by K L Going
Take, for example, a novel set in New York City. Within this urban environment, you might also establish specific locations like your character's school, apartment, and wherever he relaxes. Maybe your character spends a lot of time on the subway, so the subway cars themselves become a location within a location. Or perhaps he takes trips out of the city on the weekends into rural Hudson Valley. The more locations you include, the more time you need to spend developing these worlds. So what are the characteristics of locations? A good place to start is by using your five senses.
Locations have sights.
Locations have sounds.
Locations have smells.
Locations have textures.
Locations have tastes.
Wait a minute! Tastes? How can you taste a location? Maybe this seems like a stretch, but if you think about it, you'll realize that the foods we eat play a huge part in defining our culture. You can't write about New Orleans without including red beans and rice and jamba-laya. And Maine would be lacking without lobster and clams. Locations several continents away can come alive when you describe local cuisines like curried goat or spicy flatbread.
Beyond regional foods, I would suggest that certain locations also have tastes associated with the places themselves, like standing on the seashore and tasting the salt on the wind or in the surf. How about the acrid taste of smoke or the way thirst dries out the tongue, obliterating all but the taste of desire?
Every one of our senses plays a part in describing a setting for your reader. What do the characters see in every scene? Sometimes sights will be vast, like the horizon seen from a sailing ship, but other times what a character sees can be very limited and mundane—and that's okay! Settings don't have to be spectacular to be well drawn; they only have to work for your book.
Imagine a setting as limited as a padded room in an institution. Your character will see the same thing day after day, but that monotony can allow the reader to experience part of what it means to be imprisoned. And when one sense is limited, you have the possibility of using another sense to a fuller degree. Perhaps the teen in the institution can hear things happening outside her room. Hushed conversations between doctors and nurses. An alarm that sounds. The crash of something metallic being overturned and clattering to the floor. By using sounds more than sights, you can create a sense of bewilderment or anxiety as they place the reader outside the comfort zone of what's familiar.
Smell is also an important part of location. There's nothing that brings memory back as powerfully as our sense of smell. When a character moves through different settings, this power can be harnessed to make the location vivid. As the reader remembers the smells you are describing, the emotions associated with them are apt to follow.
Here's a short passage from Hush by Jacqueline Woodson:
Later, with the coconut cake still resting in her stomach, the youngest rises from her bed and stares into the night—the moon is bright yellow, the sky is blue-black, the shadows that are the Rocky Mountains. She sniffs, inhaling the scent of pine and cedar and air that is warm still—but with winter at its edges.
Do you find this description of the air to be as evocative as I do? Instantly, I am transported to places and times when I have smelled the first hints of crisp winter cold on the breeze. I remember the mixed emotions that came with it: excitement and a growing tension associated with coming change. The addition of smell loads the scene with expectation.
How about texture? What does our sense of touch add to the description of a location? Places can be hot and cold. They can feel gritty or soft or smooth. Imagine the textures inherent in locations such as a beach, a grassy field, a high school biology room, or a swimming pool. There will be many different textures in every location, and it's the writer's job to choose which ones her characters interact with.
In fact, with every single aspect of setting, there are choices that need to be made. Benjamin N. Gardozo said, "There is an accuracy that defeats itself by the overemphasis of details." What he's referring to is the tendency to want to tell the reader everything so we can recreate the exact same picture in his head that exists in our own mind, but this is an impossibility. Every reader will bring his unique experiences to your book and will imagine things in different ways. By failing to make choices about which information to include, we can overwhelm our readers with a recitation of facts, and the story itself can get buried under plodding, though poetic, descriptions.
Details are important—every sense into our setting can bring a story to life—but making judgment calls about what to say and when is what being a writer is all about. Choose the information that best advances the plot, sheds light on your characters, or sets the tone.
USING SETTING TO CREATE TONE_
Creating tone and developing setting go hand-in-hand. Remember what I said earlier about giving your reader clues as to what kind of story you're telling? Well, one of the best ways to do that is by setting the tone of your book from page one. We've all heard the cliche opening line, "It was a dark and stormy night." Sometimes cliches exist for a reason. This first line has probably been overused in part because it works so well. From the very first sentence the mood is established.
Take a look at these other openings and see what kind of tone is established for each book. This one's from Are You in the House Alone?, by Richard Peck:
For that first warm night of spring until autumn, Steve and I would slip out to the Pastorinis' cottage on the lake, Powdermill Lake. How often? Ten times? Twelve? I don't remember now. I kept no diary. We left no clues.
Immediately we sense there is something elicit going on in this story. The image of warm summer nights predominates, and within these few lines I already have a picture of an empty cottage on a lake—someplace remote. The movement from the generic "lake" to the specific "Powdermill Lake" makes it seem as if perhaps we might have heard of this place. In the news, maybe? Combine that with the last line, "We left no clues," and a sense of trouble begins to creep up your spine. The mood is set.
