When the story begins, where are your characters?

Jennifer entered Mr. Hostler’s home, finding herself in an empty white room.

“Where’s your furniture?” she asked.

Mr. Hostler cocked a brow. “You don’t need chairs to talk, Ms. Trent.”

White Room Syndrome is an ominous name for a common problem in prose writing: the characters are acting, talking, and moving the story forward, but all in a scene that hasn’t been set through description. They’re in an empty white void. Despite the name, a literal white room is not required.

Chances are good you’ve seen White Room Syndrome at some point in your own writing, where an old friend’s attic, the car of a speeding train, or even the great outdoors aren’t described to the reader beyond those broad descriptions.

So, how do you paint a scene? Well, you can’t include every single detail about the locations your characters go to, not without sacrificing any hope of good pacing – or readers finishing your book. So, I’m going to go over five critical lenses you can use to figure out which aspects of a setting are most valuable to the story: The lenses of clarity, character, tone, imagination, and pacing.

First, the lens of clarity; you must construct the world to seem cohesive.

“Then where am I supposed to put this?” Jennifer demanded, shaking her sodden umbrella.

Mr. Hostler took it from her. “First, you ought to close it. You certainly don’t need any more bad luck. And, where else would it go?” He set it carefully in the umbrella stand.

“Hey! Where did that come from–”

“Why, it’s always been there. We live in a rainy city after all,” Mr. Hostler said.

Without a scene set in your reader’s mind, the actions of your characters will be harder to imagine, and immersion will suffer. Description bears much of the responsibility for maintaining continuity in your story, both at a small scale and a large one.

Focus on the specifics of your setting.

If your story is set in a desert town, then perhaps a room is filled with the hum of air conditioning, while sunlight bathes everything near the windows.

These small details will become part of your readers’ gestalt image of this town and its environment. So, rather than having a character comment on the heat of their city, you can simply let the dry stretch of sand, pitcher of ice water on the table, or faint smell of sweat comment on it instead. What an average person’s house looks, sounds, and smells like can tell you a lot about a town, from weather to economics to culture.

On the smaller scale, try to describe important details for the actions of the coming scene.

If someone is going to lunge across their desk, then take a moment to describe that desk as the scene opens on the room around it. What’s going to fall and clatter to the floor? If one of your characters is worn down after a long day of work, about to have an argument with their inconsiderate partner, you might describe the car in the driveway that one of them will later angrily drive off in. Remember the principle of setup and payoff: willing suspension of disbelief thrives when important details are established before they come into action.

Not all details should be practical building blocks for the beats of a scene. As much as they can reveal the world itself, so can they reveal the people within it.

Consider next the lens of character

A description of a woman with butterflies in her stomach, of possibility in a beautiful world:

Pink crocuses beckon to the first rays of sunlight, eager on the riverbank. Marie’s fingers explored the spirals and stripes of the railing. To where did they all lead? On the far end of the bridge, a wooden board creaked faintly beneath Rona’s familiar blue boots as she stopped a few feet away. She seemed to belong on the bridge’s rising arch. Cool, piney air filled Marie’s chest.

A description of a woman who’s probably going to go missing in about two pages:

Dark green roots slithered out from the riverbank, disappearing beneath murk and silt. Marie’s every step was interrogated by the stark light of dawn. She traced the spirals of the wooden railing, but her fingers never quite escaped the splintery prodding of their coils. A sharp whine cut through the air, and Marie’s eyes darted up to find Rona, standing not but a few feet from her. Those heavy boots, sagging jacket, and long, flat hair all seemed to whisper that only a few old planks separated Marie from the sinking grip of the river.

Because of the tone set by these descriptions, the conversation between these characters will have a strong foundation, with words that would otherwise mean very little now being heavy with implication (for better or for worse). Choose those details which tighten tension and keep your readers excited to see how this scene plays out.

This is a great time to employ sensory description beyond sight and sound. Yeasty baking bread, the calloused fingers of mountain wind on exposed skin, a disappointingly-unsweet taste of fresh cherry sap – details like these put your readers into the bodies of your characters, a powerful tool for establishing the emotional shade of a scene.

To spark imagination, use a lens of specificity

It’s not just a sunny day – the sun sears white even the empty sky around it. What can you describe in ten words that says a thousand about your setting? What could your character have on their desk that shows the fear seeded deep in their bones? How should the light fall in the old church, to make clear that something is very, very wrong in this town? These evocative details act as foundations, allowing readers to fill in the empty space without even realizing they’re doing it.

Give them enough of a groundwork to understand how a location feels, show them the striking details, but don’t spell out every mundane element of someone’s kitchen.

No hard and fast rules

These lenses aren’t requirements for every scene, especially as you’re drafting (consider this article by Michelle Rene on Write Fast, Edit Slow.) Lenses are useful tools for when you’re editing your work, thinking about what each line of description is supposed to do for your story.

• Does it accomplish its goal?
• Would something else be stronger in its place?
• Could combine two lines into a single, more evocative one?

If you don’t know what color to paint your white room, try these lenses, and see what they can show you about the walls of your story.

Chanticleer Editorial Services – when you are ready

Did you know that Chanticleer offers editorial services? 

We do and have been doing so since 2011.

Our professional editors are top-notch and are experts in the Chicago Manual of Style. They have and are working for the top publishing houses (TOR, McMillian, Thomas Mercer, Penguin Random House, Simon Schuster, etc.).

If you would like more information, we invite you to email Kiffer or Sharon at KBrown@ChantiReviews.com or SAnderson@ChantiReviews.com for more information, testimonials, and fees.

We work with a small number of exclusive clients who want to collaborate with our team of top-editors on an on-going basis. Contact us today!

Chanticleer Editorial Services also offers writing craft sessions and masterclasses. Sign up to find out where, when, and how sessions being held.

A great way to get started is with our manuscript evaluation service. Here are some handy links about this tried and true service: https://test.chantireviews.com/manuscript-reviews/

Thank you for reading this ENCORE  Chanticleer Writer’s Toolbox article.

Scott Taylor – Editorial Assistant

Scott has worked as a book editor since 2020, with a BA in English & Writing from The Evergreen State College.

He facilitates a small writing critique group, and serves as an editor on the biennial anthology The Writer’s Corner. Scott’s book reviews feature on the Chanticleer Book Reviews website. His own writing centers on speculative and surreal fiction, from sci-fi & fantasy to magical realism, and has been published in the HamLit literary journal.

Beyond working on novels and short stories, Scott explores other media and modes of narrative, such as playwriting, tabletop game design, and music composition. He finds moving from one medium to another offers inspiration that feeds back into his prose work.