The Rural Setting Thesaurus E-Book

Becca Puglisi

• Herausgeber: WS
• Kategorie: Bildung
• Serie: Writers Helping Writers
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 528

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

THE RURAL SETTING THESAURUS breaks down over 100 natural and personal settings to shows writers how sensory detail can evoke mood, steer emotion, and create conflict, thereby forcing characters to strive harder for their goals.

Leseprobe

THE RURAL SETTING THESAURUS:

A Writer’s Guide to Personal and Natural Places

ANGELA ACKERMAN

& BECCA PUGLISI

THE RURAL THESAURUS: A WRITER’S GUIDE TO PERSONAL AND NATURAL PLACES

Copyright 2024 © by Angela Ackerman & Becca Puglisi

All rights reserved

Visit the authors at their Writers Helping Writers® site.

First print edition, June 2016

ISBN-13: 978-0-9897725-5-6

ISBN-10: 0-9897725-5-1

NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in print or electronic form without prior permission of the authors. For permissions, or for information about special discounts available for bulk purchases and educational needs, contact the authors at [email protected].

Edited by C. S. Lakin and Michael Dunne

Book cover by Scarlett Rugers Design 2016

Book formatting by JD Smith Design Ltd

DEDICATIONS

To every writer who ever dreamed, and then had the courage to follow that dream wherever it led.

And especially to Lee, for not using the ants.

THE WRITERS HELPING WRITERS®DESCRIPTION THESAURUS SERIES

Over 1.2 Million Copies Sold Worldwide

Available in nine languages, sourced by universities, and recommended by editors and agents all over the world, this best-selling series is a writer’s favorite for brainstorming fresh description and powering up storytelling.

The Emotion Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Character Expression (Second Edition)

The Positive Trait Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Character Attributes

The Negative Trait Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Character Flaws

The Urban Setting Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to City Spaces

The Emotional Wound Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Psychological Trauma

The Occupation Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Jobs, Vocations, and Careers

The Conflict Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Obstacles, Adversaries, and Inner Struggles (Vol. 1)

The Conflict Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Obstacles, Adversaries, and Inner Struggles (Vol. 2)

The Emotion Amplifier Thesaurus: A Writer’s Guide to Character Stress and Volatility (Second Edition)

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Crafting Settings that Create Emotional Connections

The Setting as a Vehicle for Conflict

The Setting as a Vehicle for Establishing Mood

The Setting as a Vehicle for Steering the Story

Figurative Language: The Key to Enhancing Your Setting

Common Setting Snags

Rural Setting Considerations

Final Words from the Authors

THE RURAL SETTING THESAURUS

At Home

Attic

Backyard

Basement

Bathroom

Birthday Party

Bomb Shelter

Chicken Coop

Child’s Bedroom

Flower Garden

Garage

Greenhouse

Group Foster Home

Halloween Party

House Fire

House Party

Kitchen

Living Room

Man Cave

Mansion

Motor Home

Nursery

Outhouse

Patio Deck

Root Cellar

Secret Passageway

Teenager’s Bedroom

Tool Shed

Trailer Park

Tree House

Underground Storm Shelter

Vegetable Patch

Wake

Wine Cellar

Workshop

At School

Boarding School

Custodial Supply Room

Dorm Room

Elementary School Classroom

Gymnasium

High School Cafeteria

High School Hallway

Locker Room

Playground

Preschool

Principal’s Office

Prom

School Bus

Science Lab

Teacher’s Lounge

University Lecture Hall

University Quad

Rural Sights

Abandoned Mine

Ancient Ruins

Archery Range

Barn

Beach Party

Campsite

Church

Country Road

County Fair

Farm

Farmer’s Market

Graveyard

Hunting Cabin

Landfill

Lighthouse

Mausoleum

Orchard

Pasture

Quarry

Ranch

Rodeo

Salvage Yard

Slaughterhouse

Summer Camp

Taxidermist

Wedding Reception

Winery

Nature and Landforms

Arctic Tundra

Badlands

Beach

Canyon

Cave

Creek

Desert

Forest

Grotto

Hiking Trail

Hot Springs

Lake

Marsh

Meadow

Moors

Mountains

Ocean

Pond

Rainforest

River

Swamp

Tropical Island

Waterfall

Appendix A: Setting Exercises

Appendix B: Setting Planner Tool

MORE SETTINGS: The Urban Thesaurus

Recommended Resources

Praise for These Writers Helping Writers Resources…

One Stop for Writers

About the Authors

CRAFTING SETTINGS THAT CREATE EMOTIONAL CONNECTIONS

The recipe for good fiction includes a number of key ingredients such as compelling characters, high stakes, an emotional connection between readers and the story’s cast, and engaging conflict. But there’s another important piece that is often overlooked, to the detriment of many potentially great books: the setting. Every scene in every story has one, whether it’s part of a sprawling kingdom (Middle Earth), a room onboard a cluttered spaceship (Alien’s Nostromo), or locales found within a sleepy little town (Maycomb County, Alabama). Big or small, familiar or foreign, the setting in each scene should be unique and memorable. It’s the responsibility of the author to elevate a story’s locations so they take on a life of their own and imprint themselves upon readers in an unforgettable way.

Readers the world over know what it’s like to fall in love with the settings from a favorite book. Whether the locations were real or fictional, they felt as if they’d been there, or they wished they could go. As authors, we want to create this sense of nostalgia at the end of a book; we want readers to wish they could go back. But how does this happen? What makes a setting tangible and as interesting as the characters themselves?

For one thing, the locations for a given story need to be more than simple stage dressing. Vibrant settings are thoughtfully chosen. They’re places that hold meaning for the character and evoke emotion. They provide opportunities for conflict and personal tragedy and growth. As such, birthplaces, bedrooms, schools, workplaces, hangouts, and vacation spots play a pivotal role in shaping who a character is and who he will become. There is an inherent emotional connection between a setting and the characters who frequent it.

