Time, Circumstance, and Setting

TIME, CIRCUMSTANCE, and SETTING                                                                    June 7, 2016

I recently watched Stephen Hawking’s Genius series on PBS Channel 8 in Houston on the possibilities of time travel. Three people were shown numbers that constituted an invitation to a party. The numbers represented the intersection of 46th Street and 11th Street, and a 15-story building. But when the people arrived, the party had long been over; they walked dejectedly among the half-inflated balloons, empty cups, and food remains. Hawking had given them the where of the party, but had neglected to give them the when. My writer’s mind immediately made a connection between the elusive dimension of time and the importance of time when applied to the setting in a story or novel.

I had just finished Mary Buckham’s book, “A Writer’s Guide to Active Setting,” explaining how setting adds depth to your character, and a time tangent led me to Harper Lee’s “To Kill A Mockingbird”:

“Maycomb was a tired old town, even in 1932 when I first knew it. Somehow, it was hotter then. Men’s stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed before noon and after their three o’clock naps. And by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frosting from sweating and sweet talcum. The day was twenty-four hours long, but it seemed longer. There’s no hurry, for there’s nowhere to go and nothing to buy…and no money to buy it with.”

I realized it was time and circumstance that Harper Lee used to draw me into the story. She didn’t just tell me the where (Deep South) and the when (1932), but she used specific details to show how the people reacted to their circumstances at a specific time in history. Being a native Texas, I certainly knew what to expect in the way of heat and humidity, but she wove the setting in such a way that it brought depth to her characters. It was a different place and time, and a remarkable first paragraph. Of course, someone who grew up north of the Mason-Dixon Line might not relate to the difference in time−that there’s a heap of difference between the Republic of Texas and the Deep South, not just in speech, but in mindset. Or that in the pre-Civil War Deep South, things moved so slowly it was even said that “time stood still.” So how relevant is time to circumstance, and how do they relate to setting? Sometimes, the addition of a sentence or two can explain both. Buckham demonstrated this with the following two examples:

“The day I left Paris, I knew I would be returning as soon as possible.”

“Paris had dressed in her best to see us off. A warm spring sun peeked through the pearl-grey skirts of early morning gog. And a light breeze stirred the new leaves on the Champs-Elysees as if waving farewell.”  −Deanna Raybourn’s A Spear of Summer Grass

The first sentence tells us where (Paris), but doesn’t really explain how the character feels about leaving. The expanded paragraph tells us not only the when (spring) and the where (Paris), but takes us deeper into the character’s circumstance of being forced to leave a city she’s grown to love, and shows us how she feels. Buckham also includes a negative, rainy-day reaction when the setting changes. We all look at things differently, and how we filter what we see depends on who we are and where we come from, our character. And how that character reacts over time can change as well, from child to adult to a senior citizen. Time can just as easily refer to the time of day/year/month/century as it can a person’s time in life. Hawking seemed to understand this elusive nature of time, and demonstrated in his documentary how we cannot move back in time without meeting ourselves−a complicated circumstance, to say the least. Perhaps Thomas Wolfe was right when he said, “You Can’t Go Home Again.” Time of life, or actual time?

Back to Buckham’s book. Setting also uses time to create conflict (future) or show backstory (past), hopefully without making it an “info dump” that pulls the reader out of the story. Each of us reacts to feelings in different ways, and setting can evoke positive as well as negative reactions, depending on time and circumstance. Buckham reminds us that backstory matters only if it is relevant to current choices, decisions, or events in your story.  She gives an example of using setting and circumstance to trigger a memory that serves to contrast what the character is seeing and thinking. And she incorporates sensory details as well:

“A watery sun was shining on it [the house]. There was a faint breeze and the smell of woodsmoke in the air and a kind of intense cold-afternoon quiet all around us. It was the kind of place you would have wanted your grandparents to live…it reminded me of the places in the picture books they gave me in Manila and Guam.”

This is a vast improvement over:

“I had been a child who had grown up on military bases around the world, who had never had what I saw as a traditional American home.”

A lot was said about the setting and the character’s reaction to it, which took him back in time and revealed another level of his character. You can draw the reader deeper into the character’s point of view (POV) by triggering a memory that causes the reader to care. If place and time form an integral part of your story, take extra pains with it early on to anchor it in the reader’s mind, but Buckham reminds us to be careful about pacing. When is setting too much setting? When it takes away from the story. Take your character into the setting, and use the setting to take the reader deeper into the character. And remember that elusive dimension of time, so nobody misses the party.

Caden St. Claire

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Writing under Duress

There are times when it’s difficult to write what will come next, and you start searching for inspiration and creativity in strange and unusual places. Sometimes I’ll lay down in a dark room until I almost fall asleep, ’cause at dusk is when the good ideas come to taunt you. I’ve come across some tips that may help you avoid the dreaded White Noise Monster (i.e., Writer’s Block):

(1) Write a logline (a long one-sentence paragraph) or an elevator pitch (pretend you’re in an elevator with a publishing agent and she’s getting off on the fourth floor) – and describe a story that YOU would want to READ. Then start writing it.

2) Think about something that really makes you mad; it can be men, women, war, famine, politics, economics, social issues, whatever. And write about it. It can be first or third person, as long as the main character is emotionally engaged in fixing the problem, no matter what it takes. If you could do it, how would you go about it? Make him rich, or powerful, or not.

