Creating Fictional Settings

This post is based on a talk given at Elroy Public Library in April, 2019.

Settings

One important aspect of creating story besides giving you interesting characters with an intriguing problem is setting them in a place readers can identify with. In cozy mysteries which are generally set in small communities we authors want you to feel at home and fall in love with the neighborhoods and the people.

Authors will set stories in a known place or a hybridized version of the city, or like me, make up a city from scratch. I tend to base my made-up cities near others that are well known so my readers have an idea of where they are, and can identify familiar landmarks. But I want to avoid problems of businesses changing hands or moving, or buildings being torn down, or the old school being made into apartments, or using characters who would never fit into the setting. I read a mystery last year that was set in Hillsboro—just down the road—with very few elements that were true. The author even set it at the foot of Wildcat Mountain and gave us a tough, sexy female police chief. That does not remotely describe Hillsboro.

So, my first step in creating a town is to make sure there’s nothing with the same name that I want to use in the area. I go through atlases and online directories and maps. I knew the Fancy Cat series was going to be set in Illinois, and after searching for a place to build, settled on west central. I may have to play around with locations or names to make it work. There is no Apple Grove on the official Illinois state maps, so I settle on the name. I knew I wanted Apple Grove to be near a river and close to major highways. Eventually, the river and Hannibal Missouri, and being within a couple hours’ drive to Chicago are all important.

Research and fact-finding are important to me. So, although I am making up my community, the lifestyle still has to ring true. Each county and municipality in every state has its own codes and quirks. I don’t live in Illinois, although our younger son and his wife do, so I have a source of first-person knowledge to back up what I research. I chose a small city in the area, Beardstown, and borrowed heavily from its great website.

My books all tend to have large casts. I have trouble identifying with characters who tend to show up midway through life out of the blue and meet somebody, have a story, and then be done, so I give my characters family and friends to interact with. These side characters will often be part of future stories, or become the center of the next mystery. I have placed a city website for my fictional AppleGrove on my own website, which contains elements that I have created or recreated from the Chamber of Commerce and municipal resources. You’ll also find a list of characters and their roles there, as opposed to inside the books.

I found photographs from free sites on the internet to show on my Apple Grove city page. I use a conglomeration because I want readers to be able to fill in the blanks themselves of details of buildings. I rarely put people in my covers or websites for the same reason.

Some familiar things readers will find in many of my stories are set up to provide a place for my characters to meet others, gather information, do regular business, buy food. So we’ll have a diner or restaurant, a gas station, a place to get supplies and food, usually a library and a often, church. Since my work fits into either inspirational or clean and wholesome reading categories, so faith elements are important. Using each of our five senses helps to bind you to a place. Sometimes I will tell you what’s cooking at Tiny’s Buffet; other times, all I need to do is say “diner” and each reader will fill in the blanks with your own memories of smell, and taste, sight, hearing the customers and background noise, and the touch of a fork or a hot cup of coffee.

Venturing to a new Style—Science Fiction

For my story Parhelion, part of which is set around Madison, Sauk City, and Cottage Grove, I just stole the neighborhood and house my oldest brother and sister-n-law bought on Madison’s west side a few years ago. In the first book of the series, Forces of Nature, the main characters bought a house there when they got married, and the poor neighborhood was never the same. This is not their house, by the way. One of my writer friends lives in Cottage Grove, so she gave me a few hints of what it’s like, and we drive through Sauk City quite a bit, though I did take liberties with a new housing complex built there along the river. One of the tricks of the trade is not to give too specific of details.

PARHELION

In Parhelion, however, much of the story moved from Madison to an underground, figuratively and literally, complex in Colorado. The compound is a community carved from mountain caverns. No matter where or when a book is set, we readers still need something to ground us. What are things people need no matter where they are?

My underground community has individual apartments set in clusters, classrooms, parks that have living plants and trees and playground equipment, a sound system, and a video system that shows the day and night skies, even rain. There’s a cafeteria, a chapel, meeting rooms, and offices, as well as laboratories, farm, and a medical clinic. People in the community are experimenting with potentially adapting to life in a new place. They don’t know what to expect about the environment, so they are trying to be redundant, and adaptable without feeling as though they are raising the next generation to be cave people.

