I don't know if anyone's sat through the end credits lately, but it takes a lot of people to make a movie.
After someone writes a script, you've got a location coordinator scouting for settings, a props coordinator, a casting director, a costume department, a sound mixer, someone writing a soundtrack, a lighting supervisor, and probably someone doing all the digital wizardry that makes the whole thing look good.
As a writer, you're doing all of that for yourself. So no pressure, right?
This weekend, pick a movie (period dramas are good for this) and pick one scene to pay extra close attention to.
Take a moment to notice the location, the props, the costumes, the background sounds, the lighting, how the camera moves between speakers or participants. Even though some of these things never really make it into the scene, they help with establishing a sense of place - or give your characters something to interact with or react to.
If you were writing this scene, how might you convey some of these things to your audience?
Let me give you an example: Martin Scorsese's The Age of Innocence is one of my favorite book adaptations, and one of the things I love about it is its devotion to the lavish late nineteenth century interiors described in Edith Wharton's 1920 prizewinning novel. It also features large sections of Wharton's text in the form of a voiceover. You can watch one of those scenes online here - the famous Beaufort Ball - and then read the full text on which it's based.
(People sometimes tell me that I’m a very cinematic writer and this might be why. You have all also just learned that I have a deep tendresse for Wharton’s prose and Knickerbocker New York.)
See below cut for a list of some of my favorite movies for this exercise!
I love all of these movies and TV shows for their immersive and highly textured settings, but you can really do this with any film.
Rome
Outlaw King
Tulip Fever
The Libertine
Harlots
Master and Commander
War and Peace
Vanity Fair
Emma (2019)
Pride and Prejudice (2005)
Poldark
Jane Eyre
Far From The Madding Crowd
Little Women
Anna Karenina
The Age of Innocence
The Alienist
1917
Downton Abbey
Journey's End
Peaky Blinders
Babylon Berlin
Gosford Park
The Highwaymen
Atonement
Glow
Lord of the Rings (fantasy setting - still super textured!)
So @mercurygray had an idea for a Weekend Workshop and the whole point of it was to Set A Scene. To write a piece as if you’re watching a movie and to take the location and surroundings into account.
I really struggled with this and ended up with something that I’m convinced missed the point entirely, but I never know what I’lll end up with when I start writing anyway. In the end, this basically turned into preparation for something that I know I’ll have to write at one point in the future.
This is my location by the way.
The Fall
Waving at her brother as he drove off, she made her way up the pathway to the large building. There always seemed to be a flurry of activity near the entrance. Visitors that came to take their relatives outside to enjoy the sunshine and patients who were being discharged and sent back to the care of their families. Seeing the smiles and hugs always managed to tug at her heartstrings, because she had no idea when she’d be able to do the same thing. She took a deep breath to settle herself before passing through the entrance.
It was painfully obvious that the walls had been painted in colours that had been deemed calming. Yellow at the top. Green at the bottom. The hospital that one of her brothers had been in when he had broken his leg when they were children had seemed to operate on a similar principle, but those walls had been light blue instead of the two tones that they had gone for here. But not even the supposedly soothing colours could do anything about the hospital smell that seemed to waft through the corridors at all times. Antiseptic mixed in with the sweet smell of oranges that were delivered from the orchard nearby. The combination was so odd that it had made her nauseous on many occasions.
As soon as he was well enough, she’d take him outside, park him outside on the green grass so he could sit in the shade of a palm tree. Maybe peel one of those oranges for him that they had a surplus of in this place. First thing he had to do was wake up however and no one seemed to know with certainty when that would happen. If it would even happen at all.
The x-rays look good, they’d tell her. Everything is as it should be.
The doctors, both the older one and the young ones, kept offering her reassurances and even showed her the pictures that she couldn’t make heads nor tails of. The nurses with their sympathetic eyes. Even the young priest that seemed to pass by her husband’s bed more times than he did the others. Always lingering near his bed whenever she came round for a visit, pretending that he was there for different reasons. He was always merely checking up, keeping tabs on the patients, but that couldn’t possibly be part of his job description. Whenever she’d pull up a chair and sit down next to the bed, she’d sometimes catch him shaking his head and frowning. That couldn’t be a good sign, could it?
Talk to him, they’d say. The sound of your voice will do him good.
So she brought him newspapers yet again, the sinking of the Lusitania by a German submarine was very prominently featured today, but reading to him about the horrors that happened at sea was probably not what staff had in mind when they had told her to read to him. Maybe it would be better to read from the automobile section. She’d seen something about that racecar driver that he liked and a fire truck running 15 miles in 23 minutes when she had skimmed through it that morning. He’d probably like that a lot more than if she told him that a Vanderbilt was amongst the many people that had died when the Lusitania sank.
Making her way through the largely empty corridors, she reached the room that he shared with two other people that were absent at the moment. The older man in the second bed frequently wandered the halls and the man in the first bed had been on one of the benches with his family when she had entered here. The fact that he wasn’t around was a very comforting thought, because he spent most of his time complaining about how ill he was and that he was positive that he was dying when it was clear as day that there was nothing wrong with him. How he could even say such things when there were people in the hospital who were a lot worse off than him was simply mind boggling.