3) Start in the middle of the action and describe it. Is it a car crash, a murder, a fist fight, a domestic dispute? What does it sound like, smell like, look like, taste like? What are the people doing? What’s happening around you? What is the first thing someone says? Can he/she be heard over the screaming sirens, the ambulance, the people? Are you standing over a dead body with a gun in your hand, and you don’t know why?

4) Is there someone or something you always wanted to be or know? Go online and read about it. Talk to people who’ve been there/done that. Remember-when you’re a writer, you can be anybody you want to be, do anything you’ve ever dreamed of. Do you want to be a hero? A serial killer? A cop? A lawyer? An ordinary guy that something miraculous happens to?  Go on a cruise to a tropical island (jewelry thieves, a body tossed overboard, a mysterious man or woman)? Anything is possible. Write about it.

5) Pull out those notes about an idea you had years ago and put a different slant on it. You liked it well enough to keep it, so work on it with fresh eyes. In a writer’s group we were asked to write an opening paragraph, and I dredged up something I hadn’t seen in years, but I took it a down a different road.I changed the time period to late 19th century, the main character to a woman, the place from the US to England, and I ended up with 120,000 words of the best thing I’ve ever written.

6) Words are powerful. Verbal abuse is just as painful as physical abuse, and lasts just as long or longer. Words of love, once given and then taken back, or lost to time, can form the background of a story that lasts a lifetime. Did you hear something that someone said that’s stayed in your mind? Have you sat at a bar or been at a party and some character or what he/she was saying struck a chord in your writer’s sack of future tricks? Start writing it down. Dialogue can help your characters take shape and come alive. And like they say in architecture, form follows function.

7) A memoir can be poignant, sad, funny, tragic, powerful, life-changing, and all of the above. Everyone has at least one good story in them, either something that happened in their childhood, or something that happened growing up. What’s yours? Your parents? Your grandparents? People haven’t changed that much. Trust me. Stories you remember can become fascinating YA (young adult) stories that will interest kids today.

8) In the same way, objects have untold stories in them as well. Go through an attic, browse an antique store, read old letters from 20, 30, 40 years ago, or even the obituary columns or newspaper articles from “back in the day” – maybe things weren’t as boring as you think.

9) Or look at today’s news about the leaps scientists are making in artificial intelligence (think “I, Robot”), technology (smart phones and beyond), medicine (understanding autism), and automobiles (with auto pilots?), law enforcement (gun rights and police violence). Think about how these things will change your life, our children’s lives, their children’s lives. Pretend you’re there already, and start writing. Go online – there are tons of articles on all of these issues right now.

10) Listen. Grab a cup of coffee and lean back in a squishy chair and listen to everyone all around you talking about people, places, problems, situations, and circumstances. These are things that give birth to plots, ideas, character outlines, story arcs, dialogue, and stories, or (eventually) novels.

DO NOT turn on the television, text a friend, or sit and stare out the window with a blank expression on your face (unless you are writing furiously in your mind!)

DO go for a walk (especially if you’ve been sitting for a very long time in front of a blank computer screen), grab a glass of water or celery sticks to munch on while you write, make a quick trip to the library for what you can’t find online, and take a bath. Please.

Sincerely,

DURESS

 

 

What To Do When Your Character Wants Revenge

Recently I found myself at an impasse when my main character committed suicide because she was in love with a married man. A completed circle, a common triangle, a beautiful story, a boring ending. Something was terribly wrong. It was predictable, and there was no twist, no depth, no “oomph.” I stopped and listened to my character. It turned out she wasn’t ready to “go quietly into that good night.” The little sweetheart wanted revenge. I had to admire what was left of her spirit, and I played around with her little act of defiance to see what I could do. As every writer knows, characters do not always act as we program them to act, and (though we hate to admit it), occasionally they do know better.

That decided, I immediately thought of two quotes, both ancient and time-honored. The first, a quote from Star Trek: “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” And the other, from Confucius: “Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.” I wrestled with the first one, then discarded it because my character’s nature was not a cold one. Does one have to be cold to seek revenge, or just cold enough to serve it? No, the second one appealed to both my character and myself. It would work. I started thinking about revenge. What does it really accomplish? Not much if your character just threatens it with no follow-up. But what if your character actually goes for it?

In Creating Character Emotions by Ann Hood, she talks about this “dark side that shouldn’t be ignored.”

“Before you have a character take the air out of her ex-lover’s tires because he left her for another woman, consider what that tells your reader about the character. How does that act change the story? The person? The reader’s response to both?”

If it’s revenge with a little “r” (as in the above scenario), chances are pretty good that the boyfriend will be angry, but face facts — the only one you’re going to hurt is you. If your character wants revenge enough to murder for it, the logical consequence would be lethal injection or life imprisonment. Hence, two graves. But what if it’s Revenge with a big “R” (as in getting even with someone who has left you with nothing but suicide as an option) and your character is already resigned to suicide? Methinks the game would change somewhat. It was fascinating to watch my quiet, withdrawn character come up with a fool-proof way to make it look like murder. She’s already set on one grave, so why not two? Now, that’s cold.

Do we always act predictably? No way. Neither do our characters. So the next time your character is trying to tell you something, it may behoove you to listen. Play around with it, and you just might reach the conclusion I reached as I ended my story, thinking, “Oh, yeah. You go, girl!” And yes, revenge can be sweet.