Bob’s Guide to Writing SGF Part 1: Setting
Guide for Writers
WRITERS GUIDE
Bob’s Guide to Writing SGF Part 1: Setting
This is the first in a six part series I’m penning to talk about how to better write Southern Gothic Fantasy.
There is arguably no more important element of Southern Gothic literature than the setting. Take the same story and put it in Ireland, and it’s no longer Southern Gothic. It might be Gothic, but it damn sure won’t be Southern. That being the case, I figured that was the best place to start. You get the setting right, and folks might hate your plot, but they will at least leave reviews saying things like ‘I swear it’s like the town I grew up in.’
The South Is Not A Monolith
Those who live here know, but for those of you blessed to live in places where the air isn’t best described as ‘soup-like with humidity,’ it’s important to know that the South is incredibly varied. The swamps of Louisiana might share some commonalities with the Okefenokee in Florida, but it’s wildly different from the mountains of north Georgia or a pine plantation in Alabama.
While taking a trip to visit the place you are intending to set your story in would of course be best, that’s often beyond the budget of aspiring authors. But thanks to the wonders of the internet you can do all sorts of research. Check out sites like travel blogs or go to Google street view. But understand that if you want to set your story in a crumbling plantation home up in the Smoky Mountains, that mountains don’t frequently feature plantations, the soil is too poor. And if you want to have your story feature a mine, that south Alabama won’t work because everything south of I-85 is basically a swamp if you dig any distance.
Rot, Ruin, and Decay
A large part of what makes Southern Gothic is the sense of ruin. Homes are falling apart, trucks are rusted, tractors are broken down, the works. If every scene features beautiful trees and tidy rows of cotton, if every setting is a little slice of neatly curated suburbia, then you’re missing the mark. You got to throw a little grit on there.
Here are some elements to consider playing around with:
Kudzu. It’s everywhere (sorta), and does a wonderful job of blanketing over abandoned homes and cars.
Humidity. You know what damp air leads to? Rust. Mold.
Pine trees. They grow relatively fast, and blanket the ground in plain brown needles.
Crepe Myrtles. Pretty? Sure. But damn they grow quick, and will grow up in the most awkward of places. Got a gaping hole in a roof? Could be a crepe myrtle grows up to fill it. Maybe it’s grown up through the engine of a long dead tractor?
Spanish moss. Iconic, sure. Also frequently full of chiggers. It’ll also clog up spaces after storms, a sort of deep south tumbleweed.
Swollen wood. That humidity gets into the wood, and now all your doors are sticking shut.
I will note that these items of decay and ruin work best when contrasted against something that is decidedly not. Having a shiny new car in the yard will make the rusted screen door hanging off one hinge decidedly more ominous. Showing what's maintained versus what isn’t will show the reader where priorities lie from your characters in subtle ways.
An Example of How Bob’s Done This:
In my Redemption of Howard Marsh series what my redneck wizard tends to notice is generally a reflection of his mental state. When he’s depressed he focuses on the decaying buildings and pine plantations (which he hates the look of). If he’s in a good mood he will take more note of the natural beauty of the Alabama backwoods.
Beyond Sight
You have a lot more senses than sight. There are a host of sensory details that you need to be working in to help really paint the picture in your reader's mind. To that end, here are some example details to get you started:
Smells
Bradford pear trees. They stink when they flower, badly. Plus they are invasive, so to hell with ‘em.
Farming. The smell of a chicken house or hog farm. The scent of manure getting spread over a garden patch.
Creosote. The oily, tar like smell that comes off old posts soaked in the stuff as a preservative.
Sounds
Cicadas. If you’ve never had the pleasure, these insects can drive you to distraction fairly easily.
Vehicles. The distant sound of a car coming up a dirt road. The distant roar of a dirt track race. The too loud exhaust of some teen who’s sunk way too much money into his truck.
The scrape of rust. Screen doors with rusty hinges closing. A hand running across a bit of rusted metal.
Whippoorwills at night. They are haunting.
AC units. The hum and rattle of an old unit in a window.
Pops and groans. As buildings heat up and cool down, that swing can be dramatic. Tin will pop.
