Describing settings

Learning to describe things! … in trying not to overwhelm my readers with too much information because worldbuilding, I’ve been giving way too little re: scene setting.

–LN

Looks like I have a bunch of questions, which is great—it means I don’t have to think up as many new topics for posts. I’m going to take them in order this time, and the first one is the above bit on scene-setting.

I’m going to start with the claim that how much you do after the minimum necessary (which is “enough description so that things are clear to the reader”) is mostly a matter of personal taste. The currently-popular warnings about “not overwhelming readers” only apply if what you’re doing slows the story down and/or gets boring. And it is usually much easier to cut back on worldbuilding and description than it is to put it in. So perhaps worrying less about doing too much of it up front would help.

Apart from that, the first question I would ask a writer with this sort of difficulty is: What viewpoint are you using? And if you’re using anything other than omniscient or camera-eye, who is the viewpoint character in this scene?

Because in any viewpoint, it’s the viewpoint character whose eyes the reader sees through. (In omniscient, that’s the invisible omniscient narrator who knows all, and in camera-eye, it’s the invisible camera lens. See Viewpoint Basics.) Scene-setting is thus part physical description and part characterization of the viewpoint character. A writer who is having a lot of trouble with the physical setting description may find it simpler to focus on the characterization part.

The second question is: What is the specific place/time in which this scene happens? (A bar at closing, a clearing in the woods in early morning, a spaceship control room in the middle of the work day.) How familiar is your viewpoint character with this place and time? For example: George spends most of his evenings in the Roaring Lion pub, but he’s never been there at 10 a.m.; he knows the bartender and most of the regulars, but he’s never met the owner or the day staff. (And has the reader “been here” before? If they have, you don’t need much beyond reminders of what it all looks like and/or what’s changed.)

The third question is: How does the scene open? Meaning, is the viewpoint character walking into a familiar/unfamiliar place full of people they already know/have never met? Or does the scene open in the middle of a conversation/fight/chase/tea party? This tells you how much room you have at the start of the scene for set-up, vs. how much

Since people notice and remember things that are unusual, the final question I always ask is: What is the one thing that, if I saw it, would let me know I was in the right place (or talking to the right person)? Saying “They sat down at a table in the bar” conjures up a generic bar. Saying “They sat down in the bar, at the table under the stuffed manticore’s head” doesn’t, even though there’s only the one added detail.

Characters are people. People tend to notice—and react to—specific categories of things/people: 1) Obvious threats and things that might be threats because they are unusual or unexpected; 2) Status markers (which vary depending on culture, but frequently include fashion, hair, weapons, and/or conspicuous consumption); 4) Changes in familiar places/people; 5) Patterns; 6) Things that are relevant to them in some way.

When a character enters a new place for the first time, those are the things they will automatically register. Noticing threats is hard-wired—we are the descendants of people who noticed the tiger in the bushes before it ate them. Noticing status markers is a close second—high-status people can be serious threats, or they can be a major help, if one is on their good side.

So a character entering an unfamiliar place or meeting a new person is going to notice things about that place and those people, and they’re going to react to the things they notice. They’re going to be irritated by this character neglecting to properly acknowledge the guards (the mark of a jumped-up social climber!), or by the fact that the castle steward hasn’t replaced the lilies that stand for the goddess of spring with the roses for the god of summer, even though it’s nearly a week past the summer solstice. They’re going to be impressed by the stonework or the tapestries (or spot every flaw in them because their cousin is a sculptor or a weaver). They’re going to be surprised or unhappy or pleased or skeptical of the status markers (clothing styles, hair styles, cloth colors/types, jewelry, henna markings, piercings, tattoos…) that other characters are showing (or not showing), and so on.

They’re also going to experience the setting as they move through it, sneezing at the scent of the lilies, tripping over an uneven paving stone, feeling too warm or too cold, having to duck under a doorway or stretch to reach something that’s too high. All of this makes it possible to provide what is, in essence, a block of description by making it read like a combination of characterization and action by giving much of the description via the viewpoint character’s emotions, reactions, and experiences:

“The door creaked open. Icaran dusted grit from his hand and suppressed a sneer. The interior of the barracks was in no better shape than the outside had been. There was barely room to move between the long rows of cots, and the place smelled of sweat and onions. Icaran squinted in the dim light. Why had the builders put arrow-slits in the barracks instead of proper windows? They weren’t even correctly spaced! He would have a thing or two to say to the Justicar when he returned from this inspection. Reluctantly, he drew his cloak close around himself to avoid brushing against the nearest cot, and stepped inside. Old rushes crunched underfoot, adding the scent of dust to the unpleasant cocktail of aromas.”

It needn’t take a lot of words. The bare minimum is what the reader needs to know for the scene to make sense. If the reader has the impression the scene is happening in a woodland grove, and at the very end someone pops into a closet to hide, there’s a problem.