Home on the Strange

One of the choices I’m conscious of when starting a story is the setting, especially the community who lives and works in that setting, and the protagonist’s relationship to it. This is true regardless of the genre: historical, mystery, fantasy, romance and especially stories involving the paranormal. Where do non-human characters fit into a human-centered social structure? Or do they?

The current trend for all things cozy got me started on this train of thought. In case you haven’t noticed, we have cozy romances, cozy mysteries, cozy fantasies, cozy horror, cozy science fiction, and probably cozy serial killer true crime because why not? Everything else that can be bundled up in a cottagecore quilt is being tucked into the guest bedroom with a cup of hot chocolate. It’s as if the reading world opted for a collective hug.

What do I mean by cozy? Right now, readers are craving lighter fare, with more character-driven, humorous narratives and less blood and angst. The focus is on community, with a defined location (often a small town), lots of atmosphere, and a detailed backdrop that highlights who the protagonist is to the people around them. They’re part of the landscape, with a role to play and people to care for. For those craving a sense of home, this is pure catnip.

This is a far cry from the romance of the stranger who rides in, saves the day, and rides out again. The lone wolf figure comes to do a job, but leaves nothing personal behind other than maybe a pining love interest waving a hankie as the hero’s horse carries them into the sunset. This has been a predominant narrative for some time, spawning a zillion Westerns, private detectives, spies, and other action/adventure types. It’s the idolization of the individualist rather than the community. Although the better examples of this narrative will show character development, it’s not always the focus. After all, if the protagonist has an epiphany and wonders why they have commitment issues, the series would be over.

The appeal of the loner has been a puzzle to me (and I fully admit my personal tastes are showing here). Although I love a good action hero/heroine, I do have questions about a main character without a family or friend group, however irregular that might be. Did they experience a life-altering tragedy? Recently moved to another planet? Undiagnosed narcissism? Bad hygiene? They should have connections somewhere or be trying to create some. Even Dracula had his brides.

This is basic survival stuff, and connection means safety in the wild, where life is hard and humans look tasty. Which brings me back to why community matters in paranormal stories, where not everyone is human. If cozy books are at one end of the hearth and home spectrum and Mr. Lone (Were)Wolf Cowboy at the other, there is a lot of real estate in between. Not everything has to be gingham and tea—a gritty urban fantasy can have a strong sense of place and community, too.

The original Frankenstein’s monster was a wonderful illustration of how the uncanny tried to cope in our world, and how that world pushed him into the monster role. All those found family narratives—so incredibly popular in YA—exist for a reason. Misfits dream of being understood every bit as much as (or more than) the rest of the kids. The relationships we build or fail to build—frustrating, silly, joyous, or painful—ultimately define us. Our refusal to provide love and community defined Frank’s creation until it turned on its creator.

Poor monster. While I’m glad to have read the book, it made me sad. No wonder readers love to return to places and characters that lift their spirits. It’s the same for authors. I like to know that Joe is at his bar, that Lore can outfit the guest bedroom with reasonable furniture, and that Holly will pick up the phone to help with more esoteric problems. I want to know my friends are there and that their world is ultimately in balance.  Until, of course, I toss a problem their way just so things don’t get too dull. The best kind of story world is not always perfect, but it’s welcoming once you’re an insider. Even on a bad day, you have friends who have your back—even if they’re a swamp monster. And really, what more could you want?

Setting versus Worldbuilding

Consider setting versus worldbuilding. According to Novelist and screen writer Chuck Wendig, when we say worldbuilding “We’re talking about the revelation of your story world and its details through the story itself. It’s easy to think this means “setting,” but that’s way too simple — world building covers everything and anything inside that world. Money, clothing, territorial boundaries, tribal customs, building materials, imports and exports, transportation, sex, food, the various types of monkeys people possess, whether the world does or does not contain Satanic “twerking” rites.”

That means there is work to do on your story. The basic place to start is forming a clear picture of your setting. Chances are, it is a real place or it is similar to a real place that can be investigated.

Research everything.

If you’re writing about a real time and place, research the history of your setting up to the time period you’re working with. Your characters will know the history–at least the recent history–of their world, so you need to as well.

• One question you might ask is who founded your location? Why?
• Does that matter to your story (for instance, what would the old prime-time soap opera Dallas be without the oil industry)?
• Think about taking your story and putting it someplace really different.  How much of it would work? What would you have to change? What does that say about your choice of time and place?

Writers with a contemporary setting need to do as much or even more research. People live in the city you’re writing about, and they’re not a homogeneous group.

• Different parts of an existing town have different characteristics.
• Different groups of people have different hangouts, different language, different food, dress, etc.

PRO TIP: Climate is important and often a defining characteristic of a region. However, don’t assume. Most of the world thinks of Canada as snow country. Victoria, where I live,  has palm trees and rarely more than a few days of snow a year.

Story bibles

You might want to make a story bible, which is a collection of facts, documents, ideas, and everything else about your story world. This is a lifesaver if you’re doing a series.

Here are some tools:

An article on How to use Scrivener for Worldbuilding

An article on creating an old-school series bible using a binder, pens, and stuff

An amazing customizable template from Sarah Perlmutter

The type of information you collect and how you collect it will depend entirely on your story and working methods. The only important thing is that you keep the relevant information in a way you can access quickly. Start collecting information before it becomes unwieldy. The time when I normally decide I want a story bible is long past the time when it would be convenient to start one.

Other, more entertaining ways to deal with research:

• Youtube videos about places
• Blogs about visiting places
• Pinterest for pictures of places

Of course, the very best option is to visit a location. Taste the food. Smell the air. Feel the dryness or humidity, and whether the atmosphere is high and clear or soft and sea level. Look at the flowers. Fall in the mud (speaking personally). Find out what is the same and different from the place you live.