As a writer of memoir, your primary job is to re-create your lived experience on the page.
The most effective way to do this? With a scene. From the Tell it Slant by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paola, “scene is the building block of creative non-fiction.” She also goes on to write, “Scene is based on action unreeling before us, as it would in a film and it will draw on the same techniques as fiction—dialogue, description, point of view, specificity, concrete detail. Scene also encompasses the lyricism and imagery of great poetry.”
Now let’s take a look at the different kinds of scene available.
Representative scene: This is scene that doesn’t pretend to happen at one specific time and place but “represents” a “typical” moment. For example, you want to write about the morning routine in your home as a child. You can write about the “typical morning,” in general terms in order to capture the essence of the family routine.
IE: Mornings in our house were always the same, I was up early—before my brothers and sisters and even my mom. In the quiet of the hazy, pre-day light, I’d pad down the stairs with socks on my feet and take extra care to avoid the fifth step which was known for it’s high pitched squeak. Once on the main floor, it felt like the house was mine—a silent kingdom where I could rule over stove, refrigerator, sink and table. I could sit where I wanted and not have to wrestle by brother for the cereal box and beg the milk from my sister. Here, in the freshness of each day, I learned what it might be like when I lived on my own and away from the craziness that began by eight a.m.
As you can see here, in representative scene, you have the freedom to summarize but are still called to load your sentences with details to convey the mood, setting and voice.
Specific scene: This is your extended scene about a moment in time—one moment—when something happens that moves your story forward in a significant way. Action unfolds before the reader and perhaps even for the narrator. This scene is easily identified by “cue” words like: one day, that day, on Tuesday, that morning, that evening and so on. It’s the “singular” that makes it clear to the reader that it’s time to settle down and read about that one time that one thing happened.
IE: It’s a Monday morning, June, 1973. School is not yet out and another day is ahead. Math, science, English. I cannot wait to finish seventh grade. I roll out of bed and the house ticks with that silence that is the early morning. The radiators have yet to wake up and outside there is the lightest call of the early birds.
I poke my head out my bedroom door, the one with the “do not disturb” which hangs from the knob and look right, left and then right again. Total silence except for the caw, wheeze sound of Mike who always snores. It’s the retainers in his mouth. He sounds like a cave man in there. The door to my mother’s room is closed and there is no light from under the door. I have about an hour before everyone will wake up and the rush to get to school will begin.
Back in my own room, I tug on my pink and white stripped socks, the ones with extra fluff so I won’t make one sound as I sneak down the stairs.
Both forms of scene are needed in your writing and both require you to spend time with vivid images that will stay in the readers mind.
Writers have a tendency not to use scene in their writing. I think it has something to do with the issue of understanding and of craftsmanship. Writers are afraid they might not get it right or that they don’t have the talent to get it right so they fall in clever forms of expository writing and load the pages with one “incident” after another. Volumes and volumes of experiences do not convey essence. This approach pretty much yields a great deal of “stream of consciousness” writing. Or journal writing, which is simply not that interesting for the reader.
The best way to get a sense of scene, both the representative type and the specific type, is to look for these forms in the books you read. Take a sticky note and put it there, next to each format you find and in this way you will begin to “understand” what the writer is doing and how they are doing it.
Take a class on craft: June 2012. 10 spots left.
This weeks tip is from the very incisive posting from Moira Allen. While she’s talking about setting in relationship to fiction, writers of memoir are pulling on the work of fiction to do their work too, so this is helpful advice.
Enjoy
Four Ways to Bring Settings to Life by Moira Allen
Too little detail leaves your characters wandering through the narrative equivalent of an empty stage. Too much, and you end up with great blocks of description that tempt the reader to skip and skim, looking for the action.
To set your stage, it’s important to choose the most appropriate, vivid details possible. It’s equally important to present those details in a way that will engage the reader. The following four techniques can help.
1) Reveal setting through motion.
Let your description unfold as a character moves through the scene. Consider which details your character would notice immediately, and which might register more slowly. Let your character encounter those details interactively.
Suppose, for example, that your heroine, an “Orphan Annie” of humble origins, has entered a millionaire’s mansion. What would she notice first? How would she react to her surroundings?
Let her observe how soft the rich Persian carpet feels underfoot, how it muffles her footfalls, how she’s tempted to remove her shoes. Don’t tell us the sofa is soft until she actually sinks into it. Let her smell the fragrance of hothouse flowers filling a cut-crystal vase.
Use active verbs to set the scene. Instead of saying “a heavy marble table dominated the room,” force your character to detour around it. Instead of explaining that “light glittered and danced from the crystal chandelier,” let your character blink at the prismatic display.
