by J.T. Ellison
It’s hard not to romanticize the idea of a small town. We see it again and again in movies, TV shows, and books—the charm, the sweetness, the community. The escape from the meaningless anonymity of the big city to the meaningful, collaborative, romantic small town.
But genres treat this deceptively sweet setting differently. While a romance is all about finding love and acceptance at a slower pace, crime fiction is determined to uncover the dark, unsettling secrets that lie beneath. That rich trope—you can never go home again—capitalizes on this. The character has successfully broken away from the small-minded, boring, suffocating world they grew up in. They’ve evolved. They’ve escaped.
But then a horrible secret draws them back. A secret that affects the entire town—and sometimes, one so dark and unsettling it becomes lore. And then all hell breaks loose.
Yes, on the surface, small towns are charming and coveted. But look closer, and they almost always hide a dark side. They are perfect foils for writers looking to create a sense of isolation that allows darkness to flourish. Monsters hide in the shadows and prey on the innocent. Of course, that happens in larger towns and bustling cities, too—but in a more insular setting, it feels more personal, and therefore more painful. When a monster successfully hides within a small population, it means that everyone, in some way, is complicit. Therein lies the true horror: there is an unspoken understanding among the townsfolk, and they are willing—nay, eager—to turn a blind eye. What could be scarier than willful ignorance?
It’s brilliant fodder for fiction. But what happens when it’s true? When you come from that isolation and darkness? Many writers fit the profile of their own characters—I’m no different. I grew up in such isolation it wasn’t even a real town, per se, just a community in the woods of Colorado. The “town” was ten miles away, with an elementary school, a Conoco gas station, a post office, and a bar.
Oh, the stories I could tell you. And that’s what fascinates me as a writer exploring these settings—my stories, your stories… they are universal. That universality is what draws readers to the small-town setting. The suspense is baked in. We know there’s a monster hiding in the closet. We know something is going to leap out from under the bed. We delight in the tension this anticipation brings.
But what if there’s more? What if that sublime isolation creates the criminality we’re so drawn to exploring? Isolation makes people get creative—for better or worse. Great art comes from the quiet spaces. But great harm does, too.
I’ve always been interested in the duality of isolation. Do bad people seek out isolation in order to commit crimes? Or does the isolation drive them mad? Worse still, do criminals seek isolation and find one another—thereby amplifying their dark deeds? Those questions underlie the foundation of every small-town thriller I write. I come to the page from a place of sublime beauty and deep isolation. Growing up, I sensed there were undercurrents. It’s impossible not to, when a community numbers fewer than 200 people. It wasn’t until I was older that I began to comprehend the vast network of crimes occurring in my area. Crimes that went unpunished. Crimes that were whispered about but never allowed into the daylight. Crimes that ended in horrifying ways—suicides, ruined lives, permanent scars. Crimes that, if the community were truly aware of, would certainly have been stopped. Right?
And there’s the rub of the small town. The whole point is to mind your own business—while, of course, sticking your nose into everyone else’s at every turn. It’s fun when it’s gossip, when the rumor mill kicks into gear. But when your gaze lands on an actual crime or criminal, you’re expected to look the other way. Why people shy away from calling out criminality is another deep well for literary exploration. The best books resolve these long-hidden crimes with justice served, and the community is changed for the better. If only reality were so forgiving.
My latest novel has two small-town settings—both fictional, but based on places I know. Marchburg, Virginia, is a gothic mountaintop town with a private girls’ school at its heart and a deep history of dark crime. Brockville, Tennessee, came from a dream I had about a small town with a writer’s retreat at its center. A visit to the very real Serenbe, outside Atlanta—a planned biophilic community—helped bring it to life. Both of my fictional towns contain elements of real places and people, but the similarities stop there. The rest comes from the vivid imagination I was gifted with through my own isolated upbringing. Exploring the philosophical underpinnings of the averted gaze drives much of my work.
It’s always a challenge to write about a small-town setting—blending reality and fiction to create something that captures both the joy and the fear. Something so heightened, so over the top, that the reader is left wondering what’s happening down the street at their neighbors’ house. The fun is in creating a place that unsettles. That disturbs. That makes the reader look over their shoulder. Ultimately, the goal is to lift the curtain and show that no one is truly innocent—and the guilty must be held accountable.
But that’s fiction. Reality is not so simple. For the rest of us, there may be hope and closure—but true small-town horrors can never be completely scrubbed clean.
J.T. Ellison is the Nashville-based New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than 30 psychological thrillers, and the Emmy® Award–winning co-host of A Word on Words on Nashville PBS. She created the Taylor Jackson and Dr. Samantha Owens series, co-wrote the Brit in the FBI series with Catherine Coulter, and has penned multiple standalones, including A Very Bad Thing, It’s One of Us, and Lie to Me. With millions of books sold in 30 countries, her work has earned the ITW Thriller Award, Indie Next picks, Amazon Editor’s Pick, and Book of the Month honors. Last Seen is her most recent thriller.
Follow her @thrillerchick and read more at her Substack, The Creative Edge: jtellison.substack.com
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