Setting from http://www.craftofwritingsota.blogspot.com/

Setting: The natural and artificial scenery or environment in which characters in literature live and move.

Setting is the when and where your story takes place.
Apart from Character and Plot, Setting is one of the most important elements in your writing.

Setting includes:
• Artifacts or Props (the things characters use)
• Clothes (the things characters wear)
• Time of day, conditions of the weather
• Geography and location
• Trees, animals, and nature
• Inside and outside sounds, smells
• All physical and temporal objects

So that means setting refers to:
• The location (locale) or place the story is set
• The weather (including the season)
• The time
• The time period (historical period)

In short: setting refers to all the places and objects that are important in the work, whether natural or manufactured.

Types of Settings:

1. Natural
Nature shapes action and directs and redirects lives.

2. Manufactured
Manufactured things always reflect the people who made them.
Possessions often enter into character motivation and development.

3. Interior: locales INSIDE. Symbolically often refers to private/domestic issues.

4. Exterior: locales OUTSIDE. Symbolically often refers to societal issues.

What is a regional writer?
• A regional writer chooses to set all of his/her stories in one general place or time period. This place usually reflects how the author grew up.

Regional writers include:
• William Faulkner
• Stephen King
• H.P. Lovecraft
• Flannery O’Connor
• Bharakti Mukerjee
• Eudora Welty

Function of Setting:

1. Setting as Antagonist.
• Settings can cause problems/conflict for characters
2. Setting as reflection of mindset or ideology of one of your characters (often your protagonist)
3. Setting as character portrait
• Settings reflect or contrast character’s wants/desires, goals
4. Setting as quality of narrative vision
• Setting establishes trust between storyteller and audience
• Description of setting helps reader visualize the fictional world
5. Setting as reflection of theme or idea
6. Setting as reflection of conflict
7. Setting as mood or atmosphere
8. Setting as foreshadowing of plot
9. Setting as beginning and ending (establishing and closing shot…or frame)

Candi Topps- Charecter Brainstorm

Name and age?
Candi Topps, age 13
Nickname? Who gave it?
Candy Cane, is her nickname given to her by the creepy elderly man who lives next door to her. She cannot be rude to him, because her single mom will ground her if she hears her disrespect to the man. If he was a young boy, however, she would be able to tell him off.
What is most noticeable about your character’s appearance/physical presence? How does he or she feel about it?
Candi is very unique looking, she has large deer caught in headlight, like eyes, that turn upward. She is native American as well, with short hard to tame hair. Her eyes are also a green apple color, which is offset by her russet skin. She is small and delicate, vary bony because she doesn't like eating, but playing outdoors. But even though she seems very fragile and tiny, she is extremely clumsy.

Describe his or her voice, verbal ticks, pet phrases etc.
She has a loud voice, that is very dramatic. She tries to learn street lingo from the older boys, whom she always trys to hang around, because she wants "street cred." So her speech often includes, cheesy over the top lingo.
Describe a gesture your character makes.
She uses her hands to talk a lot. And the one finger salute.

Where does he or she now live? Describe the city, town or village, the house itself. Be very specific. It doesn’t have to be in Canada. Any feelings about this place? She lives in westampton NJ, on an Indian reservation.
Has s/he lived elsewhere? What does s/he remember of these places?
she has lived in other places on the reservation, like apartments, but now she lives in her first house.

What part of her home is her favourite? Least favourite? Why. Describe, using specific details. Her favorite part is the attic, because of the secret crawl spaces, old belongings from the previous owners and because she can paint on the walls and be alone. Her least favorite is the Kitchen, because it reminds her of the times her parents fought in the kitchen, and the fact that she doesn't like food, which is a repressed habit from her unhappiness associated with the eating place. What does your character’s bedroom/sleeping place look like? (lots of detail please) It has pink wall paper that peels at places, stuffed animals on the floor, unmade single bed, a stained rug and a small plastic dresser and free standing closet.
What does he or she wear to sleep in?
She sleeps in a over sized shirt her mom got her from Florida when the visited family down there

What does your character dream of at night?
a strange world and a boy named Ranks of Glory, who she roams the mysterious dream world with. She wishes it was real.