“Walking through” a description breaks the details into bite-sized nuggets, and scatters those nuggets throughout the scene so that the reader never feels overwhelmed or bored.
2) Reveal setting through a character’s level of experience.
What your character knows will directly influence what she sees. Your orphan may not know whether the carpet is Persian or Moroccan, or even whether it’s wool or polyester. If these details are important, how can you convey them?
You could, of course, let the haughty owner of the mansion point out your heroine’s ignorance. Or, you could write the scene from the owner’s perspective. Keep in mind, however, that different characters will perceive the same surroundings in very different ways, based on their familiarity (or lack thereof) with the setting.
Imagine, for example, that you’re describing a stretch of windswept coastline from the perspective of a local fisherman’s son. What would he notice? From the color of the sky or changes in the wind, he might make deductions about tomorrow’s weather and sailing conditions. When he notices seabirds wheeling against the clouds, he doesn’t just see “gulls,” but terns and gannets and petrels — easily identified by the shape of their wings or patterns of their flight.
Equally important are the things he might not notice. Being so familiar with the area, he might pay little attention to the fantastic shapes of the rocks, or the gnarled driftwood littering the sand. He hardly notices the bite of the wind through his cable-knit sweater, and he’s oblivious to the stink of rotting kelp-mats that have washed ashore.
Now suppose a rich kid from the big city is trudging along that same beach. Bundled to the teeth in the latest Northwest Outfitters jacket, he’s still shivering — and can’t imagine why the lad beside him isn’t freezing to death. He keeps stumbling over half-buried pieces of driftwood, and fears that the sand is ruining his Doc Martens. From the way the waves pound against the beach, he thinks a major storm is brewing. The very thought of bad weather makes him nauseous, as does the stench of rotting seaweed (he doesn’t think of it as “kelp”) and dead fish.
Each of these characters’ perceptions of the beach will be profoundly influenced by his experience. “Familiar,” however, needn’t imply a positive outlook, while “unfamiliar” needn’t mean “negative.” Your city kid might, in fact, regard the beach as an idyllic vacation spot — rugged, romantic, isolated, just the place to make him feel he’s really getting in touch with nature. The fisherman’s son, on the other hand, may loathe the ocean, feeling trapped by the whims of wind and weather. Which brings us to the next point:
3) Reveal setting through the mood of your character.
What we see is profoundly influenced by what we feel. The same should be true for our characters. Filtering a scene through a character’s feelings can profoundly influence what the reader “sees.”
Suppose, for example, that your heroine — a spunky young girl on holiday — is strolling an archetypal stretch of British moorland. Across the blossoming gorse, she sees the ruins of some ancient watchtower, little more than a jumble of stones crowning the next hill (or “tor,” as her guidebook puts it).
The temptation to explore is irresistible. Flicking dandelion heads with her walking stick, our heroine hikes up the slope, breathing the scents of grass and clover, admiring the lichen patterns on the granite boulders. At last, warmed by the sun and her exertions, she leans back against a stone and watches clouds drift overhead like fuzzy sheep herded by a gentle wind. A falcon shrills from a nearby hollow, its cry a pleasant reminder of how far she has come from the dirty high school she so despises.
A pleasant picture? By now, your reader might be considering travel arrangements to Dartmoor. But what if your heroine is in a different mood? What if she has become separated from her tour group and is lost? Perhaps she started across the moor because she thought she saw a dwelling — but was dismayed to find that it was only a grey, creepy ruin. The tower’s scattered stones, half-buried in weeds and tangled grasses, remind her of grave markers worn faceless with time. Its silent emptiness speaks of secrets, of a desolation that welcomes no trespassers. Though the sun is high, scudding clouds cast a pall over the landscape, and the eerie, lonesome cry of some unseen bird reminds her just how far she is from home.
When this traveler looks at the gorse, she sees thorns, not blossoms.
When she looks at clouds, she sees no fanciful shapes, only the threat of rain. She wants out of this situation — while your reader is on the edge of his seat, expecting something far worse than a ruin to appear on this character’s horizon!
4) Reveal setting through the senses.
A character’s perception of a setting will influence and be influenced by the senses. Our stranded hiker, for example, may not notice the fragrance of the grass, but she will be keenly aware of the cold wind. Our city kid notices odors the fisherman’s son ignores, while the latter detects subtle variations in the color of the sky that are meaningless to the former.
Different sensory inputs evoke different reactions. For example, visual information tends to be processed primarily at the cognitive level: We make decisions and take action based on what we see. When we describe a scene in terms of visual inputs, we are appealing to the reader’s intellect.