Picking up a wooden chair that stood near the door, she put it on the right side of his white iron framed bed. Always on the right side. Sitting down, her eyes briefly flickered to the 3 that was painted over his bed before gingerly running her hand down his arm and checking the bandages around his head. They had stopped coming away all bloody a few days ago, but she had never seen what kind of mess lay underneath. Shaking her head, she turned the pages until she found the right section, cleared her throat and started to read.
“There’s an article in here about Teddy Tetzlaff. You remember him, right? Terrible Teddy?” He was in that short movie that he liked, The Speed Kings, with that other racecar driver Earl Cooper. “Well, he went on a 1500 mile trip to Big Pine with his Maxwell 25 and got caught in a big blizzard…”
From the corner of her eye, she could see him shift on the bed next to her, but that wasn’t unusual in and of itself. He had remained passive during the first three days, but after that he had started to move. During one visit the muscles in his leg had spasmed so violently that she had screamed and had to be led out of the room by one of the nurses. They’d taken her into one of the quieter rooms and had called her brother to pick her up, because she was in no state to continue her visit. Not after seeing that.
The car ride back to the house that her brother occupied with his wife and their two kids was still burned into her memory. That was the first time that she had broken down over this. All that time she’d kept herself together, kept pushing herself to stay strong. Not just for herself but also for the man that lay in that bed and for the life that was growing inside her that she hadn’t even had a chance to tell him about yet. Surprise.
Her poor brother had taken the brunt of everything that had been on her mind, but hadn’t told anyone about until then. Listened to her scream about how she didn’t know what to do, how to cope with this, didn’t know what he would be like if he woke up, how broken he would be. That was the main issue. What would he be like if he ever came out of this? No one had been able to give her a definitive answer. The doctors who kept going on about those damn x-rays didn’t know jackshit about what state her husband would be in if he ever came to.
He’ll be fine. But how did they know? Just keep talking to him. But did he even hear her at all?
“They were warned to turn back, but Teddy decided to keep pushing on…”
She’d been about to quote his words directly as they had been printed in the paper, something about Teddy saying that it was the worst blizzard they had ever seen in the valley, but the words suddenly started swimming in front of her eyes. Without even realising it herself, she’d dropped the newspaper from her hands, the pages sliding down her lap and scattering on the floor. A pair of bright blue eyes that she hadn’t seen open for eight days were looking right at her and not just that, but they actually seemed to be registering her presence as well.
“Hey.” Reaching up to wipe at her eyes which were already stinging with tears, she then took his hand in hers and squeezed. “Hey, handsome.”
“C-C-Ca- Cath-” He swallowed hard, his voice hoarse and sounding like his throat was lined with sandpaper. “Ca-Cat-”
His throat needed moisture. That much was clear. Turning around, she wildly reached for the basin and pitcher that were always right there in the corner, but there was no cup that she could put the water in. Her eyes were drawn to the cup that was on the cabinet on the other side of the bed and it was almost a mad dash to get there fast enough. Her hands shook as she clutched to the ceramic cup tightly and when she was back where the pitcher was, she dropped the damn thing and it rolled under the bed. Swearing under her breath, she dropped down on her knees to pick it up when she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking back up at him, he was still trying to find words which didn’t seem to be coming.
“Oh Christ.” Her eyes darted up to the crucifix that hung on the wall and said a silent prayer for using the lord’s name like that. “You had an accident.” Where he wasn’t able to find words, she had no problems and suddenly unleashed a torrent of words on him. “You… you… it was that last job of yours. Your boss told me the scaffolding wasn’t secure, the whole thing just… collapsed. You fell and hit your head. It’s… it was bad. Probably still is, but I’m not an expert. Lord, I should get the doctor. Tell them you woke up or something.”
“R-r-re-” Again he tried to search for words which weren’t coming. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath. “Fuck.” She couldn’t help but suppress her laughter over that. Naturally that would be the word that wouldn’t cause him any problems. “Re-rel-l-ax.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Reaching for the cup, she got back to her feet and started filling it for him. “It’s just… I didn’t think you’d…”
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she held the cup to his lips and helped him drink. His right arm seemed to be fine, a bit shaky, but there was movement there as he reached for her hand to ensure that she didn’t pull the cup away before he had drained it of its contents. When she was finally allowed to pull it away, his eyes kept following her as she moved and his hand had tightened in her dress to ensure that she couldn’t get up.
“Glad you’re back.”
“C-c-co-couldn’t l-l-le-”
“I know.” He didn’t have to finish that particular sentence since it was something he regularly said. A shared joke between them. Unbeknownst to him, those words which he usually uttered without thinking about it, had turned into some kind of indication to her that maybe things weren’t as bad as she had initially thought. Maybe he would be alright. “Can I go get the doctor now?”
“N-no. S-st-stay.”