Written effectively, this emotional connection reaches out to include the reader too. Hogwarts, The Overlook Hotel, Tara—settings like these create an emotional response in readers because the author wrote them in a way that evoked feelings. Through the use of symbolism and multisensory descriptions, by using the setting as a vehicle for establishing mood or introducing conflict, the author pulled readers in, allowing them to experience life along with the characters in their worlds.

This is what readers want: to get lost in a book—to be so completely immersed in the story that there’s an unsettling jolt when they’re returned to real life. It’s the author’s job to make this happen for readers, and one of the most effective ways to do it is by bringing the setting to life— making it dynamic, even epic.

Fortunately, it’s not as hard as you might think.

THE SETTING AS A VEHICLE FOR CONFLICT

One of the beautiful things about setting is that it can be used as a vehicle for many other important story elements. Take conflict, for example—definitely a necessary component. Story conflict can be simply defined as a struggle or difficulty that impedes a character from achieving his goal. It might be a physical roadblock, a confrontation with a friend, or an internal struggle (such as addiction or self-doubt) that makes it difficult for him to overcome his Achilles’ heel and move forward.

When it’s written well, conflict begets tension. In real life, tension is that tight, stretched sensation in the belly that makes a person feel jittery. For readers, it’s essentially the same thing; it stirs their emotions. To keep readers engaged, there should be tension in every scene, whether it’s triggered by a fistfight in a bar or a character opening the fridge to discover that someone has eaten the last piece of pie. Small or large, loud or quiet, conflict and its resulting tension are important for maintaining the reader’s interest.

To be effective, conflict needs to be recurring and frequent while varying in intensity. Introducing it in an organic fashion sounds tricky, but the truth is that many of these difficulties can naturally be found in the setting.

PHYSICAL ROADBLOCKS

While conflict can be subtle and understated, as in the case of an internal struggle, it is most obvious in the form of an actual obstacle that keeps the character from his goal. The setting can provide these roadblocks in a way that makes sense for the story. J.R.R. Tolkien was a master at this and often utilized Middle Earth to generate conflict for his characters. In The Fellowship of The Ring, Frodo and company needed to cross the mountain Caradhras in order to reach Mount Doom. Conflict arrived in the form of a supernatural blizzard that tumbled boulders down around them and buried the treacherous path in snow, forcing them to turn back. Caradhras not only impeded their goal of destroying the ring, it also caused internal friction within the company as they disagreed on which way to go next.

It’s important to remember that not all conflict is life-threatening. If every chapter contained life-or-death, catastrophic events, not only would the story begin to read as melodramatic, the reader would soon grow accustomed to the constant tension, and it would lose its punch. Small- scale conflict can be very useful for creating minor difficulties that cause the hero to doubt his mission, his partners, or even himself.

Continuing with Tolkien as an example, in The Hobbit, Bilbo and his companions are already frustrated by the difficulties they’ve experienced while trying to reach the Lonely Mountain when they find their path blocked by an enchanted river. While trying to cross, the corpulent Bomber falls in and slips into an unnatural sleep, and the company is forced to carry him around for weeks. Already discouraged, this added inconvenience ramps up the tension in the group, causing them to doubt their purpose and the likelihood of achieving their goal.

Rural landscapes like mountains and rivers often create the most organic hurdles, but physical obstacles can be found in urban settings too. A traffic jam on the way home from work, a locked door, police tape roping off a crime scene that the hero desperately needs to see—every setting has its physical obstructions that can be used to create problems and increase tension. Using the roadblocks that naturally occur within your setting is a good way to create authentic conflict that reads seamlessly.

MIRRORS TO A PAINFUL PAST

In real life, everyone has baggage—past experiences that cause quirks, sensitivities, phobias, and flaws to develop. The same should be true for our characters. Simply put, they have issues, and many of these issues can be traced back to a specific setting, such as academic failures in the classroom, a brutal attack in a dark alley, or abuse in one’s home. Conflict can be introduced through revisiting an old, painful setting because it will bring to mind bad memories and stir up unwanted emotions for your character, reminding him of when he was most weak and vulnerable.

But sometimes this isn’t all that happens when a painful site from the past is revisited. Occasionally, the memories are so dreadful, the events so traumatic, that reminders of these haunting grounds trigger a visceral response that catapults the hero into further conflict.

In the movie First Blood, John Rambo is a war veteran and former POW trying to find his footing in post-war America while battling his demons. After an unfortunate encounter with a closed-minded sheriff, Rambo is arrested. During the booking process, he is verbally abused by the officers and forcibly held while being shaved with a straight razor—the very item used by his Vietnam captors to torture him during his captivity. The similarities between his current setting and his traumatic past act as a trigger. Rambo assaults his captors, breaks out of the police station, and sets in motion a series of events that makes it virtually impossible for him to reenter society in the way he had hoped.

While this is a dramatic response to a past event, it’s legitimate, considering Rambo’s circumstances and past abuse. Different characters might respond in ways that are more subdued but will still cause problems that must be overcome. They may lash out at those around them, damaging important relationships. They might run away from a difficult memory, postponing the healing that needs to take place for their goals to be achieved. They could shut down completely, rewrite the past in their own minds, regress into fantasy, or lie in order to cover up the past—the possibilities for conflict are virtually endless when a character is reintroduced to a painful setting.

This is where knowing your character well is vital to understanding what will set him off and how he will respond. To shape a setting where plot complications can develop, it’s imperative that we have a thorough understanding of our characters’ backstories and the events that have molded them into the people they are in the current story.

PERIPHERAL TROUBLEMAKERS

So much of story conflict is relational—which makes sense, considering our characters inhabit flawed worlds filled with flawed people. As a result, while the setting itself can create problems for characters, it’s often the people within that setting that cause the most trouble. Conflict can be found literally anywhere, in every possible setting: in an upscale boutique with a snooty salesperson making snide comments to a scantily clad customer (Pretty Woman), on an isolated fishing boat where old tensions cause stretched-thin tempers to flare (The Perfect Storm), or on an island with tiny but fierce natives (Gulliver’s Travels).