Emotions, however, are often affected by what we hear. Think of the effects of a favorite piece of music, the sound of a person’s voice, the whistle of a train. In conversation, tone of voice is a more reliable indicator of mood and meaning than words alone. Sounds can make us shudder, shiver, jump — or relax and smile. Scene that include sounds — fingers scraping a blackboard, the distant baying of a hound — are more likely to evoke an emotional response.
Smell has the remarkable ability to evoke memories. While not everyone is taken straight to childhood by “the smell of bread baking,” we all have olfactory memories that can trigger a scene, or a recollection of an event or person. Think of someone’s perfume, the smell of new-car leather, the odor of wet dog. Then describe that smell effectively, and your reader is there.
Touch evokes a sensory response. Let your reader feel the silkiness of a cat’s fur, the roughness of castle stones, the prickly warmth of Dad’s flannel shirt. Let your heroine’s feet ache, let the wind raise goosebumps on her flesh, let the gorse thorns draw blood.
Finally, there is taste, which is closely related to smell in its ability to evoke memories. Taste, however, is perhaps the most difficult to incorporate into a setting; often, it simply doesn’t belong there. Your heroine isn’t going to start licking the castle stones, and it isn’t time for lunch. As in real life, “taste” images should be used sparingly and appropriately.
The goal of description is to create a well-designed set that provides the perfect background for your characters — and that stays in the background, without overwhelming the scene or interrupting the story. In real life, we explore our surroundings through our actions, experience them through our senses, understand (or fail to understand) them through our knowledge and experience, and respond to them through our emotions. When your characters do the same, you’ll keep your readers turning pages — and not just because they’re waiting for something interesting to happen!
Copyright © 1999 Moira Allen – This article originally appeared in The Writer.
Prompt: Look around your room. Up, down, right, left, in front of you and behind you. Really look. Now set the scene about a person in a writing class, you or the person you are looking at that you call you (IE: 1st person or 3rd). Include the mention of the city, the state, the country, the year, the season, the economy, your personal state of mind, politics, your relationship status. All within context of this moment.
Lesson: Just as the narrator is the most important character and all the people he or she interacts with in the main arc of the story are important characters—location is VERY important character too and should be considered in this way. Location—that part of your story that sets the scene in space and time and places the narrator in that setting—is as vital to the story as the people, what is said and the events that take place. Without a location and the details that establish that location, the reader is unable to “land” and truly experience what the writer is sharing. Setting grounds the reader and grounds the experience. Setting also holds the forward moving action and can be referred back to again and again.
Goal: Become setting aware. Increase awareness about “setting” in your own writing and identify setting in other writing.
Eight writers, three days ~ write, relax and restore.
The 2012 Summer Retreat, Aug. 24, 25 & 26, is for writers in search of depth instruction and personal mentoring. Come to Manzanita, a tiny coastal town snugged on the Oregon coastline, and savor three full days to write, receive teachings and read your work aloud. This unique, once a year opportunity, combines the best of camaraderie, solitude, teachings and celebration.
SCHEDULE:
Fri, Aug. 24:
10-1 p.m. Breakfast & Teachings
1-6:30 p.m. Personal writing time
6:30 – 9:30 Desert, teachings, reading & conversation
Sat, Aug. 25:
10-1 p.m. Breakfast & Teachings
1-6:30 p.m. Personal writing time
6:30 – 9:30 Desert, teachings, reading & conversation
Sun, Aug. 26:
10-1 p.m. Breakfast & Teachings
1-6:30 p.m. Personal writing time
6:30 – 9:30 Desert, teachings, reading & conversation
COST: (FULL – Taking names on standby)
$375.00 Early Sign Up (Prior to May 15, 2012)
$450.00 Late Sign Up (May 16, 2012)
Jennifer covers your teachings, breakfast and evening desserts.
You cover your travel to and from Manzanita and your accommodations.
While we can help make accommodation recommendations for writers and can arrange meetings between students for ride share, we will not be responsible for your travel or accommodations. You are encouraged to find a place to stay that allows privacy, relaxation, restoration and space to write.
RECOMMENDED LODGING:
(Luxury)
Inn at Manzanita
Coast Cabins
Ocean Inn
(Affordable Shabby Chic)
Spindrift
Sunset Surf
(House Share Opportunities)
Sunset Vacation Rentals
How can the memoir writer research what is largely lost to them and even highly subjective? Get hold of your memory and write your first “reported” draft in this class designed to stimulate memory, recover forgotten facts and keep the writer safe from the full emotional immersion that can sometimes overcome the writer in the early stages. Become a reporter investigating your own life with mediations and interactive exercises designed to stimulate, deepen and expand memory. It doesn’t matter if you are a beginner to memoir or if you have been writing memoir for a while. This is a class for all levels. Come ready to remember, to write and leave with your first draft.