How about this passage from Julia DeVillers's How My Private, Personal Journal Became a Bestseller-.
"Thirty seconds! Thirty seconds until showtime, everyone!!"
I shifted around, trying to get comfortable. You'd think a TV talk show would have a comfortable chair for their guests. I mean, some of the hugest celebrities in the world had sat on this exact chair. And they were probably not comfortable, either.
Here we have an entirely different tone being set—excitement. There's urgency and a thrill to the opening dialogue, but then the uncomfortable chair sets the reader slightly on edge. Not the type of edge that a story about a murder would inspire, but enough that we're nervous for the main character though we've barely met her. We expect something
big to happen because she's on national TV, but we don't necessarily think things are going to go smoothly.
Here's the beautiful opening of An Na's poetic novel A Step From Heaven-.
Just to the edge, Young Ju. Only your feet. Stay there.
Cold. Cold water. Oh. My toes are fish. Come here. Fast. Look.
What is it, Young Ju?
See my toes. See how they are swimming in the sea? Like fish.
Yes, they are little fat piggy fish.
Ahhh! Tickles.
Come on. Up. Keep your legs around me. Are you ready to go swim in the waves?
Hold me. Hold me.
I have you. Look over there, Young Ju. See how the waves dance. See? Hold on tight. We are going over there.
No. Stop. Deep water. Go back.
Shhh, Young Ju. Do not be afraid. You must learn how to be brave. See, I have you.
What a wonderful use of setting to create both a nostalgic tone and foreshadowing. Right away, as we look out over the ocean, there is a sense of a long journey about to be taken. The little girl's apprehension about the waves, along with the father's warning to be brave, suggest that the journey will be difficult. Details like the cold water tickling h
er feet make the scene vivid and real, and we have a sense that perhaps the narrator is looking back wistfully to an easier time when she felt safe and loved.
See how these authors' varied choices of location and the details they chose to provide lend themselves to fabulous setups? I chose those examples because each of them made me want to keep reading, hooking me with a mood of anticipation and using tone to suggest the future course of the book.
Tone is a powerful manipulator of the human spirit. Think how great an effect our tone of voice can have on a listener in real life. When you set a strong mood, you're accomplishing the same thing. When the tone is one the reader enjoys experiencing, even if that experience is fear or horror, she will seek out your book and return to it again and again.
Let's take a look at one last novel. Susan Cooper is one of the great masters of mood. She uses well-chosen details of sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste to draw readers in until they are so thoroughly enveloped in the world she's creating that they don't want to leave. I can still vividly recall reading this series aloud with my family when I was young. I remember curling up in the windowsill watching the dark shadows of the tree branches bending and weaving outside, shivering as my father's voice brought Cooper's world to life.
Here are just a few ways The Dark Is Rising, the first book in her award-winning series, sets the tension-filled mood that pervades the novel. The book opens with a crowded household where too many brothers and sisters jostle for position. We're on the Dawson's farm, and outside, "All the broad sky was gray, full of more snow that refused to fall. There was no colour anywhere." It's four days until Christmas. The loud bustle of activity in the household is punctuated by the screech of static as the main character passes by the radio on the kitchen table. Will and his brother go outside to the "farm-smelling barn" to feed their rabbits, and find them "restless and uneasy."
The rooks call relentlessly overhead. "Walking to a neighbor's house Will sees a strange-looking, hunched-over man who "scuttled, like a beetle." The clouds grow darker, "massing in ominous grey mounds with a yellowish tinge," and the wind "rises, stirring their hair."
Can you feel the heaviness of the impending action? Cooper uses every sense to create a tone that's ominous. She contrasts the warm images of hearth light, Christmas, and the taste of fresh-baked bread with the cold gray blanket smothering the outside world. Right from the start we sense something unnatural is happening. The static from the radio, the strange behavior of the weather and the animals, the odd sighting of the hunched man... Like the main character, Will, we become jumpy, anticipating what will come next.
Notice, as well, that it was impossible for me to quote her descriptions in block. Good writers disperse details throughout the text, allowing them to subtly work their magic even as the reader is distracted by the action and dialogue. Sometimes the setting is even revealed through the dialogue and action.
Here's part of the conversation the two boys have about the restless rabbits:
"Hey!" Will said, disturbed. "Hey, James, look at that. What's the matter with him? And all of them?"
"They seem all right to me."
"Well, they don't to me. They're all jumpy. Even Chelsea. ..."