Who are/were her parents? Rest of family? What does she feel for them?
Her father is dead, from lung cancer, and her mother is a single mom that takes care of her. She loves her mother very much, she actually, surprisingly understands how much her mom sacra fices for her.
Class, ethnic group, religious background?
She is lower middle class, is native American, and is not religious at all.
Who does s/he love, or has s/he loved? Or what. Detail.
Ranks of Glory, her mom, Frankie, and Chirsty.
Who loves him or her?
Ranks of glory? Chirsty, her mom. Frankie.
Married/ in relationship/single? Give names and specifics.
in a relationship with her neighbor derrick, who she doesn't really like. She just wanted a boyfriend like Chirsty has.
How does your character feel about sex/intimacy? What sexual relationship(s) is he or she involved in?
She was raped once by a local gang, but was saved from death by the older boys and there gang, who killed the gang's leader. She has had sex once with Frankie, who loves her but he feels guilty about his feelings, so he pretends to not love her.

Exactly what does your character do to make a living (or in the case of a child, what do his/ her parents do; or in the case of independent wealth, how does he or she pass the time?)? How much does s/he earn? Feelings about work? What is the best part of the job, the worst?
Her Mom is a cleaning lady at the local hospital.
Who or what does/he fear?
She makes everyone believe she is tough as nails and is afraid of nothing. But she is actually afraid of how people perceive her.

What about his or her life would he or she change if s/he could?
All of it. If it were up to her she'd live with ranks of glory in oracle.

Does the character have a hobby? Secret passion? (Can be something ordinary like soccer playing or yoga classes or mountain biking or sewing or fixing up old trucks - or an unusual interest like some Greek poet from the third century, or collecting spiders, or walking the tightrope…
She likes knitting, music, keytar, and cheerleading.

What would be his or her favourite smell ( why)?
Chanel no.5 perfume. It was once worn by her mother, when her father bought her a bottle, her only nice thing, for mother's day. Candi wanted to smell nice, so she tried putting some on but accidentally dropped and smashed the bottle.

What kind of shoes does he or she wear, (e.g. furry slippers or gumboot or trainers… new or old, style, what colour, fitting properly or too tight or too loose, nice and clean or old and smelly)? Describe exactly.

Nike High-tops. 

Favourite meal? Attitude to food?
HATES FOOD.

Favourite clothes?
anything bright and hip. and studded belts.
What is the worst thing that could happen to him or her right now?
That she could breakdown and cry.
What vehicles does your character use/own? (for example: bike, skateboard, truck, yacht, stroller, canoe, spaceship, battered pickup, etc.. please be as exact as possible). What are his/her feelings towards it/them. What kind of journeys does he or she make?
She owns a bike, that she rides around town.
What is his or her most treasured possession?
Her old rotary phone.
What illnesses has he or she suffered, if any?
a cold.

What’s his/her philosophy of life? For example’ You’ve got to look after Number 1’ or ‘Never say die’ or ‘Don’t ask for reasons.” What are his or her most strongly held beliefs? never forgive, never forget,or, live everyday like its your last.

What does he or she feel guilty about?
trying to fit in.
Biggest mistake ever made?
Having sex.

Best thing he/she ever did?

winning the national spelling bee. 

What, right now, does your character want most of all? His or her deepest desire – a glass of water, to get out of her marriage, a new pair of shoes, peace and quiet…

To runaway with ranks into the dream world. 

Trista

Trista lives in the house next door to us. late at night she walks through the street to the CVS at the corner of Popular street and Jefferson. I know this because the air is thin and our walls are thinner.

I part the blinds with my pointer finger and thumb. She's carrying a Jug of Lemonade some nights. other nights cigarettes, and most often a few beers. Using Her older sister's ID. I have never met Trista, but I feel like I have known her all my life. She's sixteen, and beautiful. Her long blond hair is past her shoulders and straight. She always wears eyeliner and black mascara. She has Coral lips that are as thick as her voice which has turned melancholy from her time alone. Because of her complicatedly beautiful face, she has no need to wear exquisite clothing. She cannot afford it anyway. She wears long White shirts that look like men's. And some simple tights underneath. Sometimes she dresses up for the walks to CVS and wears these fire engine red stilettos that look dangerous. I want them. She's always alone, because she left Chicago once and got married. Her husband is rarely home. He's older. maybe twenty. He works away from home, and comes home tired and mean. His work killing him. When he's home Trista never leaves. Sometimes she gets the mail, but I never see her wear red stilettos when he's home. When he goes out and comes home drunk and loud, I get scared and shut the blinds quickly. only listening to there fights. Not looking into there Kitchen which has a light on all the time. I hear screams. They crack and break at points. Dishes strewn against walls. And When he leaves, she walks to the store with a cast or bandages. Still smiling.

