A Place Outside of Time....

 The Oregon Coast is wholly and indelibly etched in my mind. I can close my eyes and see it: I'm standing on the sidewalk near the little bridge that arches over the entrance to Depot Bay, the world's smallest harbor for ocean-going vessels. I'm staring out at the horizon, looking for whale spouts. If I look behind me, I see all the little art galleries and gift-shops across the street. If I look up and to my left, I see the whale-watching center. If I look down over the stone railing, I'll see yellow foam as seawater churns over rocks. The rocks are brown with seaweed, dotted with white barnacles. If I look out and to my right, I see a rocky brown-gray cliff topped with long light-green grass and weatherworn buildings. No matter where I turn, I see something. There are no holes in this memory. Nor are there holes in my memories of South Beach State Park, Newport's Historic Bayfront, or myriad other locations where I've spent at least one week out of almost every September in my memory.

Some places don't leave you. Not the cold, stiff, eye-stinging breeze, or the fresh salty smell of the air, or the sticky dry sand ground into your flip-flops, or the taste of saltwater after an ill-timed faceplant. You have a place in your memory that you can see without flaw. Likely you have more than one: an old house, a forest trail, a park or playground or backyard.

When you write the setting for a book, go back to your core places: the ones you will never forget no matter how many years pass. Close your eyes and walk through the house, or snowy sagebrush steppe, or wherever, and remember exactly how the railroad, or roses, or river looked. Use these places. One of my fantasy countries, Arria, is the Oregon Coast - specifically, the part of the coast where my brother and I were temporarily stranded on a large rock by a sneaker wave. Where do your memories, fantasies, and dreams take place? They may be the key to writing a good setting.