Guess where?

This is a story about a place that no longer exists.

But it did, once.

We were given the letter A, because of course they gave us the infamous scarlet letter, to remind us of who we were at our cores. Perhaps you've over-analyzed that bit. But if you wander the halls, you might hear indistinct wailing echoing from behind thick, wooden doors. Could be howls of joy, could be screams of sadness, exhaustion, and homework that can't be understood.

This is where we met. In a land of green carpet and white-washed concrete walls, of inconvenient fire drills and hidden liquor bottles.

The B for Boy land was a foreign and unreal place. Each time a door was kicked open, you heard loud rap and hip hop music, smelled dirty clothes and showers not taken, saw hallways littered with trash. It was definitely lived in. It was a place we dared not go, unless we accidentally started loving one of them.

C was for the miscreants, the odd ones out. Too old for purely gendered halls, too out of place, or just too angry to deal with people in general. It was clean. Fox News was their white noise. Every person a ghost, sleeping, at work, in class, avoiding homework. Sneaking in and out of those rooms felt natural, like we were all adults here and we could be trusted and besides the RA isn't our mom anyway.

They tore it down. We don't miss it, but we miss the memory of it.

Exercise: Setting

Guess Where?

Good worldbuilding is when the author can bring a place to life for the reader. Using your powers of description, describe (in 2-3 paragraphs) a place or setting with which you're familiar. Then show your work to somebody who knows the spot and see if they are able to guess it through your words.

Setting

Context: TJ Hammond, from Political Animals. Recovering drug addict. Attempted suicide once. Grew up in the White House. Really struggled when he came out. Gifted pianist. Also, my messy living room.

The first thing TJ noticed when he stepped into the small den was the piano. Baby grand, Kimball, natural wood color. The poor thing was left open all the time, the strings and innards coated in dust, the extreme ends of the keyboard coated in dust as well. A corner of the piano had been chipped, probably during transportation. Several music books were open on the music stand, as well as some taped-together sheet music. Something in Korean called Beautiful. A couple of old protestant hymn books. Beside them was bafflingly, a jar with moss and a plastic unicorn in it. There was more than one pianist in this house, or the pianist had very eclectic taste in music.

There was a drum kit beside the piano, the drum throne closest to the window. The drums were dusty but the heads and cymbals weren’t; someone played often. TJ had often regretted being the only musician in his family; he always made music alone.

The carpet and walls were dull beige, but the couches were red-and-green plaid. Whoever had decorated the place had acquired pieces with little thought to a decorating theme, had probably acquired the pieces used and as needed. The loveseat had a case for an electric bass spilled across it, and a couple of amps were shoved into the corner. A dusty guitar case stood against the opposite wall; it looked like it hadn’t been used in a while.

The wooden end table beside one of the couches was covered in books, pens, and a tissue box. Someone was reading a psychology journal about serial killers and suffering from a cold.

The room was decorated sparsely, two pictures hung on two of the walls, a third wall dominated by a massive circular clock that read the wrong time - someone had neglected to change it during the last time change.

The room, however, looked comfortable. Lived in. A blanket was bundled on one edge of the couch, a laptop open on the arm of the couch. A yoga mat was rolled up in the corner. TJ wondered, if he’d grown up in a house like this, small and poky and plain, but filled with music and books and softness, privacy, where he could bundle up and lose himself in what he loved, if he’d have turned out better.

Not a drug addict.

Not a coward who tried to kill himself.

Someone worth loving.

He pushed those thoughts aside, crossed the room to the piano, pulled the bench out, and leaned in, peered at the sheet music. Tested it out.

The song was beautiful indeed.

Writing Exercise: Setting

Room

Write a description of the room you are in from the point-of-view of a character in your work-in-progress. If the character is from another time or place, so much the better. What would the character notice first? What would she find odd? What would she love about the room? What would she dislike? Go beyond describing the physical space and capture her attitude about what she sees. Let her be snarky or wax poetical. Whatever captures her emotions about the space.

Establishing the background

Context: Rodney doesn't know that John's dad is a High Storm Commander in the Maelstrom (basically a high ranking officer in their city's militia) and has a lot of money

Concrit: Is this good? Like, at all?

~

John waved the scroll in front of Rodney's face in an attempt to distract him.

"Stop that. I need to concentrate."

John hopped up and took a seat on the empty part of Rodney's worktable. "You and I both know that dagger isn't for anyone in particular. Or at least anyone important. After all, you haven't hired me to be your bodyguard yet."

Rodney gritted his teeth, put his tools down and looked up at John. He was giving Rodney a smarmy look because of course he was.

"What's on the scroll?"

John shrugged. "You sure? A minute ago you weren't interested -"

"Please," Rodney snapped, his voice full of unnecessary venom, "Stop. And tell me why you're here."

Instead of giving him an answer, John handed him the scroll. Rodney unrolled the parchment and read the title of the document out loud.

"Petition to Form a Free Company..." Rodney's voice drifted away as he quickly scanned the few details John had already filled in. When he got to the bottom, he saw the fee required to submit the petition and chuckled cheerlessly.

"So much for that." He rolled the scroll back up and handed it back to John. John didn't take it, and instead just stared at him.