The shouts still linger in the hollows of my ear, "give me a child!"

When Trista's Sister visits, her stomach fat with maternal bliss, they talk about hope. They talk about dreams. About things they wish would happen.

one day while I was raking leaves i hear them talking, "I wish, that while he's out I might get a job. Maybe in a department store, at the perfume counters. I might meet someone."

Her Sister laughs loudly, "Why don't you then? You can meet anyone anywhere. But not cooked up inside a house."

then Trista sighs, "I could find some sweet guy. I wont care if he's fat or has back hair. Just that he's sweet. And he'd take me away from here. He won't care if I'm damaged goods. We'll have a big house with beautiful things in it, and two cars."

Her sister grunts at this, "If you find a man like that, make sure he has a brother."

They laugh, out of synchronization. Her sisters laugh loud and hefty like garbage bins being pulled across gravel driveways to the curb. Trista's Laugh is like the tinkling of bells, or a watering can.

When Trista's alone, she sits on the porch, lighting up a back of Newport's. She sings loudly to herself, a song which I had heard once on the radio stations that play old songs. I can't remember what song exactly, but some lyrics were, it's so easy to fall in love, oh its so easy to fall in love.

This was the time I could see her best.

She's waiting. For someone to pass by, to talk to someone other than her sister and husband. Someone to relate to?

I consider walking over there. Young dumb boys in my neighborhood, pass by there jeans hanging low, whistling at her. She smiles and waves. Sometimes they stop and she goes inside with them. They don't leave for an hour or so. But then when they come back she tells them to leave and not come back. So many,

baby I love you or

I don't want anyone else other than you

but as much as we all know she wants them to stay and shelter her, she cant let him. She knows her husband won't stop to look in their eyes when he has a gun to their head.

The last Sunday of summer, I was reading a book in my room, just relaxing like every Sunday. I heard our front door creek open and slam shut slowly. Again, I sat up and peered through the blinds.

My mother was at Trista's house. My curiosity was to strong and I hopped down the stairs onto the porch to watch at a better place. Trista was inside her car bending on her arm out the window talking to my mom. A trailer that sat, all broken down in her yard was now hitched to the back, and i could see through her kitchen window, that the house was empty. My mother must have known something was going on.

"Are you leaving Trista?"

Trista smiled her crimson lips blending into the summer sunset.

"Yeah, I'm headed to new york city. Ron has a better job down there."

Ron. That must be her husband's name. It seemed to me my mother new quite a bit more than i did about Trista.

"Well, good luck. You've been a nice neighbor."

strangely enough, my mother said it sincerely. Even though Trista and her husband were loud and boisterous, a nuisance to the neighbor hood. I suppose it wasn't her fault he hurt her. But, what else was my mother supposed to say. We weren't close neighbors, and this trashy neighbor hood, and the people living here hardly deserved those words.

"Thanks" She waved goodbye and drove off into the line of buildings, graffiti and red sky.

That neighbor, is the one i wonder about most, because, her mystery is dark and uncanny. I lay in bed imagining her in a big house with a large and happy family. The husband, looking at her face always. smiling lovingly into her face like the sun. The type my mother watches in Saturday afternoon soap operas. The type that never have existed here on my street. But the biggest reason I think about her is because, as she drove off passing by me, just as my mother walked inside the house, calling after me, to not be alone outside was, she pulled her sunglasses slightly down her nose, winked at me and said like a whisper, and like she was kissing the air,

"I'll miss you, watcher."

That made me blush and like frozen peas, trudge up the stairs. And then like so many times, when something unusual happens to people, they think about what they should have done or said. I should have said,

"I'm here for you."

or even goodbye.

I can still see her dancing around the avenue, waving at people. Waiting for the sun to rise,for all the pearls of planets to drop onto the ground, waiting to make a car stop, waiting for her dreams to come true. Part of me think, she ran away. That she wasn't going to be with her husband in new york. I wish she might turn around her car a drive the opposite direction, if she means to be with him. Drive far, far away from my neighborhood, far from him, and just stop when she reaches an end to anything. instead of waiting for someone to take her there.

she was waiting for her life to change.

