By Lindsey P. Brackett
Terry Kay told me recently, at a writers’ workshop in the
Sautee Valley, that I am too young to write true southern fiction. He’s right,
of course. I didn’t live through the civil rights movement, and while I
remember when we got our first VCR, I don’t remember the year the lights came
on.
I think what he meant was the southern fiction I raised
myself on has evolved, like this region itself. This new fiction carries
Southern overtones anywhere it’s set. After all, these days are all about oxymoron.
One can love skillet cornbread on a gluten-free diet.
So what is it, exactly, that makes a setting southern? What
differentiates fiction set in the deep ravines of Mississippi or the foothills
of Appalachia from my debut fiction set in the South Carolina
Lowcountry?
And what if—heaven forbid—I put down the words bouncing
around in my head about a young mother from Atlanta who’s been transplanted to
New York? Will I still be writing southern fiction if she’s surrounded by
people who don’t eat grits?
Of course I will. Because more and more what defines our
setting, making us southern writers, is how we present a few key components.
LANGUAGE is the first cue that settles me into what I’m
reading. In The Poisonwood Bible,
there’s no doubt these girls are sweltering in the Congo, but with phrases like
“reckon so”, “ever-when”, and “mess of fish”, there’s also no doubt they came
from rural Georgia. As witnesses, we must pay homage to language of our culture
and use it appropriately. For instance, I was grown before I heard the phrase
“I s’wanee…” uttered in real life by a blue-haired woman in South Georgia. Up
north of the gnat line we flat out swear. Readers (especially regional ones)
will know where you are, and where you came from, simply by the language you
use.
LORE is another way to lend a setting specificity. My
wonderful editor, bless her heart, is Nebraskan, so she needed clarification
for why I used “haints” when referencing
the blue ceiling of a Lowcountry farmhouse. But anyone along the coast of South
Carolina knows, you paint the ceiling and porch “haint blue” out of
superstition. This is as necessary as butter on biscuits.
LEGENDS offer credibility to your setting. I grew up in the
heart of legendary Coke country where any drink, other than sweet tea, is Coke.
But my mama grew up in the Lowcountry, so she’s partial to Pepsi. In my book, I
used this regional difference to cement a subtle difference between characters.
From products to celebrities— i.e. I don’t know football but I know who
Herschel Walker is—these legends are part of your setting’s fabric. Be sure to
weave them in for authenticity.
Finally, remember setting is the background against which your
story plays out. Would your story be different if set somewhere else? The
answer might surprise you—and help you define what specific components your “Southern
setting” is missing.
Lindsey P. Brackett
once taught middle grades literature, but now she writes award winning books in
her own works in the midst of motherhood. A blogger since 2010, she has published
articles and short stories in a
variety of print and online publications including Thriving Family, Country
Extra, HomeLife, Northeast Georgia Living, Splickety Prime,
Splickety Love, and Southern Writers Magazine Best Short Fiction 2015.
Lindsey has served as Editor of
Web Content for the Splickety Publishing Group, and she writes a popular column for several North
Georgia newspapers. Still Waters,
influenced by her family ties to the South Carolina Lowcountry, is her debut
novel. A story about the power of family and forgiveness, it’s been called “a
brilliant debut” with “exquisite writing.” A Georgia native, Lindsey makes her
home—full of wet towels, lost library books, and strong coffee—at the foothills
of Appalachia with her patient husband and their four rowdy children. Connect
with her at www.lindseypbrackett.com or on Facebook: Lindsey P. Brackett, Instagram: @lindseypbrackett, or Twitter: @lindsbrac.
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