My setting and me

Ah, Setting – so often the poor cousin at the party next to Plot and Characterisation: a mere frame for prose; the humble stage for exciting drama. Yet, I find it’s regularly my starting point, even before my story has begun. 

For my first MG novel, The House on the Edge, I’d carried its setting – a house on a crumbling cliffside – in my head since visiting the clifftops of Whitby (many times) as a child. The story only began to grow later as an adult, when I embarked on a lone coastline walking trip (think mini Salt Path but with B&Bs). There, I became inspired by the many Dorset ghost stories, invented by smugglers to keep prying eyes away from their crimes; by Hallsands in Devon: an entire village that fell into the sea after its shingle was taken. 

In fact, the experience of such a solitary coastal walk became a metaphor for the whole novel. I was able to draw from it a sense of isolation that became the thematic backbone to the story and integral to my protagonist, Faith. I soon realised the setting connected with me as a writer, as much as my characters. Those original Whitby clifftops? Most likely they reflected my own anxiety as a child, constantly moving schools and leaving friends and homes.

Much more than a frame or a stage, then – my setting became integral to the whole experience of my story.

I recently made a trip to the setting of my second MG novel – the Lake District. Though this time, I had company: my daughter, Mae.

It's a story set within a fictional lakeside village that survives on tourism from its mythical (maybe sinister) freshwater mermaid. While it's an area I know well  – with half my family hailing from Lancashire – due to Covid, I'd not been able to visit while writing the first draft. And, oh, there’s nothing like experiencing first-hand the setting of your story. 

It means I can take silly photos searching for a Lake Mermaid (and embarrass my young companion) like this . . .

Lake Mermaid spotting

. . . and, more seriously, mull over some setting Qs:

• What are my senses experiencing, all five of them: sight, sound, smell, taste, touch?
• How might the setting have an effect on my character – internally as well as externally?
• How might the setting reflect what they are experiencing and feeling?
• What small details about the setting might cause conflict or collusion in their character arc?
• How can the setting relate to the story’s theme? Will it change and develop with the plot?

I find it helps to draw a map also, and to list particular observations; lots of photos, of course. I also like to explore its history, geography and local stories (local museums are always great for this). Even if I don’t use the information directly, it lends a backdrop of experience, like here: my (recently embarrassed) daughter at Beatrix Potter’s house.

Beatrix Potter's house

Finally, there’s a rainbow that plays a part in my story and, as Mae and I were walking, we saw this:

Rainbows over Derwentwater

Not one but two, and so close it felt we could almost touch them. I had already written the rainbow into my book – but seeing it, made it all the more possible, and just a bit magical too. 

Poor cousin? Pah. Rich aunty more like.

Alex Cotter’s middle-grade novel THE HOUSE ON THE EDGE came out in July 2021 with Nosy Crow. Find her at www.alexcotter.co.uk or on Twitter: @AlexFCotter

The Devil is in the Detail - Heather Dyer

‘The trivial is sacred’ - OSHO

I think it was the poet Blake Morrison who said, ‘Try and write about The Meaning of Life, and you will end up staring at a brick wall. Describe a brick wall accurately and you may incidentally say something about the meaning of life’. Note his careful use of the word ‘accurately’, here. If you can get close enough and be truthful enough about your subject, you might find big ideas in something very small.

 

If you are looking for a place to begin writing, try starting with small, specific images and objects that interest you. There’s a reason why you’re drawn to these things: perhaps they are symbols that reflect things buried in your unconscious. If you could interpret these images the way that dreams are interpreted, you might reveal what your unconscious wants you to know. You don’t need to interpret the images though, just as you don’t need to dissect a seed to find out what it will become. Just plant it, and see what grows.

For example, you might have the urge to describe the box of buttons that you used to play with for hours as a child, while your mother was working late. You don’t have to know that the piece you are going to write is about loneliness. You just have to describe the box of buttons – get right inside it and see where your thoughts wander. Perhaps it will be in writing this story that you will first realize that you’ve always felt lonely. Maybe only now will you realize that this feeling has affected all the decisions you have ever made. And when you look back at your initial image – that box of odd buttons; each one lost, alone, waiting for a garment to belong to – you might marvel at the wisdom of your unconscious in choosing the perfect symbol to portray your loneliness. But you don’t have to know this in advance. To begin with, all you need to concern yourself with is describing the box of buttons.

This technique can also be applied when you’re stuck in the middle of your story. Instead of trying to look further ahead and predict the ending, try going deeper into the story. It’s like drilling down to tap into an underground river; direction and flow can be found if you drill deep enough in the right place. So, hover above your story. Look down upon your settings, see the characters walking through various scenes, and hear snatches of their conversations. What draws your attention? By digressing in order to describe the details more accurately, more authentically, you might find that you unearth a truth about a character, a setting, or a situation that leads you in the right direction.