Story draft 3#

It had been years, it seemed, since the sun shone like this. The sunny weather had drawn many out of dark places, to frolic by the lake. I had been the only one who had objected. I was new here and the only thing i wanted to do was read inside. Away from the brightness and noise. But of course, my one and only friend Vanessa convinced me it was now or never to get a tan. And I really needed it. She also mentioned all the other sophomores who might be there, but i don't consider that a factor to make me want to go by the lake.
And now here i was, with my unusually bronzed skin in a borrowed swimsuit. where I'm from Swimsuits are not needed. Living In Alaska for all sixteen years of my life had drastically altered my outlook on sunny weather. I was wearing a sparkly canary yellow strapless bikini. And I was feeling a little to porn star for the beach. Vanessa wore a bright pink and black monokini with leopard print on it. We were getting many stares. Especially me, I was new, and people were used to Vanessa and here bleach blond hair, tan skin and bright colored clothes. Seeing a half Italian, half puertorican girl next to her was something new to this small town. Vanessa and i lay side by side on my coca cola Holiday towel, part of our bodies sliding off the edges. She wore large round Chanel sunglasses, while i boasted classic ray bans. A few boys who were playing Frisbee by the shore. They seemed roughly our age, maybe a year older. The all wore surf shorts, and aviators, most of them had shaggy hair and were nicly buff and the sun had tanned many on the ridges of their abbs. I noticed Vanessa staring relentlessly and slightly smirking. All of them seemed like the same to me, but out of the corner of my eye one cuaght my eye. He was slimmer than the rest had shorter black hair, and seemed slightly indifferent than the usual white boys there. He had a ciggerette dangeling from the side of his mouth and i never saw him smile. Vanessa seemed to be watching him the most, running her eyes up and down him. I swear if she were a guy, everyone would call her a perv. There Frisbee had drifted beyond there reach and landed on my flat stomach as i lay day dreaming. I blushed at the sudden attention to my body. and to me. Vanessa was pleased at the excuse for the guys to come stumbling over to interact with us. All the guys were familiar with Vanessa, but only one was remotely friends with her. I lifted the Frisbee off my stomach pulled myself up to our visitors and handed it to them, As the guys saw me closer, they exchanged glances and I heard I chorus of "woahs"
"Vanessa, who's your friend?" The obvious leader of their group asked. This boy, was grinning ear to ear. His hair was a sandy blonde. His eyes blue green almost violet colored. He was beautiful. But Vanessa was interested in the one i had looked at.
"Danny, this is Naomi. She's new here just moved here from Alaska."
Something about the way she said Alaska made me cringe, she emphasized it while smirking.
"Hey! I'm Danny! Welcome to the best place you'll ever move to."
Then he leaned in close to my ear, " 'cause I'm here."
Vanessa smiled knowingly. The other guys all gathered around us fighting over who got to sit by me. And asked me all kinds of questions. The first one was if I had a boy friend.
No I didn't have one. I had one. My serious one. Hes back in Alaska now though. Never to see me again. I had no idea how i was fitting in here, but i was. But one guy sat silently, to the side turned toward the water, preoccupied with his thoughts. I wondered if he was really so silent. Or if it was an act he put up. Eventually Vanessa got up and sat next to him. i found this puzzling. And now alone with all these guys i got a little nervous.
before I could react to this new environment, I heard a scream that gave me chills like my whole body was freezing over. It came from Vanessa.
"What is that thing!"
Vanessa was standing up now moving slowly towards our group. The boy she sat with was in front of her acting as a shield.
At the scream many children on the beach had started screaming and tripping to get away over sand castles. I looked for what they were running from, the boys had gotten in front of all the children protecting them. We were the adults here. We were the protectors. All the adults were working so it was our job to keep an eye out for our sisters brothers, and their friends.
An suddenly from the corner of my eye bare flesh glistened in the sun, slick and smooth from water. It's legs extended long, like birch trees, and two brown yellow claw like nails dug out his paws or hands, It walked on all fours its puss like body wobbling him. All this distortment made It look in pain. My eyes met his eyes. His head was round and droopy and caked around his eyes. His round seal like eyes, were canny with sorrow and anguish. This creature was unbelievably lost and confused. As he looked back into my eyes, he paused.
He looked back and with nonchalant paces bounded towards me. I didn't react. I wasn't scared. His face was expressionless. But then, he stumbled fell to the ground. He had been hit by a large stone, and was whimpering and snorting at this blow to his head. Other children rushed over with rocks and began killing him savagely. He struggled under, and whined like a puppy. My heart melted. His eyes cringed as his flash was pulled apart. His mangled body was strewn into the now threateningly dark waves. Someone grabbed my hands and led me away. I looked back, and his now dull eyes still seemed to be searching for me.

