I wrote a guest post for YA Highway about creating mood and atmosphere in writing:
There's a ghost town called Rosita in the Wet Mountains of southern Colorado. It was born in the 1870s, one of the dozens of mining camps that evolved into towns during Colorado's silver rush, and like most it's boom days didn't last very long. There's almost nothing of it left now: only the name, the old post office, and the graveyard. The graveyard is still there.
It's a pretty, quiet cemetery. I've only been there once, and that was when I was in high school, but I remember the warm afternoon sun on yellow grass, the vanilla scent of the ponderosa pines, the quiet. And I remember a trio of little white gravestones, identical and all in a row, marking the graves of three children from the same family. All three were under the age of four, and all three had died within two weeks of each other in November of 1880. Their parents aren't buried in the same graveyard.
There's also a chance to win one of five ARCs of SHALLOW GRAVES!