When you’re writing a scene that needs a pinch of conflict, think about the people who would naturally inhabit that place. Which ones would be likely to cause trouble for your hero? How hard would these peripheral characters have to push? A little planning can help immensely when you’re looking for a setting with potential complications for your character.

A word of caution, though: beware of clichés when it comes to settings and their rabble- rousers. Bars are common hangouts for drunks, but trouble can also be found in the form of underage customers trying to score drinks, short-tempered barmaids who don’t appreciate being hit on, or bored bouncers looking for action. Sometimes a little brainstorming is all that’s needed to find the ideal supporting cast members to make life difficult for your hero; to this end, each entry in this book contains a list of people that can typically be found in that location. Use this list to think about who might come and go in your setting and how their goals might clash with your main character’s.

FAMILY DYSFUNCTION

It’s true that conflict is likely to occur when people get together, and the chances for conflict greatly increase when emotions run high. Given this, it should come as no surprise that some of the most fertile breeding grounds for conflict are settings involving family.

No family is perfect; each one has some level of dysfunction, and this dysfunction (and the conflict that results) should be evident in the places where families exist and interact. For this reason, when you’re writing a tense family scene, consider choosing a spot where the family equilibrium is most unstable. The local church, a neighborhood pizza parlor, the backyard, or the attic can all provide conflict in the form of family drama or negative memories and feelings associated with past events.

The setting is also a great vehicle through which important family information can be shared, along with any defects or flaws you wish to reveal.

Brianna pushed the door closed as quietly as she could and paused. No fire in the hearth, no voices echoing through the house. With a sigh, she stamped the snow from her boots—carefully, so it hit the mat and not the spotless floor—and set her suitcase beside the couch. Dad would be seriously annoyed when he found out she’d come home unannounced, but everything was such an event with him. For once, she could walk into the house without having to navigate a party or welcoming committee. And it would buy her some time to figure out how to break the news.

She took a slow turn around the room but nothing had changed in the last three months. Her ski trophies still stood on the mantel like Marines, spaced precise inches apart. To the left, her brother Bryce’s wall of fame held a geometric arrangement of music awards, pictures of him performing at competitions, and his acceptance letter to Juilliard. Brianna’s wall held images that profiled her own rise to success: being appointed captain of the ski team, crushing the state slalom record, blurring across the finish line at the Olympic qualifiers.

She stepped back and scanned the entire wall. No camping trips, no birthday parties, no family vacations. She chewed her lip, one thumb drumming her thigh, nose wrinkling against the cold-ash smell from the fireplace. Crystal statuettes, leather furniture, surfaces smooth and empty and free of dust . . . This room looked like a magazine cover and had about as much warmth.

The garage door rumbled, giving her a start. She smoothed her shirt and took a deep breath.

Let’s get this over with.

Readers can glean a lot about the family dynamic from the details delivered in this scene. The living room is cold—from the spotless floors to the crystal knickknacks to the frames displayed in stark geometric patterns. The only images in the room are ones that celebrate accomplishment. The people who occupy this space aren’t loving or warm; they’re mostly interested in appearances and success.

All this is conveyed through the setting description. By focusing on details that are important to the main character, the author is able to paint a clear picture of both the physical scene and the conflict that exists beneath the surface, ready to erupt with the slightest nudge.

Family dysfunction runs the gamut from pesky annoyances to intentional digs to destructive actions and attitudes that take a lifetime to overcome. Personal settings are ideal for reminding characters of old, hurtful memories that bring emotions to the surface, increasing vulnerability. They’re also useful for bringing family together and igniting the fireworks fuse. When you’re looking for some meaningful conflict in your story, examine the character’s history and consider using a family setting to up the tension and create complications.

THE SETTING AS A VEHICLE FOR ESTABLISHING MOOD

It’s easy to think of a setting as a fixed element. London is London; it doesn’t move or change, right? While the location itself may be fixed, the city can look vastly different when certain variables are altered. The time of day, the weather, the season, even a change in narrator can make a setting look very different than it did just the day before. And no factor has more influence over the setting than mood.

Mood can be defined as the emotional atmosphere that a piece of writing creates—the feelings it evokes in the reader. It’s an important device because the mood of a scene prepares the reader for the events that will follow.

As an example, the audience’s very first view of the Bates Motel is unsettling. It stands alone on a scrubby hill, towering over the sparse trees. The exterior is dark and subdued. The windows are opaque—repelling the light and revealing nothing. This first glimpse elicits a feeling of unease from the audience; they instinctively know that something bad is going to happen here. This is the mood that Hitchcock created simply by introducing his movie’s setting.

In both films and books, settings are often established early on, since a clear picture of the time and place is needed to ground readers in the scene. As such, it’s a handy vehicle through which mood can be conveyed. Before writing a scene, be sure to identify which mood you’re going for. Then you just need to choose and employ the right techniques to create the perfect atmosphere.

WEATHER AND SEASONS AS EMOTION GENERATORS

Weather can easily convey a desired mood because we automatically associate specific feelings with certain kinds of weather. Rainy days are gloomy. Sunshine makes us feel happy and buoyant. Fog is oppressive. Because weather phenomena often produce predictable feelings, writing them into a scene is a good way to generate the desired mood.

The tumbled walls of the ancient ruins stretched upward, basking in the sun’s glow. Indeed, they were warm to the touch, their stone surfaces worn smooth from centuries of wind and rain. Overgrown grasses hugged the stones’ knees while snapdragons and cornflowers nodded in the gentle breeze.

