Writing Location Without Naming It: A 2015 MFA Writing Exercise

 

Introduction

In 2015, during my MFA coursework, I was assigned a deceptively simple yet challenging exercise: describe a location without ever directly telling the reader where it is. The goal was to let the details, emotions, and context reveal the setting organically.

The story below was written for that assignment. After a decade, I’ve lightly updated it for spelling and grammar, but left the original words and structure intact to preserve its raw voice. Following the story, I’ll share a brief literary analysis on how it addresses the exercise’s goal and the techniques used.

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The way back home

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Still as a statue I stand gazing across the bay. The ferry moves so slowly I can barely feel any motion at all. This moment is historical, at least to me. I clearly see the skyline dark, heavy with smoke and fire in my mind’s eye. I imagine being here when it happened and I am so glad I was not. I woke that morning and all was normal. You know, normal in the sense I was struggling to make ends meet each week, wondering what I was going to eat for lunch, arguing with my wife about the kids, complaining about the government, gas prices, health care. The normal things; the common things filled my life and mind.

I couldn’t come back afterward. There wasn’t a wife and the kids had disappeared. I called around to find them. I called all our friends; but nobody had seen them. For all I know, they are dead. Dead, like my wife. Now, here I am, alone, the same, yet different. Our house stands there with overgrown shrubbery; the windows dark, the paint fading, the gutters full of leaves and debris. I stop here first to see if anything is left of my old life. Maybe, in the back of my mind, I hope to find the kids still here, going to school, playing video games and entertaining friends. It is like walking back in time. Beds are unmade, the kitchen is messy, and a faint musty smell permeates the rooms. It is eerily creepy. I keep expecting normal. There is nothing here for me, so I leave. There is no need to call a taxi as I am too keyed up to ride.

I walk and walk. Crowds jostle me. Taxis speed by. Everybody moves like all is normal; maybe for them, it is normal. I don’t think it will ever be normal for me, here, again. I am amazed at how things are the same, yet different. The corner store still has the same faded signs, “Milk $2.00” and “No bills accepted larger than $20’s.” It is funny how I remember the signs when I see them and how we always joked about the milk costing $2.49.

The neighborhood school is much larger with tall fencing surrounding the playground, barbed wire wrapped along the top of the fencing. I continue to walk. My destination is the ferry. The last happy place I remember with my family. I envision that day and have envisioned it over and over again the past five years.

A fine rain falls, warm and wet it lightly coats our clothes as we walk down the sidewalk. “Honey, maybe we should take the bus,” she said, “The kids will complain about walking in the rain.” Laughing out loud, I spread my arms and turn full circle as I look up. I stick my tongue out catch the rain. I feel rain running down my collar. “No, it will be fun. Playing in the rain is going to be fun.”

We all gather at the roadside and have the pre-trip check. My wife asks the questions like a drill sergeant, “Picnic basket? Sweaters? Identification? Emergency money?” Everybody answers, “Yes, yes we have it.” Their voices are short, affronted because she asks. I always find that amusing since one of them will always forget something.

We cavort down the sidewalk. It is a special day, a family day, to celebrate our freedom from our old life of poverty. The kids don’t understand freedom and I can’t make them understand, but I can show them the symbol of freedom. Thirty minutes later we arrive at the ferry. There are not many people out today because of the rain. We are ok with that since it allows us to be silly and fun and to forget the day-to-day grind.

The water is choppy. Our legs take a few moments to adjust. The rain mixes with the water spray from the ferry. The kids lean over the ferry rails letting the spray hit them in the face. “Be careful,” she said. She always watches all of us, like a mother hen. We take it for granted, normal.

At the island, we find a place to spread out and enjoy our picnic. Because it is raining, we head to a pavilion. The basket is full of food, but not everyday foods; no, the basket is full of canned meat, commodity cheese, white bread and peanut butter. These are the foods we ate when we were poor, mostly homeless and destitute. These are the foods that remind us how blessed we are today. These are the foods we eat as we gaze at the greatest symbol of freedom in America.

