Setting the Scene: A sense of place
When writing your story it is very important to set the scene. Setting the scene helps to hook people in and grab their attention. It helps if you are aware of the sort of novel/story you are going to write.
For example, Bram Stoker's Dracula was written as though it is factual because it begins as a travel log. By setting the scene in this way, what comes later is a complete surprise.
Another example is Ernest Hemingway's True At First Light. His description of the scene is very to the point, and focuses on showing the emotions of someone receiving land.
By contrast, Cormac McCarthy has a lengthy approach. He uses very long sentences in order to create a gradual build up.
Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat, Pray, Love is very short on description and is focused (for example) on her meeting of Giovanni. This shows that her story is focused on people rather than places.
A simple description that draws you in may be best. You can also use dialogue to set up people in a situation, which puts you right into the story immediately.
For setting the scene – it is good to describe the place. For setting up the people – dialogue can be good, especially for action and thriller stories.
Task: Choose a location that becomes important to the story. Is it a murder scene? There might be clues there that the reader will relate back to later in the story. Is it a romance story? Set the scene for love to blossom. Is it a horror story? Maybe the scene is deceptively tranquil (like Dracula). Use a description that suits your genre.
Have your hero/heroine at the location and write it from their point of view. Another character that is important to the story must come in. You may use dialogue here. Is the second character a friend, lover or enemy?
Read my attempt, and have a go for yourself! Here is what I managed in fifteen minutes (writing by hand I might add!).
Snow fell thickly into the clearing, where a lone house stood. The sky was darkening quickly as it shed its heavy load.
The large, grey house was silent and still. No signs of life were apparent. Evergreen trees surrounded the house, dense forest sprawling around it.
The snow was beginning to pile up against the sides of the house and on the banks sloping upward toward the tree-line.
No birds sang, and no animals shuffled by. Everything was just white silence.
Suddenly, an icy cold wind picked up, sending mad flurries of snow in every direction. Snow was blinding me, as I lay on the bank. Chest deep in snow, I looked down at the miserable house.
Despite the cold, my palms were sweating as I clutched at the heavy rifle in my hands. My hands shook as I hurriedly snatched my gloves out of my pocket to put them back on, lest the rifle should slip from my grasp.
I hunkered down, closer to the ground as I surveyed the area, my padded coat the only thing stopping me from being completely frozen.
I shuddered as snow slid down my neck, fighting the urge to yell.
The assault on the back of my neck distracted me for a moment, and I almost missed the low sound of the purr of an engine.
I raised my head slightly, better to see what had broken the tranquil silence. A four by four slowly entered the clearing, the rumble of its engine seemed so loud against the eerie quiet, and the dirty tracks it left defiled the pure white snow.
A figure stepped out of the car and immediately I levelled my rifle, ready to take aim. It was a woman, tall and graceful, as she navigated her way around to the other side of the car, snow coming high up her black boots.