No Detail Too Small by Mary Dutta

Physical setting can do a lot of heavy lifting in a story. A recent trip to Pittsburgh reminded me how.

While I was in town, fellow Writers Who Kill blogger and Pittsburgh local Martha Reed and I enjoyed a visit to Clayton, the last intact mansion on the city’s once fabled Millionaire’s Row. The home of industrialist Henry Clay Frick, the 23-room chateau preserves the Gilded Age elegance of the late 1880s.

That description probably conjures a mental image for most readers, but it’s the details that make the difference. If I were writing a story set at Clayton, I would have the light reflect from the aluminum leaf decoration in the breakfast room, the height of industrial chic at the time it was installed. I would note the temperature of the water in the hydrotherapeutic sitz bath and the music emanating from the orchestrion, a huge mechanical device that simulates the sounds of nine separate orchestral instruments.

The next day, I took a trip to Fallingwater, Frank Lloyd Wright’s masterpiece of organic architecture. Naturally, as a crime fiction writer, I noticed how easy it would be to shove someone over one of the house’s many terraces and into the waterfall below. But I also thought about the hiss of steam that would escape from the fireplace’s spherical red kettle. I imagined how the cook would feel when comparing the utilitarian steel cabinets and Formica table of her kitchen workspace to the gracious living areas of the family she served. And I marveled at the view of the forest through the “invisible” corner windows lacking visible vertical support.

Identifying not just an era or an architect but the specific details of a house provides a wealth of opportunity to an author. Grounding the reader in a particular space, be it a home or anywhere else, can evoke a mood or an emotion. It can define character or advance plot. My trip to these historic homes not only stirred some story ideas, it reminded me of how to use the craft of writing to make the most of them.