Via carefully chosen weather clues, this paragraph depicts a peaceful, serene setting. The gentle breeze, the sunlight, and the warm stones work together to give readers a sensation of comfort—and without any characters to add their two cents. The weather itself is enough to create a strong mood that will impact readers, but it’s often easier to do this when characters are present. Their emotional responses to the weather come across loud and clear to readers, triggering their own feelings and allowing them to experience the exact mood intended by the author.

Distant thunder rumbled as Mark took his first step into the ruins. Sweat stuck the dry raincoat to his skin and he hoped for a cooling breeze, but the air was as still and heavy as the stones that hemmed him in.

Ancient markings crisscrossed their surfaces, gouged so deep that their edges looked sharp enough to cut. Almost against his will, Mark reached to touch the nearest one. Thunder cracked overhead, making him jerk back. Breathing deeply, he tucked his hands into his pockets and slowly continued on, placing his feet carefully and avoiding the ominous stones.

In this setting, the encroaching thunder and oppressive air show that a storm is coming. That alone might be enough to give the scene an atmosphere of approaching danger. But Mark’s response to the weather is our biggest clue as to what we should be feeling. He’s uneasy and seems hesitant, almost reluctant to enter this place. The reader picks up on his disquiet, and the mood is set.

Closely aligned with the weather are the seasons of the year. They vary in intensity depending on location, but each season has clearly recognized characteristics, from the changing colors of fall to the long hot days of summer. This universality means that seasons naturally lend themselves to symbolism that can set the mood for a scene or an entire story. Take this passage from Washington Irving’s The Legend of Sleepy Hollow:

As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with delight over the treasures of jolly autumn. On all sides he beheld vast stores of apples; some hanging in oppressive opulence on the trees; some gathered into baskets and barrels for the market; others heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press. Farther on he beheld great fields of Indian corn, with its golden ears peeping from their leafy covers and holding out the promise of cakes and hasty pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them, turning up their fair round bellies to the sun and giving ample prospects of the most luxurious of pies.

Autumn is the perfect backdrop for Irving’s story because it gives the reader a false sense of security. Fall brings to mind the cozy remembrances of cooling weather, soothing foods, and comfort found indoors by the fire. What we tend to forget about fall is that it’s a sign that the year is dying. In a short time, winter will come with its frigid temperatures and blizzards that smother the world, just as the headless horseman will soon fall upon Sleepy Hollow and the unsuspecting Ichabod Crane.

When considering the time of year to set your story, think about any recurring themes and which seasons might best reinforce those ideas and feelings. Winter is often symbolic of death, endings, barrenness, and despair. Alternatively, springtime, with its newness and rebirth, is a strong backdrop for new beginnings and second chances. Youth, innocence, and coming-of-age stories are often set in summer, while autumn can represent preparedness, a focus that turns inward, or a coming change.

Each season can stand for many different things. When thoughtfully employed, they can be powerful tools, just as carefully chosen weather elements can reinforce a desired mood and prepare readers for what’s to come. But there are some drawbacks that should be carefully considered when you’re writing about seasons and the weather.

As with any element of a story, these can be overwritten and overdescribed. This results in a form of melodrama that can be off-putting to readers. As is true with many descriptive techniques, less is usually more. If your scene occurs in the burning-hot summer, it’s not necessary to describe the drooping plants, the heat waves, the panting dogs, the sweat beading from every pore. Choose a few well-chosen details to describe the heat, then let it go. Your audience will appreciate your restraint.

Another potential problem that comes with weather and seasonal descriptions is the ease with which they drift into cliché: the air that feels as if it came from an oven, humidity that hits you like a wet towel, a winter wonderland of snow. These familiar expressions come quickly to mind when we’re in the drafting trenches, but that’s the problem with clichés of any kind: they’re the easy way out, the sign of a writer who’s either unwilling or unable to come up with new phrasings.

The most surefire way of keeping your descriptions fresh is to always consider your point- of-view character’s personality, experiences, and frame of mind. Describe the weather through his lens, and you’ll be sure to write something unique that fits him and his story. For example, sunlight is typically associated with happy feelings and positivity. But it could bring on negative emotions if your hero is part of an underground society living in a post-apocalyptic world. A rainy day, which can elicit sadness or depression for many, might be uplifting for an introverted character looking for some solitude. Because every character is different, you can often turn a stereotype or cliché on its ear by adapting weather choices so they make sense for your hero.

There’s one last thing to keep in mind when writing the weather into a scene. As writers, we tend to fall back on the same weather references: heat, cold, sun, rain, and wind. But there are so many options that can be used to set the scene, from simple features like dew and frost to major events such as dust storms and blizzards. Many times, the familiar references do make the most sense. But to be sure you’ve chosen the best weather element for your scene, explore all the possibilities. For a thorough list of options, check out the “Weather and Earthly Phenomenon Thesaurus,” which can be found in full at One Stop for Writers, our online description library.

SETTING THE STAGE WITH LIGHT AND SHADOW

What’s one of the first things a person does to set the mood at home for a romantic evening? She turns down the lights. This simple adjustment is a big step toward creating a calm, receptive atmosphere. Just as the amount and quality of lighting will influence the way people feel in real life, we can adjust the mood for both characters and readers in our stories by playing with light and shadow.

Most everyone has familiar places that they’ve visited in daylight. But enter that same place at night and it becomes unfamiliar, with a totally different feel. By changing the amount and quality of light in a given place, you can shift the mood without changing the setting. For example, consider L. M. Montgomery’s description of Birch Path, a recurring location in her Anne of Green Gables series:

It was a little narrow, twisting path, winding down over a long hill straight through Mr. Bell’s woods, where the light came down sifted through so many emerald screens that it was as flawless as the heart of a diamond.

One can easily envision this scene under the trees. The green-tinged sunlight gives the scene a lighthearted, cheerful feel, and though the season isn’t mentioned, late spring or summer is inferred, simply by referencing the light.

