setting

Bible.org posted an article I wrote about Israel as setting based on my recent travels. You can read the article here.

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I'm speaking of New Jersey, of course, the land upon which God will model the new earth.

As much as I love this great state, I had second-guessed my decision to take my annual trip. With finances what they are (or aren't, rather), did I need this research trip? I know the area, the mindsets, the lifestyles. I know how things work.

Going was the right decision. I had been afraid about writing my next novel for multiples reasons. Those fears haven't left. But ideas begin to shout over the fears. Besides some logistics, as I walked the streets of the town, Sarah began to emerge. She told me about her childhood, where she went to school, and the beauties and pains of early marriage. She told me about the chemical spill across the street at the dry cleaners.

Now, I'm ready to tell her story.

I suppose this relates to the importance of setting. It's more than the location of the story. Setting dictates the rhythms of life. It's bound up with character. I needed to breathe Sarah's atmosphere to know her.

And I might have snuck in some fun while there, too.

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I learned something new. It should be obvious. Realizing this feels like a Homer moment (meaning "Doh!", not epic poetry, though the Odyssey has some nice ah-ha moments).

Setting in books is more than the place where the story occurs. Setting is a mindset.

You'd think this would be more apparent, especially to someone who studied ethnomusicology in undergrad and cultural anthropology in grad school.

I came to the realization simply: I gravitate toward certain books and certain authors. And almost all of these certain books and certain authors are set in (and are from) north of D.C. (and on the east coast). Makes sense. I'm from New Jersey, and though I've lived in Texas for longer than I'd care to admit, my mind works like a Jersey girl's mind.

(My sub-realization that my mind is that of a Jersey girl's: when I visit Jersey every year, the people there, granted, mostly family, but not all, get me in a way that Texans never will. Andy Crouch said in Culture Making, "Most of us have experienced being in a context where our jokes were funny, our ideas provoked interest and excitement, and we felt light and quick on our feet, able to realize our vision with little sense of friction--and then being in another context where the same jokes and ideas fell completely flat and we found ourselves tongue-tied and embarrassed." I'm funnier in NJ than I am in Dallas.)

Recently, I've read several Southern fiction books. I admire these books. They're well-written, but I don't go gaga over them like other people do. I can't relate to how these people think.

Let me quote a review of South of Broad by Pat Conroy. I have not read this book, but this line from a review captures why I feel estranged from Southern fiction.

It's possible that the sobbing and sniveling occasionally felt inauthentic to me because I am a priggish New Englander who is uncomfortable with what may be a Southern penchant for drama. (From The Washington Post's Book World/washingtonpost.com. Reviewed by Chris Bohjalian.)

In the end, Southern fiction veers on the sentimental. Odd coming from a drama-queen like myself. But as my dad always told me, "Walk it off." I'm drawn to the more subtle and no-nonsense like Russo or Tyler or Olive Kitteridge. I come from a world where sarcasm is a love language. On the east coast, we prefer neuroticism to wallowing. Think Woody Allen v. Rebecca Wells, When Harry Met Sally v. Steel Magnolias.

This explains why I can't seem to set my stories in any place but New Jersey. I've tried, but the characters don't work anywhere else. Call me a regionalist, but I'm just saying. I am what I am. When you say "the ocean," I think Atlantic (and, more specifically, picture my own Ocean City, NJ). When you ask for a Coke, I will give you the actual brand. When you call me "ma'am," I will be insulted.

So tell me: do you prefer Southern charm, west coast hang-ten, midwest helping hand, or east coast sarcasm?