Florida is more than just sunshine and seashells. It’s also hurricanes and hiding places.
To the outsider, Florida might seem all pastel sunsets and tourist-packed boardwalks—but as anyone who’s truly lived here knows, the real Florida hides in the hush between storms, in the stillness of a mangrove tangle, in the ghost-gray light of a rising tide. It’s a place brimming with forgotten histories, half-buried legends, and places that seem to whisper, something happened here.
For a writer, that’s gold.
The Haunting Power of Place
Setting is never just a backdrop in storytelling—it’s a living, breathing force that shapes plot, character, and tone. And few landscapes are as emotionally charged, unpredictable, or wild as Florida’s. In my own writing, I’m constantly drawn to the marshes, estuaries, and coastal forests of this state. They’re mysterious. Moody. And utterly magnetic.
That’s why my middle-grade thriller unfolds not in a city or suburb, but near an ancient oyster mound in former Calusa territory—during and after a massive hurricane. The story is rooted in a fictional legend of a Calusa arrowhead said to grant the finder their deepest wish. But beneath the surface, it’s a tale of grief, memory, and what we carry when everything else is stripped away.
That story wouldn’t have worked anywhere else. I needed the wildness. I needed the wind.
Real Places, Fictional Echoes
When I’m dreaming up a setting, I often start with a real place: a crumbling foundation spotted off a backroad, a freshwater spring hidden behind saw palmetto, or a piece of shipwreck jutting from the sand after a storm.
Here are just a few of Florida’s lesser-known spots that spark my imagination:
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Indian Key – A ghost town in the Florida Keys, abandoned after a bloody raid in the 1800s. The ruins still whisper with stories.
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Egmont Key – A remote island with a lighthouse, a cemetery, and the remnants of a 19th-century fort. It feels like stepping into another world.
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Cabbage Key – Said to be the inspiration for Jimmy Buffett’s Cheeseburger in Paradise, but for me, it’s the dense trees, lack of cars, and tucked-away trails that lend themselves to secrets.
And sometimes, it’s not just the place—but the weather. Florida’s skies change personalities faster than a twist ending. A sunny boardwalk can become an ominous scene under gray-green clouds, the kind that arrive with wind so thick it feels like breath on your neck.
Writing from the Wreckage
I’ve always been fascinated by how place holds memory. A rusted anchor isn’t just a prop—it’s a symbol. A trail that dead-ends into sawgrass might hint at something—or someone—lost. A boarded-up cottage on stilts? Maybe someone still lives there. Maybe someone never left.
When writing, I find myself imagining what a child might see differently. What would look like danger to an adult might seem like possibility to a kid. That’s the beauty of writing middle-grade fiction—Florida’s natural mysteries take on mythic weight.
Why Florida?
Because it’s weird.
Because it’s wild.
Because it’s a place where ancient cultures, modern chaos, and nature’s fury all crash together.
As a writer, I don’t have to invent strangeness here—I just have to listen for it.
Have you ever visited a forgotten Florida place that felt like it had a story to tell?
Let me know—or sign up for my newsletter to be the first to hear about my upcoming books inspired by Florida’s wild edges.
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