But the same path traveled later in the day by a character in another frame of mind can look and feel vastly different. Here is Birch Path again, traveled by a more mature Anne in the third book of the series:

Anne felt lonelier than ever as she walked home, going by way of the Birch Path and Willowmere. She had not walked that way for many moons. It was a darkly-purple bloomy night. The air was heavy with blossom fragrance—almost too heavy.

The darkly-purple light, combined with Anne’s loneliness and the cloying odors, give the scene a heavy, melancholy feel that wasn’t there before.

People respond to light in a feral way: well-lit areas are deemed safer, putting us at ease, while darker spots have more weight and feel heavier both on the body and the spirit. When setting the mood for a scene, carefully consider the lighting. How much light is there? Where does it come from? Is it hard or soft, comforting or blinding? Is it constant and totally revealing, or does it allow for shadows and hidden places? Questions like these will serve as a guide for how to light a scene in order to set the desired mood.

CHOOSING THE RIGHT NARRATOR

While lighting is an important piece of the mood-setting puzzle, its effect will depend largely upon the viewpoint narrator. As an example, let’s return to Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit. One of the difficulties he encounters on his journey is being knocked unconscious far below the Misty Mountains. When he comes to, his surroundings are described as being so dark that once he opens his eyes, he can’t be sure that he actually has awakened. The effect on Bilbo is so overwhelming that he sits down in misery and is forced to take some time to pull himself together.

It makes perfect sense that such a setting would have this effect on Bilbo, a creature who values comfortable surroundings, rich meals, and cozy hobbit rooms with delightful views. Because of Tolkien’s character building earlier in the story, the reader knows Bilbo and expects this emotional response when he’s thrust into this dank tunnel. And just like that, the mood is set.

What’s curious about setting and mood, though, is that they are entirely dependent upon the character, as we learn when we see this same setting from Gollum’s viewpoint. We know from his lamp-like eyes and his ability to watch Bilbo from afar that Gollum has inhabited the tunnels for many years. The darkness and stillness, rather than bringing on despair, merely give him a sense of normalcy. They create a different mood for him, one of confidence and security, knowing that he is the master of this particular domain.

One setting, two different points of view. This example not only illustrates the effect a narrator or viewpoint character will have on a scene’s mood but also shows how descriptions can provide contrast. In stories, the author’s point is often illustrated by showing the stark difference between two characters, objects, organizations, places, etc. The Hunger Games’ District 12 wouldn’t have been so desperate and dim if it wasn’t seen alongside the shining extravagance of the Capitol. Hogwarts was happiness personified when compared to Privet Drive. As authors, we’re almost always trying to say something. To get your point across loud and clear, consider using a bit of contrast in your setting descriptions.

STYLE MATTERS

The author’s style is yet another way to convey mood. As an example, let’s examine the following passage, taking note of specific word choices.

Sunlight filtered through the clouds, sparkling on the gravestones and warming the field that housed them. Paula smoothly maneuvered the humped- up ground, the grass underfoot absorbing the sound of her footsteps. A lavender-scented breeze whispered among the stones and caressed her skin. She drew in a deep breath and smiled.

The mood in this graveyard setting is an unusual one of peacefulness, and it’s established through words carefully chosen to be calming: sunlight warming the stones, the grass absorbing her footsteps, the breeze whispering among the markers, the aroma of lavender—a scent known to have a relaxing effect. Words like these convey the character’s state of mind and infuse the graveyard with tranquility.

Sentence length and fluency also reinforce this mood. This passage flows with long and smooth sentences, giving the setting a languid, meandering feel, which is precisely the author’s intent. Lengthy sentences like these lend themselves to emotions that are lower energy, such as contentment, nostalgia, or wonder. Short sentences, on the other hand, often best express high- energy emotions: fear, anxiety, anger, impatience, excitement, etc.

To show the effect that style can have on the mood of a setting, let’s use the same scene above but change the style.

Breaths heaving, Paula tore through the rocky graveyard. She tripped over a broken marker, its jagged edge cutting her shin. Sunlight stabbed at her eyes. She squinted, wiping away stinging sweat, and glanced behind. No one yet. But they hadn’t given up. They’d never give up. A gust of smoky wind buffeted her. She choked on its burning reek and stumbled on.

Our sunny graveyard’s mood has changed drastically with some new word choices. Instead of Paula stepping peacefully through the graveyard, she’s tearing through it. The sunlight is harsh, stabbing at her, and the gentle breeze has become a violent, reeking wind. The sentences are also no longer fluid; their choppy structure gives the passage a brusque, hurried feel that lends itself to Paula’s dire situation.

As seen here, writing style can be instrumental in building a specific mood. Experiment with word choice, sentence length, fluency, and even paragraph length to find the combination that conveys the emotion you want readers to experience.

FORESHADOWING: THE BREAD CRUMBS OF A STORY

It doesn’t take a lot of description to clue readers in to what they should be feeling. And that mood doesn’t always rely on what’s currently happening in a scene; sometimes, it’s more about what’s going to happen.

Foreshadowing is a literary technique whereby the author hints at things to come. This technique can be most effective when it’s linked with emotions such as fear, excitement, unease, or gratitude; because of this, foreshadowing and mood often go hand in hand. Since emotions are easily associated with certain locations, the setting is the perfect way to lay the foundation for what’s coming while also establishing the mood.

Because of their visual nature, movies are great for using the setting to foreshadow future events. The final scene of the original Terminator ends with ominous clouds taking over the sky. It hints at the coming nuclear storm and cements the final mood in the movie as one of grim acceptance as Sarah Connor embraces her fate as the mother of the future.

A good literary example can be found in Pride and Prejudice, when Elizabeth first sees Mr. Darcy’s Pemberley House.

It was a large, handsome, stone building, standing well on rising ground and backed by a ridge of high woody hills . . . Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste. They were all of them warm in their admiration; and at that moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!