"What?" Rodney asked. "There's no way."

John's brow furrowed. "What do you mean there's no way? Of course there's a way. We get two more signatures, I think we can easily convince Teyla and Ronon -"

"I don't mean finding two more people to sign the petition! I'm talking about the money, John!"

A few people turned their heads toward the commotion inside the Blacksmith's Guild. Rodney cleared his throat and lowered his voice.

"I'm good at what I do, but there is no way that I can come up with fifteen thousand gil. That's ludicrous. I can barely pay you to be my bodyguard."

John frowned. "I can get the money."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "How? The fishing in La Noscea can't be that good."

John hopped down from Rodney's worktable and dusted himself off. He turned back toward Rodney, a grim look on his face.

"I want to show you something."

Rodney motioned towards the unfinished dagger in front of him. "I can't, I need to finish this -"

"Please," John said, his voice barely audible.

Rodney blinked at John's sudden show of sincerity. He stood up from the table and put his supplies away, eyeing his fellow blacksmiths with a cold look, as if daring them to go rooting about in his things. He motioned for John to lead the way and John did so silently.

The cool night air felt good on Rodney's face as the two of them stepped outside. John still hadn't said anything more, but he started walking across the bridge toward the Aftcastle, so Rodney followed. They crossed the courtyard until John suddenly stopped short in front of Maelstrom Command, the beating heart of Limsa Lominsa's Grand Company.

John stood in front of the bridge leading toward the Maelstrom's open gate, but didn't take another step. Rodney stood next to him, unsure of what was happening. John had never mentioned anything about the Maelstrom before.

John pointed toward a large bulletin board off to the side that was covered with morale-boosting posters, encouraging citizens of all Eorzea to pledge their allegiance to the Maelstrom.

"On that board, you'll find a list of all the high-ranking officers in the Maelstrom. I want you to go look at the Storm Commanders list and tell me if you see anything interesting."

Rodney raised an eyebrow, giving John an incredulous look. "Me? Why can't we both go look? Why can't you just tell me -"

"Just go look. And meet me at the Aftcastle's Aetheryte over there when you're done."

John walked away before Rodney could argue any further.

"This is ridiculous," Rodney muttered to himself. He rolled his shoulders back, straightened his spine, and crossed the bridge toward the Maelstrom headquarters.

"I'm not interested I'm not interested I'm not interested," Rodney whispered to himself as he approached the board, anxious that a Maelstrom underling would try to offer him a sales pitch on joining up. He found the list of high-ranking officers, saw Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn's name at the top of the list. He glanced through the long list of names until he found the Storm Commanders.

He didn't have to look much longer. His name was at the top of the list.

Patrick Sheppard. Storm Commander and father of John Sheppard.

Rodney turned away, saw John standing in the blue glow of the Aetheryte. Rodney walked back toward John and stood at his side, saying nothing. After a few minutes, John tugged on Rodney's sleeve.

"I tell a better story when I'm fishing. Come on." He grabbed Rodney's hand and they both touched the Aetheryte to teleport them to Fisherman's Bottom.

~

John cast his line into the water. Rodney looked out to the horizon, smelled the salty air, and wondered just how much John was about to tell him.

He wouldn't admit it, but Rodney wanted to know everything there was to know.

"I joined the Maelstrom as soon as they'd take me. I knew it was what Dad wanted, especially after my brother ran off to the Garlean Empire."

Rodney's eyes widened at that detail, but didn't want to interrupt. John sighed, reeled in a little, and continued.

"I climbed up the ranks. Made it all the way up to Storm Sergeant First Class. Dad was grooming me to be an officer but...I didn't want it. I wanted my life to be more than just following Merlwyb's lead. So I quit. And instead of running off and joining up with someone else's cause, I stayed here. Took odd jobs. Joined the Fishermen's Guild. That really pissed the old man off. One son a traitor, and one son a lowly adventurer."

Rodney took a deep breath. John still hadn't gotten to the matter at hand.

"So what does this have to do with the free company petition? The money?"

"Oh, got a bite!" John jumped up and started reeling in his line, fighting against what turned out to be nothing but a Lominsan anchovy.

Rodney laughed out loud, and kept laughing as John put away his fishing supplies, tossing the anchovy back into the sea.

"I'd like to see you do better."

"Hey, I make swords for a living."

John smiled. "Is that all you want to do? Make weapons?" John cocked his head to side, giving Rodney a knowing stare.

Rodney shook his head. "No. It's not."

John took the free company petition back out of his bag and handed it to Rodney. "Then sign. And we'll go to Ul'dah."

"But the money -"

John put his forefinger to Rodney's lips to hush him. "I can get the money. My dad will gladly pay fifteen thousand gil to get me out of Limsa Lominsa for good. Or, at least for a while."

Rodney took a quill out of his bag and signed the petition, handed it back to John. John nodded, stood up, and started walking back down the dock with bag in hand.

"John?" Rodney called to him, watching him go.

"Yeah?"

"Why me?"

John grinned. "Because you were born to do magic."

Writing Exercise: Setting

Establishing The Background

Think of some information your readers will need to learn to understand the story. This could be technical information or character backstory. Now write an argument between two characters in which you use conflict to share this information.