Guest Author, Linda Lappin

Please welcome Linda Lappin today, as she writes about finding the soul of place.

YOUR SECRET MAP

Linda Lappin, courtesy of pokkoli

I want to thank Christi for inviting me to contribute a guest post to her writing blog.  I am a writer living in Italy – a place which has provided endless inspiration for my work. These long years I have had time to research and absorb the local spirits of place and to investigate the ways in which certain places and atmospheres feed my imagination. I have been working this material into fiction, memoir, and poetry, and have recently completed a book of writing exercises called The Genius Loci: A Writer’s Guide to Capturing the Soul of Place, a section of which was published in The Writer magazine in November, and was mentioned here in Christi’s blog.

Christi has invited me to share a couple of exercises with you and ask for your feedback. If you feel so inspired, try the exercise and post your comments or questions here. Feel free to pass this material on to friends in your writing groups – but please cite where you got it from.

The topic I’d like to suggest for  reflection is maps.

Maps, like novels or poems, are replicas of the physical world, models of the human mind, and in some traditions — diagrams of the soul.  For me they have always been a source of inspiration:  one of the earliest toys I remember is a jigsaw puzzle map of Europe:  my favorite piece was the yellow boot of Italy –  prophetic perhaps, since  that country was to become my  home.

Maps to buried treasure, star charts, city plans, architectural blue prints  are forms familiar enough to us. But maps may appear in other guises: in the Buddhist tradition, mandalas are maps of states of consciousness; in Persia the patterns of carpet designs sometimes charted the unfolding of the cosmos or the pathways of paradisiacal gardens.  Maps  need not take a visual form and may consist of words or music. In Australia, the songlines of the aboriginal tradition investigated by Bruce Chatwin are actually  word maps of territory, transmitting both topographical  knowledge necessary for human survival:  the whereabouts of springs, trees, vital resources, and  sacred knowledge concerning the mythic origins of human beings and the cosmos. Maps may also be imprinted in the circuits of our neurons. French philosopher Gaston Bachelard has noted that we carry the map of  our first environment within us as a bundle of buried reflexes developed through our earliest movements within our first home.

Some of the 20th century’s greatest novels are actually structured on maps. Critics claim that to get the  full enjoyment out of Joyce’s Ulysses, one should read the book with a map of Dublin and a clock in hand. Similarly, Virginia Woolf’s  Mrs Dalloway is, in a way, a map of London,  while Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye of New York City. In more recent times, Thomas E Kennedy’s masterpiece The Copenhagen Quartet, incorporates a map of and even a guidebook to that magnificent European capital. In my own novels, maps have played a significant part —  I  included a sketch of one in The Etruscan — the map followed by Harriet, the protagonist of the novel, on her photographic explorations of Etruscan country. (That map is viewable at www.theetruscan.com)

Mary Butts, who has been hailed as the “last great undiscovered novelist of the twentieth century,”  had this to say about maps in her celebrated short story “From Altar to Chimney Piece.”

“As happens to people who become imaginatively conscious of a great city, he came to have a private map of it in his head. A map in which streets and groups of buildings and even the houses of friends were not finally relevant, or only for pointers towards another thing, the atmosphere or quality of certain spots…  These maps are individual to each lover of a city, charts of his translation of its final significance, of the secret working of men’s spirits which through the centuries have saturated certain quarters, giving them not only character and physical exterior, but quality, like a thing breathed. Paris is propitious for the making of such magic maps.”

We might substitute the term “soul of place” for “quality,” as Butts is using it here. Since time immemorial all over our planet, people have believed that the accumulation of human presence in a given spot together with the influences emanating from the  land itself  saturate that place and influence human activity there.

We all have our private maps of the neighborhoods, houses, rooms and other places where we have lived. Butts suggests that in the creating of those “mental maps”  the physical features of the place are less important than the atmosphere, which is created partly by the secret workings of the spirit – that is of imagination and creative processes.  Such maps are uniquely individual to each lover of a place.  No two will be alike. Our private maps attempt to localize and identify the “quality” or  spirit of place as it has interacted with us on an individual basis and influenced our lives.

EXERCISE.  YOUR SECRET MAP

Choose an environment  OR a time space continuum  – It may a city,  town, neighborhood, landscape, house   or a period of consecutive  time, such as : “The winter  I lived in Florence” — or cyclic  “the many summers I spent at my grandmother’s house on the lake when I was a child.” Quickly write down a list of  five to ten significant spaces/places in the continuum. Interpret “space” freely – it can be as small as the space in a box or as large as the Grand Canyon.  You may also list dates if you wish for each space.