With this passage, the author gives us a glimpse of Elizabeth’s future. It’s true that she’s already turned down a marriage proposal from Mr. Darcy, but recently she has learned new things about him that cast him in a more positive light. Now a visit to his home provides the perfect opportunity for Austen to hint at events to come. That final line foreshadows a brighter future for Elizabeth; she’s pleasantly surprised, even delighted, with Pemberley. Her response to the house is a reflection of her changing feelings toward Mr. Darcy himself. The resulting mood is one of hope—both in her future and in the personal growth that is enabling her to move past her former pride and prejudice.

THE SETTING AS A VEHICLE FOR STEERING THE STORY

When writing, story should always be at the forefront of our minds. We should be asking ourselves questions like, “Is what I’ve just written steering the story?” and “Is this scene, interaction, passage, or subplot driving my character toward his goal?” The momentum of both the character and the plot is what keeps events on track and maintains an appropriate pace. Story should be the litmus test against which our writing is continually measured.

Some elements are more intuitively related to determining where the story is headed: the character arc, conflict, overall structure, etc. But the setting can also be useful for moving the story forward because it provides factors that naturally affect the plot and characters. When manipulated, the setting can be used to push a story in the direction it needs to go.

BASIC NEEDS: WHAT’S MISSING FOR YOUR CHARACTER?

One constant in every story is that the main character has a goal to work toward, such as finding love, protecting her family, or winning accolades and fame. Each of these goals is rooted in a human need, something that characters and people in the real world share.

These needs, called basic human needs by psychologist Abraham Maslow, are primal and drive people (and therefore characters) to do what they do. They focus on five primary areas: physiological needs, safety and security, love and belonging, esteem and recognition, and self- actualization. True happiness and fulfillment come when all five needs are being met. But if one need is missing or taken away, a character will be driven to try and to get it back. Because of this, basic human needs can be very powerful tools in steering the story.

For example, look at former superhero Bob Parr in The Incredibles. At the beginning of the story, he’s living in suburbia, hiding out as a regular guy, and he’s absolutely hating it. Living well beneath his full potential, his need for self-actualization is missing. As a result, when he receives an invitation to put his superpowers to work again, he jumps at the chance. This decision not only generates ample conflict in his work and family life, it also precipitates his introduction to the villain of the story—an introduction that never would have taken place had he been fully actualized and living contentedly in his suburban world.

This is the beauty of using settings to manipulate a character’s needs. When things are going well, most characters, like their human counterparts, are perfectly happy to stay right where they are, enjoying the status quo. Left to themselves, they probably would go nowhere. So we have to prod them—adjust their circumstances to get them where we need them to be.

When you’re choosing a setting for a story or scene, take into account your character’s needs. Which one is missing? Is there a certain location that can accentuate that lack and force him into motion? If nothing is missing, which settings might remove a need and upset his equilibrium, pushing him in a new direction? Dropping your character into a place that affects his needs is one way to get him headed where you want him to go.

TESTS: WILL YOUR CHARACTER PASS OR FAIL?

The hero’s journey is gradual. Through story events and his interactions with others, he learns about himself—his motivations, desires, strengths, and weaknesses. With each new revelation, his confidence and abilities increase, inching him closer to his goal. But with newfound knowledge naturally comes doubt and insecurities.

Tests are an established part of any hero’s journey; they force him to question who he is, what he really wants, and why. In addition, tests also keep the reader invested because they contain the possibility of failure. They tap into readers’ emotions by making them doubt the hero. Will he achieve his goal or give up when the opposition becomes too great? Will he make the right choice or choose one that will set him back? For our stories to escape predictability, our characters need to be given opportunities to fail. Tests are a great way to provide those opportunities, and settings are a great way to provide the tests.

In An Officer and a Gentleman, Zach Mayo and his fellow recruits are made to run an obstacle course. It’s an easy exercise for him; in fact, he’s made up his mind to beat the record for completing it. But Zach’s biggest weakness is self-reliance taken to an unhealthy extreme, making him apathetic, uncooperative, and self-serving. This is the weakness he must overcome if he wants to belong (which would meet the unfulfilled need that he’s always lacked). And while he’s given many opportunities to change his ways and embrace interdependence, he doesn’t succeed until the end of the story. Zach is running the course, on pace to beat the record, when one of his platoon mates falls behind at the wall that has always stymied her. This time, he gives up his chances of breaking the record to help her get over the wall so they can cross the finish line together. The obstacle course setting was used to test his character, and while he often failed, eventually he came through with flying colors.

But remember that it’s not always the setting itself that provides the test; it can also be the people, objects, and circumstances within the setting that give the hero an opportunity to prove himself. Is your character a struggling alcoholic trying to overcome his addiction? Put him in a setting where alcohol is abundant or available—a bar, a wedding reception, or a sporting event. Does a certain person bring out the very faults he’s trying to overcome? Choose a setting where it’s likely for that person to make an appearance.

OPPORTUNITIES FOR REFLECTION

While tests are necessary for our characters, they’re tense in nature. They’re stressful, not only to the characters experiencing them but also to the readers who are sharing in the story. While tension is great in terms of maintaining the reader’s attention, it can become tiring without a break. High tension needs to be interrupted by occasional downtimes so readers and characters alike can catch their breath.

These downtimes also give characters a chance to reflect on what they’ve just been through. If a test has been passed, the heroine is able to bask in her success, gaining confidence to move on and face even bigger tests on her path to fulfillment. Failed tests give characters the chance to see where they went wrong, where they need to grow, and what they should do differently next time. A time of reflection in this scenario can also segue into another immediate test: does this failure cause the heroine to give up or soldier on?

The settings you choose for these pensive moments will depend largely upon the main character and the type of book you’ve written. Reflection scenes are typically quiet, providing a simple backdrop—a bedroom, a campfire, a drive through the country—so the character can concentrate on what she needs to learn before facing the next test. But these peaceful settings won’t work for every character. What if you have an extroverted protagonist who gains energy from being with others? Her most productive reflection times may come during a noisy party or while walking down a crowded street. Does she work through problems by talking them out or bouncing ideas off a friend? This scene might be best set at a neighbor’s apartment or over coffee in a restaurant.