“Fine. But only for a couple of minutes, okay? They probably want to know that you’ve come round.” A brief look of annoyance crossed his features, but he kept his words to himself. Leaning into him, she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth and pressed her forehead against his temple. “I really missed you, Chuck.”
Mother's day is drawing near. Do you already have a surprise for your mom? Have y'all been celebrating at the same restaurant every year? Fret not, because this year Tiny Rabbit Hole got you covered.
Greater Amigurumi Workshop Discount if you are a mum or you bring your mum!
It’s here! The weekend is here! And so is Blind Dates!
You can read more about the original challenge (gauntlet throw? fun writing exercise? honestly at this point who knows) here on my tumblr, but the short version:
Using one of my Central Casting generators or another random generator of your choice, pick an a name, and, if desired, the backstory given, for a new character. Write a short snippet or create a drawing/sketch that introduces them to the fandom property of your choice, and establishes them as a leading person worth paying attention to. (Bonus points if they play opposite to a canon character you don’t usually write. Blind dates for the muse, remember?)
As you’re thinking or playing along, here is
Central Casting - female
Central Casting - male
A post from ao3commentoftheday that has a lot of good thoughts on original characters
A series of questions I like asking myself ask I’m thinking about a character
I feel like I should add even though it says 'challenge’ on the tin, there’s no finisher medal for this. I guess maybe there are brownie points? Mostly, it’s just to have a competition with yourself and your ability as a writer. And do something on Valentine’s Day Weekend. And have fun, right?
If you end up writing or drawing something, I’d love to see it. just @ me wherever you post it!
Putting my money where my mouth is and giving you all my attempt for this weekend’s Workshop on Scene Setting.
This weekend, pick a movie (period dramas are good for this) and pick one scene to pay extra close attention to.
Take a moment to notice the location, the props, the costumes, the background sounds, the lighting, how the camera moves between speakers or participants. Even though some of these things never really make it into the scene, they help with establishing a sense of place - or give your characters something to interact with or react to.
If you were writing this scene, how might you convey some of these things to your audience?
The movie (miniseries?) that I picked was the 2013 Bonnie and Clyde, with Holliday Grainger and Emile Hirsh as the title characters. Clyde’s family moved to West Dallas and ran a small filling station for a while - that’s the setting I’m describing here.
Her stop for today was a small service station with a swaybacked front porch, floorboards sagging under the combined weight of age and notoriety. This wasn't the kind of place built to stand up to much in the way of attention - but absolutely the kind of place you grew up trying to escape.
A passing breeze kicked up a little dust from the lane outside, stirring the long blades of grass hiding near the posts of the porch - pretty much the only movement in the place. Not a whole lot of change going on around here, she thought to herself. .
The steps creaked under her weight, shoes looking curiously new against the peeling paint of the stoop. Guess he's not much in the way of sending money home, either. Those walls haven't seen new paint since Wilson was in office.
The inside of the station wasn't much above the outside, half-cleaned windows sending yellowish light onto a counter, a cash register, a wall of fading and peeling announcements and papers. The proprietor came in from the back room, a balding man in his fifties whose shirt had seen better days. He looked her over and sniffed.
"Whatever you want, I don't have it."
"How do you know?"
"Been doing this long enough that it doesn't take a genius, miss," he said, dryly. "Folks like you don't stop in this part of town unless they're looking for the name above the door."
Ah, yes, the name - the hand-painted one next to the large enamel GULF sign: HB Barrow, proprietor.
"Now, Mr. Barrow," she started, but he cut her off mid-stream.
"I already told you, I don't have it. Your next story, or scoop, or whatever it is you newspaper types are calling it now. Now go on - I got a business to run."
"Mr. Barrow, if you would just lis-"
"Miss, I don't know you from Adam, and you could be fixing to write my boy out to be the saint I hoped I could raise, but every time one of you all show up, there's another headline and another story and another six weeks before I see my boy, and when he comes back, he's starry-eyed like being famous will actually put clothes on his back the way robbing banks is doing. I just want my boy back. And I figure the only way I'm getting him is when you all get tired of talking. So, if that means I've got to offend some of you by sending you back out to that car of yours without your headline, then that's just what I'm gonna do."
Henry Barrow was a man of little wealth and less education, but he'd obviously been working on this a while, and he gave the speech all the dignity of declaiming Shakespeare. She nodded, unsure what else one could do in the face of such refusal. "Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Barrow," she managed, fumbling with the clasp of her pocketbook and pulling forth the crisp two dollar bill she'd brought to sweeten the deal. It didn't seem like much, weighed against the speech he'd just given. Then she turned and left, feeling foolish.
She'd gotten so used to those mugshots in the paper that those faces had become all she knew about people. Hard to imagine, sometimes, that criminals had family, that they didn't just spring into being in the public imagination. Harder still to imagine that there were people out in the world who, even after all they'd done, would want them back.
Two things struck me as we entered the State Rooms to look around the public parts of Bamburgh castle. The first was that the collection of objects that were on display was vast, rich and deserving of much more attention than we would have time for. We did notice, though, a shield that bore a remarkable resemblance to the crop circle we had been looking for at Cerne Abbas…