It is fun. We don’t argue today. We are enjoying one another’s company, the food, the rain and the camaraderie before I leave on an extended business trip. They will not miss me while I’m gone, but I know they keep this memory.

As water hits my face, I realize I have gotten on the ferry while lost in my happy place. I lean over the ferry rails feeling the water spray on my face as I gaze across the bay. The skyline is different today. It will never be the same, but the Statue stands tall, bright against the blue of the sky.

The ferry docks and I look around. The pavilion is still there, like everything else, a little time worn. I walk to the pavilion and notice a family eating at one end of the tables. I sit, farther away from them, silently asking if it’s ok to intrude. Smiling politely, they nod their heads. A small family with three adults and one child eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I lay my head in my hands, and let the memories wash over me. I hear my voice tell my children that today is the day we celebrate our freedom from poverty. As I raise my head, I realize it is not my voice I hear; it is the voice of one of the adults at the end of the table. Our eyes meet in recognition.

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Analysis: How This Story Meets the Prompt

This exercise challenged me to describe a very specific, iconic location — without ever directly naming it. The reader pieces together the clues: the bay, the ferry, the island, the statue, the skyline, and the post-tragedy atmosphere.

Literary Devices Used:

• Imagery & Sensory Details:
  Throughout the story, I focus on physical sensations: rain falling, mist from the ferry, the taste of rain, the smell of must in an abandoned house, the texture of picnic food. These help place the reader physically in the scene without needing labels.

• Memory as Narrative Structure:
  The narrator’s present-day reflections are interwoven with vivid memories, creating emotional resonance that also subtly delivers setting clues.

• Symbolism:
  The “greatest symbol of freedom in America” functions as a central symbol without directly stating “The Statue of Liberty.”

• Subtle Setting Hints:
  The skyline altered by tragedy; security fences at the school; a ferry ride; an island pavilion — all intentionally point to post-9/11 New York while honoring the prompt’s requirement.

• Character Reflection:
  The emotional arc of personal loss, absence, and brief connection at the end underscores the lingering impact of the setting — both physically and emotionally.

By resisting the urge to name the location outright, the piece invites the reader into an intimate puzzle, where details layer until the place becomes unmistakably clear.

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Final Thoughts

Looking back at this piece 10 years later, I appreciate how a simple exercise can produce complex layers of character, setting, and theme. Sometimes, what we withhold as writers can be as powerful as what we reveal.

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✏️ Mini Lesson: Writing Location Without Naming It

One of the most valuable skills for any writer is the ability to paint a vivid setting without spoon-feeding the reader. In this exercise, the goal was not to hide the setting, but to reveal it organically through details, emotion, and context.

Here are a few strategies you can apply when you want to describe a place without explicitly naming it:

1️⃣ Use Specific, Concrete Details

Instead of “a famous statue,” I included:

• The ferry ride
• The island pavilion
• The spray of the water
• A towering statue that stands tall against the sky

These allow readers to infer the Statue of Liberty without ever naming it.

2️⃣ Layer Sensory Information

Engage all the senses:

• Sight: the skyline, the choppy bay, the barbed wire at the school.
• Sound: ferry sounds, distant conversations.
• Smell: musty house, rain in the air.
• Touch: rain on the skin, spray from the water.
• Taste: peanut butter sandwiches, canned meat, commodity cheese.

3️⃣ Filter Through Character Emotion

Setting becomes more powerful when viewed through a character’s personal experience. In this story, grief, nostalgia, and loss color every element of the landscape.

4️⃣ Let Symbols Do Heavy Lifting

Rather than name the Statue of Liberty, I described it as “the greatest symbol of freedom in America.” Readers connect the dots without needing the label.

5️⃣ Trust Your Reader

Modern readers enjoy participating in meaning-making. By giving enough hints, but not too many, you create a richer, more interactive reading experience.

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Try It Yourself:

Pick a famous landmark. Challenge yourself to write 300 words describing it without naming it directly. Let details, emotions, and characters do the work.

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