It’s also good to remember that in times of personal scrutiny, characters will often seek out safe places. Just as wounding events can create negative associations with certain settings, positive feelings can be linked to locations that provide safety and security. To make these reflective moments especially poignant, set them in a place that has emotional significance. Where did her happiest memories play out, and which places made her feel safe? Is there a location tied to a past achievement that she might revisit? Answers to questions like these can provide a list of possible settings for your character’s reflective moments. Personalizing these spaces will not only add emotion to the scene, it will also make your story unique and create a sense of realism for readers.

FIGURATIVE LANGUAGE: THE KEY TO ENHANCING YOUR SETTING

We’ve shown the setting as a versatile story element that is more than just a static time and place. It not only can help to steer the story, it also provides conflict and establishes the proper mood—both of which work together to create an emotional response in readers. But this only happens when the setting is described well.

When drafting, we’re often tempted to convey the setting in its simplest terms:

It was a cold and foggy afternoon.

But this setting can be so much more evocative, as we see in the following sample from Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol:

Old Scrooge sat busy in his counting house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather, foggy withal, and he could hear the people in the court outside go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already—it had not been light all day— and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighboring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that, although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms.

Extra work has gone into describing this setting, and while the writing in most classics is more heavy-handed than is typically found in modern stories, the figurative language that worked for the masters still applies today. Along with the sensory details, Dickens’ use of simile and metaphor turn a simple urban courtyard into one with depth, texture, and feeling. This is the beauty of these techniques; they create a crystal-clear image that grounds readers firmly in the scene and allows them to picture exactly what’s happening as they read. They also enable the author to highlight important objects or symbols in a scene, as well as sometimes providing a much-needed dose of humor.

Because of the benefit they can add, let’s take a look at some examples of figurative language and how they can be used to enhance a setting description.

SIMILE AND METAPHOR

Figurative language is best described as words that say one thing but mean another; it’s language that isn’t literal. One of the most common examples of figurative language is the use of comparisons, and the most popular comparisons are the simile and metaphor. The only difference between the two is that the simile uses the words like or as, whereas a metaphor doesn’t, instead stating definitively that one thing is the other. For example:

The water was as black as ink. (Simile)

Without the moon’s light to brighten it, the water turned to ink. (Metaphor)

And:

The flock of birds sounded like an angry mob. (Simile)

The flock of birds was an angry mob working itself into a frenzy. (Metaphor)

Both similes and metaphors are very helpful when you want to paint a mental picture of your setting, creating vivid imagery while also promoting word economy. In addition, the choice of metaphor can help to establish the mood for a given scene, as the following two examples show.

The math wing hallway stretched on for miles. It was like a parade route, and I was the clown, smiling my way through bruising elbows and hard shoves, acting like it was all so funny when really I just wanted to hide in the bathroom and cry.

Now take a look at the same setting described with different imagery.

I made my way smoothly down the math wing hallway—a moving point on a perpendicular line that intersected the science hall. I nodded at the other points, called out a casual, “Hey!” as we traveled the lines that would take us where we needed to go.

Both these examples establish the time and place: it’s a school day on the math wing. But so much more is conveyed with the comparisons that are used. The first example uses a simile to express the character’s feelings about the setting. It’s not a happy place for her. By contrast, the character in the second example is perfectly at ease. The metaphors comparing the math hallway to a perpendicular line and identifying the students as points tell the reader that the viewpoint character is into math, and this is a comfortable place for her.

The benefits of using metaphors and similes to describe the setting are vast. Not only do these comparisons create a mental image for the reader, they also provide important information about the setting and the characters who inhabit it.

USING SYMBOLS TO EMPHASIZE THEME

While similes and metaphors draw comparisons between two different objects, symbolism gives meaning to a word, phrase, or object that goes beyond the literal. This allows writers to convey important themes or reinforce feelings, ideas, and beliefs through either universal or personalized symbolism.

Universal symbolism is the most common, taking widely held perceptions and beliefs from the real world and applying them to fiction. This can range from people viewing a teacher as a trustworthy advocate for children to equating the color white with purity. Utilizing universal symbolism is one way a writer can do more with a description, implying a commonly held meaning, emotion, or mood with the fewest words possible.

Personalized symbolism may include commonly held beliefs but is typically tied to the point-of-view character’s own associations. The smell of oatmeal might represent poverty to a character who was forced to eat it each day during a lean winter. A gift of a dandelion might represent forgiveness to a hero who once offered one as an apology for a childhood wrong. Personalized symbolism is not only powerful—when done well, it is gratifying to readers because they understand the special meaning behind the symbol and are privy to the character’s emotions as they are exposed to them.

Keep in mind that a symbol is subtler than a simile or metaphor in that the symbol’s meaning is never overtly defined. It is written into the story in such a way that readers intuitively recognize the everyday object for what it is meant to represent. Upon finishing Stephen King’s The Stand, readers might not think to themselves, Oh, I see. Mother Abagail is a symbol for Moses. But if they’re familiar with the biblical story, their subconscious will very likely make the connection and they’ll feel a sense of rightness—a mental Aha! that connects the reader to something deeper within the story.

MOTIFS: SYMBOLISM ON A LARGER SCALE

Connecting readers with our stories is what we all hope to achieve as authors. This is why, the vast majority of the time, the stories we write contain a central message or idea—a theme— that is being conveyed through its telling. Sometimes the theme is deliberately included during the drafting stage; other times, it organically emerges during the writing process. However it occurs, the theme is often supported by certain recurring symbols that help to develop the overall message or idea throughout the course of a story. These repeated symbols are called motifs.