It’s not easy to jump into a book, either writing or reading. An author’s goal is to provide a setting that will enrich the story, whether it begins with a crime scene or a scary place someone wants to escape or a place of love and laughter. But most of all we want you to be at home, enjoy your reading experience, and to come back.

Enjoy an Excerpt from Meow Matrimony

There it was—Ivanna’s address, the right hand of a two-story dark-sided and narrow-windowed building. I supposed it was modern classic, but I frowned at its bleakness. The tree in the front yard was spindly, with its “I’m new and insured the first year” store tag fluttering in the breeze. I knocked and rang the bell before depositing the box on the rubber welcome mat.

Weatherman Bob at WWAG reported possible showers in the early morning hours, so I hesitated to leave it exposed. As I reached to test the knob, I noticed the interior door was ajar. Maybe I should push it open and shove the box inside. I didn’t even need to set foot in the entry.

With a peek up and down the street, deserted for the dinner hour, I gingerly eased the glass storm door toward me, then tentatively pushed the black-painted interior door inward. Not even a squeak added to the spooky tension. I grinned. I’d been reading way too many mysteries and detective dramas lately. “Hello! Just dropping this off!” I called as I slid the box forward, though I was certain no one was home.

Except the outstretched fingers on the floor I happened to see appeared too real to spring from an overactive imagination.

I swallowed and pulled back, still on my knees on Ivanna’s stoop. If it was a crime scene, I shouldn’t go in. My heart raced and the sweat on my brow would make my hair frizzier.

But what if she was hurt or sick?

What if an assailant was lurking?

What if I was lying there and someone saw me on the floor?

What if it wasn’t her?

Apple Grove’s semi-warm and fuzzy almost-detective Officer Ripple could reprimand me later. I pushed the door wider—it was already open, not locked, so I couldn’t be accused of breaking and entering, I hoped—and crawled one knee inside. “Hi! Just making a delivery!”

My caution blew back in my face. I’d never seen Ivanna from the radio show, but I recognized her as a former waitress at Tiny’s. She was mostly on her stomach with her legs slightly bent, splayed across her Italian green and gold marble-tiled foyer, red hair partially covering the white skin of her face. Under her pale gold silk blouse her abundant cleavage was kind of pushed up toward her throat and her cheek rested on the floor. I was so glad her eyes were closed. That meant she could be…

“Um, Ivanna? Miss Pressman? Are you all right?” I figured I’d better ask before I checked for a pulse. I didn’t see any blood. As I leaned across her outstretched arm to see if I could put a finger on her neck without touching anything else, I planted my left hand near hers. My skin prickled and I pulled back.

A piece of candy, partially unwrapped, lay near her wrist. I reached for it but stopped before my fingers left prints. Ripple’s stern cop voice sounded in my mind: “You didn’t touch anything, did you?”

I refocused on the very still body. Well, technically I didn’t know if it was—oh, just check for a pulse, Ivy, so you have something to tell the police. “Ivanna? I’m just going to…put my finger here…under your ear…”

There was plenty of time for her to open her eyes or start breathing before I made contact. But, no. Just as I figured. Her icy cold skin did not thrum with any beat of life. WWAG would have to find a new morning show host.

I sat back and fumbled for my phone. While I dialed 911 and waited for the response, I studied Ivanna. Her mouth seemed a little pinched, even in death. A slash of crimson red lipstick and matching polish on her long nails should have clashed with that shade of brassy hair, yet some blondish highlights kept the color from being gauche. The engagement ring on her outstretched hand had a positively vulgar two-carat diamond in an ornate, swirly gold setting, posed as if it was on display.

“What is your emergency?” the voice on my phone asked.

I explained with the fewest words possible and was directed to remain on the scene until officers arrived.

“Sure, I will,” I said and hung up. The adrenalin rush wore off. I’d be late to meet Adam and probably wouldn’t get to see him at all today. I held up my phone again, about to speed dial him, when I was distracted by the piece of candy on the floor.

The wrapper bore the unmistakable winged design of Featherlight Confectionaries—the same kind my ex-fiancé, Stanley Brewer, sold since he’d switched companies.

I stopped in mid-reach once again. I didn’t recognize this style of chocolate cube. This had a slightly bumpy texture, as if stuffed with delicacies. I was well acquainted with them all since we sold that brand at Mea Cuppa, and this one didn’t belong.