Feels
Breeze. Even a little breeze stirring the air can be a god send when it’s 100 degrees out.
Dust. Walk along a dirt road for a spell, and you’ll get this very fine layer of dust on you.
Red clay. It’s slick as hell when it gets wet (and is going to stain everything).
Tastes
Well water. The water won’t taste like city tap, that’s for sure. It could have a sulfur tinge, or iron.
BBQ. It’s the best in the world. But also very, very regional. Don’t expect some backwoods bbq shack in Tennessee to be doing brisket. In Alabama you might get served white sauce with your chicken.
An Example of How Bob’s Done This:
Howard Marsh, as a struggling meth addict, does not have a vehicle of his own (or a license). As such he is often left borrowing cars. No one loans a good car to a known thief, and as such they frequently have terrible shocks and struts. Ever driven down a dirt road in a car with bad shocks? It’s a special form of hell.
The Effect on Character
If done well, your setting will become one of your main characters. But it should also be shaping your actual characters, for good or ill, in the readers mind.
If your protagonist is from the area, then they will be well versed in how to adapt to the little sensory hurdles you throw their way. A rusty screen door might not be unnerving, it could remind them of summers spent at their grandparents house. They won’t be turned off by that iron rich taste of the water, which makes the sweet tea taste a little odd, they’ll love it.
Conversely, all these same notes could serve to build tension in an outsider. That screen door slamming shut on a too tight spring could startle them. That iron in the water could make them think of blood. They will likely be uncomfortable in the heat (we all are, trust), but won’t be able to handle it like a local. They’ll feel drained after a morning spent walking around, and caught totally unprepared for a late summer afternoon thunderstorm.
How do you know if that rusted tractor in the yard is the product of a man who thinks it a yard ornament, or a sign of a family who’s essentially just given up on keeping ahead of the rot? Do they see kudzu as beautiful, or do they think about how many snakes are probably lying amongst the vines.
An Example of How Bob’s Done This:
I wrote a scene with kudzu in it that was just like what I talk about above: my redneck wizard has to traipse into a kudzu patch to examine a car that has been totally covered by the vines. During the scene I made it clear that he understood the reality of the plant, how it could easily hide holes and ditches, was a home to snakes, that sort of stuff.
The Fantastical
But here we don’t just talk Southern Gothic, we also talk Fantasy. And your setting can absolutely showcase those elements. But don’t be afraid to throw a more southern spin on it. A fairy ring of devil’s walking sticks instead of mushrooms is a totally different vibe.
Often the fantastical will run counter to the ruin. As I said earlier, the decay works best when in contrast to something not in ruin. But what if the reason that item stands out is because it’s improbable. Imagine:
A stark white suit on a tent revivalist that somehow doesn't have a speck of red clay on it, despite him walking across the mud-slicked parking area.
An old woman walking by who doesn't have a drop of sweat on them, despite the heat index being triple digits.
One window on a collapsed house in pristine condition, that the kudzu grows around instead of over.
Done well, these little hints will help thread the magical world seamlessly into your setting. You likely don’t want to beat your reader over the head with magic, not from the first chapter, and a gradual reveal with artfully dropped leads will have a strong impact.
An Example of How Bob’s Done This:
At one point Howard Marsh is tasked with figuring out why it hasn’t rained in a particular area for some months. As he’s passing through the area he encounters all the usual signs of drought. But as he keeps hunting, he stumbles upon one particular area where the grass is still green, and the large garden plot on the hillside is still vibrant. It stands out enough that he knows something is up, so he stops to investigate.
Writing Prompts for Practice:
Write a scene where your character visits the home of their great grandparents that has been left abandoned since they passed away ten years ago. Make sure to work in at least three senses into the scene.
Write a scene visiting an old church up in a Tennessee holler. Make it so that one of the details hints at the supernatural. For extra points, make it so that the hint isn’t a visual clue, use a different sense than sight to showcase it.
Write three paragraph long descriptions of a mobile home that has gone to rot. It’s the exact same trailer in each scene, but have it set in three different locations: a Mississippi Delta swamp, a Blue Ridge Mountains forest, and along a dirt road in the Panhandle of Florida just shy of the Alabama line.