Often when I’m writing, the story takes place in a different
time of year than what is occurring outside my window. For example, I’m about sixty pages into the
first draft of the next Jefferson Chene mystery and this one takes place in the
heat of the summer. The idea for this
story is that it will all happen within a week’s time, and include a few
flashbacks.
Yet outside it’s cold, gloomy and rainy, the last weekend in
October. Around here many people are gearing up for Halloween. Yesterday we
drove to a cider mill to pick up some apples and sample donuts fresh out of the
oven. Definitely a sign of the season in Michigan.
Writers use different approaches to help with the setting. I
know one person that will play Beach Boys tunes when working on a project that
takes place in the summer. She will also use Christmas carols for the end of
the year, or dial up a movie on the Hallmark Channel. Often I’ll dredge up memories
from different seasons and fit those in with the story.
So as an author, you use whatever it takes. Whether it’s music, a photo album or
revisiting a particular show, when you’re writing, it’s up to you to figure out
what works. Depending on the length of
the story, it may be summertime before you finish it, even if you’re working on
it steadily.
The setting and the season can
play a big part in your work.
In “Your
Turn to Die”, the story takes place in early June. There are several scenes
when Chene conducts part of the investigation in the middle of Lake St. Clair,
a body of water outside of Detroit that connects the Great Lakes. When I was
working on that piece, it was the dead of winter. Just proof that your imagination can really
make a difference in the story.
Here’s an excerpt from “Devious”. In this scene, Jamie is considering life’s
changes during the first snowfall of the winter. One reader actually felt the chills from this
scene, even though she was reading the book in the middle of an Atlanta summer.
I piled the pillows on
the floor by the bay window and watched the snowfall. Something about the way
snow shines as it falls pleases and depresses me at the same time. Fresh snow always seems so clean and fragile,
as if it's giving the city a gentle bath. Here's a chance to hide all the filth
and debris we leave behind, buried under a lily-white blanket. For some reason,
tonight I felt like getting pleasantly buzzed. I warmed some apple cider in the
microwave and added a healthy shot of Southern Comfort. Sitting like a sultan
on the pillows, sipping my potent brew, I watched the snow. The heat from the
booze warmed me and my thoughts turned to Malone.
I'm my own worst
enemy when it comes to men. I meet a guy and my weird sense of humor tends to
scare him off. Or it’s my career. Or it’s my body. I have always been slender
and I don’t have fabulous curves. I’ve got a small chest, narrow waist, small
hips. There is nothing about my physique that would set the world on fire. Romance is something that happens to other
people. I write about it only if I can work it into a story. But Malone…
Geez, what a
difference he was. He seemed to like my body just fine. And he had me so
wrapped up, I couldn't think straight. The other day I was doodling while on
the phone with Shannon. When I hung up I almost screamed. I'd written
"Mrs. Jamie Malone" half a dozen times in a notebook and circled it
with little Cupid hearts. High school
shit. Hell, it was more like grammar
school shit. But it scared me nonetheless. How had I let myself fall so
quickly, so completely, for this guy I had just met? A guy I really knew very
little about. Maybe it was part of my
genetics, passed down from my crazy mother.
When I finished my
cider, I slipped off the pillows and went for a refill. I kept thinking about
Malone's reaction to the baby book. It didn't take a detective to recognize how
uncomfortable the subject made him. He wasn't too old to have kids—for that
matter, neither was I. We hadn't been together that long and already I was
doodling about marriage and Malone sounded ready to run.
Was I blowing this
relationship too? Like every other one worth mentioning in the last ten years?
Was this courtship doomed from the start?
I resumed my perch and watched the snowflakes perform their
gravitational dance.
Shortly after
midnight the snow stopped. Everything outside my window appeared pure and
freshly made. There were no wrappers stuck in the bushes, no cigarette butts or
used condoms visible. Everything was brand new. A row of pine trees in the park
across the street made me think of the holidays. Light from the street lamps
and the stars above reflected in the white powder. There were no tire tracks or
footprints to mar it. I was looking at a new creation, a world untouched by human
hands. It was beautiful.
When it comes to music, I like variety. While catching a video on Youtube for a boogie woogie number, this clip came up in the cue. I don't know the artists, but the drummer is incredible. Hope you like it.
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