Story day 1-october 1st 2009

It had been days, months, years since the valley had sensed her, the change, and today it had awaken to see her, and call her home.
Brooke had been staring out the window of her Uncle's sixty nine Volkswagen for a little oer ten minutes, imagining her new school, and how she could live here, in Alaska. Leaving Australia where she had lived at a boarding school, for most of her junior high life had been hard. Especially since she was leaving Sam. The boy she loved so much. It was at this end of there life together that she had realized how much she needed him. But now, she lived in America. With her Uncle.
"it was awkward enough," she thought to herself "for meeting her own uncle, on her mother's side for the first time"
She wondered if something had happened. If there were some big news about to be revealed.
It was just so random. The way he called up her school letting them know, that he'd have custody now.
According to her grandmother, who had placed her in this school, it had been her parents wish to keep her there.
That was the other thing. She had never met her parents. They died in a horrible accident when a boat sank, when she was only two. So she had very little memory of them. She remembered there faces, her mother was distinctivly beautiful, woman, hauntingly beautiful. Her eyes were a blue, and she remembered how they changed from a murky almost blue brown, or a clear tropical ocean color. He hair was brown and dripped like candle wax over her shoulders.
Her father was hideous in comparison. He was obviously plain. His mother a goddess, his father merely a servent to her.
She was starteled out of her vivid imagination by, the sound of the car going downa rocky driveway. Immediately a loud barking came from behind the house, and a mix breed, of what looked like bordercolie and german sheperd appeared, and barked dilegently tilting his head back at the car. He wagged his tail swiftly.
"wer'e here." Brooke's uncle aid lowly, looking away as he said it.
"I'll show you the place. Come on." he said sheepishly.
The house was small and had two stories. It was all brick with brown trim and a large screened in porch. Inside it was furnished mostly, with little decor on the walls. The furniture was mix-matched. The kitchen had wood paneling and many pans on the counter. It was extreemly messy. "he's lucky im living here."
Brooke thought to herself, "I'm such a neat freak."
"follow me, I'll show you your room."
They went up the creaky stairs, that were incredibly swollen and small, the house was suffocating them. They reached the hall. The wall paper peeled at the top and was tattered and white. There were darkened circles on the walls where picture frames had once been. They passed five doors in the hall and at the end they came to the one brown door in the hall, her uncle turned the knob and Brooke peered into the room, a little frightened to open it and step into it, for an odd reason. It was this escalating pain of remorse that drowned her body as she stepped into it. Even her uncle scowled as though it smelled bad. 

It was obvious, that he had made a big effort to make it modern and welcoming. It was the only room with painted walls and a new, unstained white rug. There was a large window that could be unlatched and opened so Brooke may sit on the roof. and against the wall, under it was a double bed, made up. It had two thick quilts on it and a couple fluffy fat pillows. On the walls were many photos of mexican slums, taken by her uncle the photographer. a book shelf had only two books on it. A blank worn looking book, and a dictionary. But on the bottom was a few copies of teen vogue. despite the nonchalant tone, it was really to much. 

Her uncle searched her face for a signal. A sign. An emotion. She was staring at the magazines. 

 "i got a subscription, he urged not taking his eyes of her face, still looking." 

"its like he got it because it said the word, 'teen' in it, so I must like it." she thought to herself. 

But instead of being rude, she smiled half heartedly for the effort, and said "thank you, its perfect." 

She looked around more, in the corner was a small roll top desk, with a box underneath with a typewriter leaned dramatically in it, like trash. She winced a it. 

On the desk the thing had been replaced by a dell laptop. and next to it a vase of wild flowers. 

A large over the top dresser and mirror, was in the alcove by the closet. It was alb-orate and very french looking. She walked carefully into the closet. There was remaining wall paper here..

She puled the string to turn on a single bulb, and saw tiled floor, and a few scattered wire hangers. Also in a box was a rotary phone. She looked longingly after it. There was some faint memory about it she could not figure out. This would bother her for days.