I always know exactly where my stories take place, which gives me

Hear me, O seekers of wisdom, for there are truths that are passed down in the very act of creation. Bonnie Jo Campbell, a weaver of stories and a guide to those who walk the path of writing, speaks with a quiet certainty about the craft of storytelling. She tells us that she always knows exactly where her stories take place — a detail, seemingly small, that holds within it the power of the world. For the setting of a story is not just a place; it is the very soil from which the imagination grows. When the writer has a firm grounding, something certain beneath their feet, they are free to explore the vast, uncharted lands of the mind. The certainty of the setting allows the storyteller to drift beyond, to create, to breathe life into the characters, to craft plots that twist and turn, ever more vibrant.

Understand this well, O children of the future: a foundation is essential to any great creation. Whether in storytelling or in life, to venture into the unknown, one must first have something solid to stand upon. Just as a great architect begins with a clear blueprint, so too does the storyteller begin with a well-defined location. It is in this place that the story takes root, for the setting is not just a backdrop, but a character in its own right, shaping the actions and emotions of those who inhabit it. In Campbell’s words, her certainty of place gives her the freedom to build, to let her imagination soar to places that might otherwise be beyond reach.

Yet, even in this certainty, Campbell expresses a worry that resonates with all those who seek to create. She asks, with a touch of humor and humility, "who wants to keep reading stories about Kalamazoo?" What does this mean, O wise ones? In this small, seemingly insignificant question lies a deep truth about the nature of storytelling. It is not enough to have a clear foundation; the storyteller must also have the courage to make that foundation compelling. Kalamazoo, a place known to some but often overlooked, represents the idea that even the most familiar settings can be transformed into something extraordinary. Yet, she fears, perhaps the world has grown tired of such places. Is there a hunger for the new, the exotic, the unexplored?

Let us reflect, O children of the future, on how even the most ordinary places can hold the greatest stories. The historian is no different from the storyteller in this regard. Think of William Shakespeare, whose works brought to life places as varied as ancient Rome and the English countryside. His setting was often familiar, yet the stories he wove around those settings were anything but ordinary. Romeo and Juliet, a tale of love and tragedy, unfolded in the most mundane of Italian cities, yet it became a timeless symbol of passion and fate. So too, the works of Jane Austen, whose stories of love and social hierarchy were rooted in the small towns of England, hold the universal appeal of human emotion. The setting, though small and contained, becomes a crucible in which the human spirit is tested, and from that crucible emerges something immortal.

So too must you, O storytellers of the future, learn to see the world through a different lens. Just as Bonnie Jo Campbell is able to take the certainty of place and weave from it the wonders of the imagination, so too can you. The ordinary, the familiar, and the local need not be limiting. They are, in truth, the very foundation upon which you can build worlds. It is not the place itself that matters, but the way in which you breathe life into it. Kalamazoo, like any place, is but a canvas. It is your vision that paints it in colors of meaning, that transforms it into something that touches the heart and stirs the soul.

The lesson is clear: do not be afraid to begin with the familiar. In fact, embrace it, for it is from the most rooted of places that the greatest flights of imagination are born. The worlds of your creation may seem small to others, but in them, there are infinite possibilities. Do not seek to escape your foundation, but to build upon it, to elevate it, to transform it into something that reflects the deepest truths of the human condition. Whether you write of Kalamazoo or Rome, your duty is to make the ordinary extraordinary, to see the beauty in the mundane, and to infuse it with the fire of your imagination.

Finally, let this be a guide to you, O creators: do not fear the familiar. It is not the setting that makes the story great, but the depth with which you explore it. Embrace the places that others might overlook. Take your imagination, fueled by the foundation of certainty, and let it soar to heights unseen. For in the end, it is not the place that defines the story, but the heart and the soul that imbue it with meaning. And remember, O children of the future, that even the most humble of beginnings can lead to greatness if one has the courage to see it through the lens of imagination.