For example, consider the Harry Potter series. One of the motifs undergirding the theme of good vs. evil is the snake. It’s the sign for the house of Slytherin, from which so many bad wizards have emerged. Voldemort’s pet, Nagini, is a giant snake. Those who can speak Parseltongue (the language of serpents) are considered to be dark wizards. By repeatedly using this creature as a symbol for evil, Rowling creates an image that readers automatically associate with the dark side of Potter’s world.

Because motifs are pivotal in revealing your theme to readers, it’s important to find the right ones. The setting is a natural place for these motifs to occur because it contains so many possibilities. It might be something from nature, like the ailanthus tree in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn or Huck Finn’s Mississippi River. Your motif could be a simple object within the setting, like the seemingly random feather in Forrest Gump that represents destiny. It could be a season, an article of clothing, an animal, a weather phenomenon—it could be anything, as long as it recurs throughout the story and reinforces the overall theme.

As was mentioned earlier, themes can either be planned or accidental. If you know beforehand what your theme will be, think of a location that could reinforce that idea—either through the setting itself or with objects within that place—and make sure those choices are prominently displayed throughout the story.

If your theme emerges on its own, you can always bolster it by adding motifs after the fact, using the same selection process. For ideas on possible motifs and how they can be used to emphasize the theme of your story, please reference the “Symbolism and Motifs Thesaurus” at One Stop for Writers.

HYPERBOLE

Much of what we do as writers is to fulfill a given purpose: to entertain, inform, persuade, or reveal, among other things. If the point of a given passage or scene is to make a statement, hyperbole is a good way to do it. This technique can be defined as exaggeration used for the sake of emphasis, as can be seen in the following setting description example.

Marcy’s dorm room offered a scary look into the aftermath of the apocalypse—beds were buried in lumps of clothing and shoes, granola bar wrappers and crumbs peppered the floor, and a sour smell hung in the air, likely a product of the bacterial experiment disguised as a dirty stack of dishes in the sink.

The author uses a few exaggerations here that can’t possibly be true. Marcy’s room isn’t the site of an apocalyptic event, and the contents of the sink are more likely yesterday’s dishes than a scientific experiment gone wrong. Readers know that the writing isn’t literal, yet the author’s message (Marcy is a slob) comes through loud and clear. Through the use of hyperbole, the heroine has been characterized clearly and humorously, and the purpose of this description has been accomplished.

While this literary device is often used to amusing effect, it can also be employed with serious subject matter.

As the sun slid behind the western peak, the shadow patches under the trees coalesced into a dusky void that sucked up every sound: the suddenly still wind, a hawk’s cut-off shriek, the cessation of small animal noises in the leaves. A shudder worked its way up my back. I dropped my load of sticks and started on the fire.

In this passage, the shadows haven’t created an actual void and they aren’t vacuuming up all the sounds in the forest. But by over-exaggerating the darkness and connecting it with the sudden silence, the author emphasizes that something isn’t quite right here, which creates tension and a feeling of unease for the reader. Once again, the author’s point has been made.

If you’d like to make a certain statement with a given setting description, consider over- emphasizing some of the elements. A note of caution, though: as with most figurative language, if this technique is used too often, the narrative will start to read as melodramatic and your point may be missed. With hyperbole, remember that a little goes a long way.

BRINGING THE INANIMATE TO LIFE THROUGH PERSONIFICATION

When it comes to enhancing the setting, one of the most effective figurative language techniques is that of personification: adding human characteristics to an inanimate object. Done well, this can add a sense of movement and emotion to an otherwise sterile scene. To see how this works, let’s start with a setting that contains a simple house on a cliff:

At the edge of the bluff stood an old house with chipped paint and crooked shutters.

This description does the job of establishing the house and its location. But it’s static. To add a sense of motion, let’s apply some human movement to the house.

The house squatted at the bluff’s edge, its lines crooked from so many years spent leaning into the wind.

Aha! The house is gaining a little character now. We get a clearer picture of it as we imagine it squatting at the edge of the cliff and pushing against the wind. But we can do more:

The house squatted at the bluff’s edge, its lines crooked from so many years spent leaning into the wind. Sand had scoured its skin so it showed more board now than paint. The open door sagged to one side like a slack jaw.

By adding skin and a jaw to the house, we’ve given it human details that not only enhance the visual image but also add an element of emotion. Readers know what it’s like to have one’s skin scraped by sand. They associate certain things with slack jaws, like illness and old age. With these details, this setting evokes a sense of sadness or even pity. By personifying the house this way, we’ve established the emotion we’d like readers to feel when they envision it.

The beauty of personification is that it can be used to elicit any feeling, to create whatever image the author desires. With just a few changes, the sad little house can be transformed into a completely different structure.

The house stood at the highest point of the bluff, perfectly erect, lording over the pathetic trees. Its newly painted skin glistened. Its windows gleamed, staring unblinkingly at the cloudless sky.

Here, we have a very different house, one that’s shining and well cared for and stands perfectly upright. But with its unblinking eyes and its “lording,” we get the sense that it’s looking down on everyone and everything. This house doesn’t elicit warm feelings; it feels rather the opposite of inviting and friendly.

As these examples show, personification is highly effective for infusing life into otherwise bland settings. By adding human characteristics to inhumane things, they become familiar and relatable. Through this technique, authors are able to instill feeling into their settings, starting readers on an emotional experience that will continue throughout the scene.

COMMON SETTING SNAGS

So far, we’ve mentioned many ways in which the setting can be a useful tool to enhance your writing. But as with any story element, it does have its difficulties. Here are a few sticky spots that can develop when you’re writing descriptions, along with methods for avoiding them.

RAMBLING DESCRIPTIONS

This is one of the main reasons that settings get a bad rap—because writers overdo it with the descriptions. It’s also a huge culprit behind why young readers don’t like the classics. Long- winded, overwrought passages of description used to be the norm, but this is no longer the case. When we reread some of our public domain favorites, it’s easy to wonder how many of them would have been published today.