Although we've never seen these particular rabbits, we get a sense of the strangeness of their behavior through Will's reaction. When Will catches a glimpse of the hunched-over man, he jumps, clutching his brother's arm. The details are everywhere, so well integrated into the action, that they're impossible to remove without destroying the story. This is a sure sign of setting done right.
You, too, can create a strong setting and use it to enhance your plot. Just imagine the world not only as your character sees it, but also as he smells it, touches it, hears it, and tastes it. Remember that teens are still discovering the world, so don't forget to include that sense of awe and newness that can pervade the teenage years. Let your character's worldview shape the way you portray your setting, and in turn, your setting will shape your reader's view of the world you've created.
his football coach. You could now write two scenes—one that takes place in a poor inner-city school where football is barely funded and therefore the coach is desperate for every player he can get, and another that takes place in a rich suburban environment where the football team always has the best, cleanest, newest equipment and the role of football player is reserved for the school's elite. You could choose a modern time period in which homosexuality is not as hidden as it was in the past, or you could choose to set the scene in the 1950s when it was rarely acknowledged.
Each choice will lead to different ramifications for your character and plot. Will your main character have to fight hard for a spot on the team? How does he feel about his crush on the coach? Will the tone of the story be tragic or comic?
See how developing different settings can enhance your writing and shed new light on your characters and the choices they make.
When I was in school, study hall was seldom an occasion for actual studying. More often than not it was a time to pass notes, talk with friends, or make some excuse to skip out for makeup gym classes. Often it was when I got my homework done for the class ahead if I hadn't done it the night before. Still, there were times—like just before a big test—that studying really did happen, and we're going to pretend this is one of those times.
Imagine the test you're about to take is on narrative voice and points of view.
Why devote an entire chapter to voice? Well, for years YA novels have been known for their unique narrative voices and teenage perspectives. Regardless of whether these characteristics are true for every teen novel, voice and point of view are worth looking into and understanding fully. When used well, both can distinguish your work, allowing you to capture characters, events, and settings in a way that's integral to your narrator's way of seeing her world. Developing a convincing teen voice for your characters takes a lot of time, patience, and practice, but fortunately we've got a whole period devoted to studying.
WHAT IS NARRATIVE VOICE?_
Every person, fictional or real, has a way of speaking that is uniquely his own. We touched upon voice in English class when we discussed a character's speech as something that can distinguish her from another person. Our word choices and speech patterns reveal who we are, where we're from, and what we're thinking. They can make us interesting or dull, aggravating or sympathetic.
The same is true for narrative voice. Your narrator can be revealed by what he chooses to say and how he says it. When one of your characters is telling the story, narrative voice can be a form of character development. Other times, the narrator might be more removed—someone outside the story looking in. Her voice might be very different from that of the characters she's describing. The narrator might be a teen who is judgmental or reflective. He might also be an adult looking back on his youth—the voice of experience commenting on his past journey.
Narrative voices have distinctive speech patterns and tones, as well. They can be authoritative or questioning, and this can involve the reader, drawing her in, or distance the reader, keeping her at arm's length. The narrator can tell the story from the past or present, and at times he might even be imagining, or speaking from, the future. There can be multiple narrators for the same story, and they can each
relate the same events from different perspectives, or they can slowly advance the plot by adding pieces of the story that only they know.
When it comes to narrative voice, your options are endless. You'll want to be aware of them, but don't let the scope of the choices overwhelm you. Stripped down to its most basic, what a narrative voice needs to establish is:
• who is telling the story
• what her relationship is to the events unfolding
For an easy frame of reference, think of your friends and family. How would each of them tell other people about the same event? Do you have an aunt who makes everything sound hilarious, always sprinkling jokes into monologues worthy of a comedy clu
b? Do you have a friend who turns everything into high drama? Or a sister who can make any situation seem primed for romance? What about that cousin who never reveals any emotion, always leaving you to guess what's really going on inside his head?
That's the "who" of narrative voice. Depending on who the narrator is, she brings her own personal style to the telling of the story.
Here's an example of an exceptional narrative voice from The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky. Charlie tells the story in a series of letters to an anonymous friend, and this is how it begins:
Dear friend,
I am writing to you because she said you listen and understand and didn't try to sleep with that person at the party even though you could have. Please don't try to figure out who she is, because then you might figure out who I am, and I really don't want you to do
that. I will call people by different names or generic names because I don't want you to find me. I didn't enclose a return address for the same reason. I mean nothing bad by this. Honest.
I just need to know that someone out there listens and understands and doesn't try to sleep with people even if they could have. I need to know that these people exist.
I think you of all people would understand that because I think that you of all people are alive and appreciate what that means. At least, I hope you do because other people look to you for strength and friendship, and it's that simple. At least that's what I've heard.
So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.
