. That affects the shadows. It affects whether the main character
grabs a sweater, a heavy coat, or sunscreen. Did she pull a sundress or running
shoes from her closet? How the character responds to the setting tells the
reader in fewer words than it takes to
describe the scene in full.
Sometimes The Setting Becomes a Character
What about the holidays?
Is downtown festive with wreaths on the lamp posts and windows with animated
displays? It is the little details that tell us a lot by describing little:
Angela
tapped the steering wheel impatiently. The exhaust from the car in front nearly
obscured her vision. She adjusted the windshield wipers before glancing toward
the sidewalk. A red-suited man chopped the air with his bell, ignored by the passersby
jostling each other. She smiled smugly. Fools. Why didn’t they shop online like
she did?
The writer
doesn’t need to tell us that she’s in the car downtown, it’s December, and
she’s in a rotten mood. When we integrate the character squarely with the
setting and let them experience it with their senses, we save a lot of
explanation and description.
Sometimes, the setting is like a character: An undetected
fire, a volcano building toward eruption, a crack in the earth worsening while
the characters continue their spats, competitions, and ordinary lives build suspense. We might begin the story with
the setting before bringing in the viewpoint character:
The
Victorian house sat on a hill overlooking a field of weeds. The paint had long ago peeled away leaving mouse-gray wood. In the waning light, the twin
towers looked like horns, and the tattered red drapes in the upstairs windows resembled
time-weary eyes. With only a yawning hole where the door once was, the place
looked as if it might swallow anyone that ventured too close. The locals called
it “Devil’s Inn.”
Lydia
sighed. It was worse than she’d imagined. At least, its reputation guaranteed
that she’d have plenty of alone time to paint.
Nothing funny ever starts that way. Once Lydia enters
the scene, we’ll see the interior through her senses.
For a skill exercise, pick a season and describe a
setting without telling us overtly when and where. Who will you choose to
stumble, run, or stroll into that setting? Why?