Next, circle  three to  five “spaces” from your list and for each one make a “sub” list  using the ideas below.   Your list may be as long or as short (even a single item) as you wish, and may include:

  • Objects  or people  related to the spaces ( landscape features, furnishings, food, clothing, etc,)
  • Sensations connected with specific places and objects
  • Feelings and emotions connected to specific places and objects
  • Events that happened there  to you
  • Seasonal indications if applicable

Now draw the map as detailed or sketchily as you wish.

  • Give each place a personalized name
  • Connect the places with lines, showing some progression as you experienced it. Interpret this freely, it need not be a chronological or logical.
  • For each line,  make a notation which includes a verb.

This is your secret map – now use this to structure a narrative or lyric prose piece of memoir or fiction.

I welcome questions, comments, and feedback.

© Copyright Linda Lappin.

Linda Lappin is an American writer living in Italy, author of four novels: The Etruscan (Wynkin deWorde, 2004), Katherine’s Wish (about the life of Katherine Mansfield, Wordcraft of Oregon, 2008), Prisoner of Palmary, and Signatures in Stone and a writing book The Genius Loci: A Writer’s Guide to Capturing the Soul of Place (all forthcoming).

She teaches American language and culture at the University of Rome and divides her time between Rome and a medieval Italian village where she organizes writing workshops dedicated to spirit of place:  Her websites are: www.lindalappin.net and www.theetruscan.com For information about workshops see www.pokkoli.org.

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In Anticipation of Wednesday

Wednesday, as you know, is my designated “Face off with Wordsmith.org” writing challenge day. While I love, love, love the word of the day challenge (really, I do), I’m taking a break this week.

The purpose of Wednesday’s Word of the Day challenge is more about a commitment to write – without a plan, on the spot, even when I don’t feel like writing – than on being a die-hard fan of Wordsmith.org. Though Mr. Garg’s theme this week – words on food and drink – will be tough to ignore, another exercise awaits me (and you) on Wednesday. And, the hope is that you will be inspired to participate as well.

Linda Lappin, courtesy of pokkoli

Back in October, I wrote a post wondering how other writers develop a sense of place in their stories. Do they simply visualize the place or actually draw it out? In that post, I referred to an article in The Writer, by Linda Lappin, called “See with Fresh Eyes.” Linda wrote that creating a “deep map” of the setting not only draws more material for the story, but also gives the story a deeper level of meaning.

I am honored to host Linda here tomorrow, at Writing Under Pressure.

Linda will explain how creating a map of a place can help the writer discover the spirit of that place. She will also share a writing exercise from her new book, The Genius Loci: A Writer’s Guide to Capturing the Soul of Place.

For someone like myself, who’s in the middle of a novel rewrite, Linda’s visit comes at a perfect time. While writing this introduction, I thought back on a post by Mary Campbell about treating setting as another character, about how a well-developed setting is critical to the success of a story.

Tomorrow, Linda shows us how to bring setting to life.

Come back, read her guest post, try her writing exercise, and add another dimension to your story.

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Wednesday’s Word with Ann M. Lynn

Welcome, Ann M. Lynn. Enjoy her guest post on Wednesday’s Word of the Day!

*******

About my process:

Christi honored me with her invitation to participate in Wednesday’s Word of the Day. I decided to write a non-genre story, because that’s what I see on Writing Under Pressure. This confused my poor husband. As he test-read, he kept looking for the speculative element. It’s not there.

My word was “creep.” Two concepts come to mind at the same time when I think of this word: (1) a person who intentionally causes stress to another person and (2) to move slowly, as if in escape of a predator. This story incorporates both meanings.

—–

An End to the Creepy Game

This is kinda mean, Cali thought as she waited, scrunched in the dark closet with her head against a box of Fruit Loops. I’ve won the last three–oh, ha!–the last four times. Even if he hasn’t stopped playing, he’s not going to like me using food against him.

Her thoughts disintegrated at the sound of her cousin’s soft, halting footsteps. He was braced for her attack but unable to guess at its direction.

She held her breath, as much as to keep herself from giggling than to prevent him from hearing her. He stopped in front of her door, horizontal stripes of blonde hair, a black shirt and blue jeans visible through the slats. She’d left the kitchen light on to help cover her form in the closet’s shadow. His head turned: hair, ear, cheek. She half-closed her eyelids to cover the whites of her eyes.

The door opened.

She lurched forward. “Boo!” she said, inches from her cousin’s face.

“Holy–” Hayden fell back, twisting to hit his side on the island counter and sliding to the tile floor.

Cali threw herself beside him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Did I hurt you this time?”

“My breakfast!” he answered.

“I know, I shouldn’t have, but I realized I could fit and you couldn’t, and I’m sorry. Are you alright? I’ll get an ice pack.” One bare foot sank into  soft object halfway across the kitchen. She lifted her foot to see the mutilated remains of a cheesecake slice.

“Great, Cali. Making me drop it wasn’t enough?” Hayden grunted with the effort of standing.

“My girlfriend made that for me, you know.”

“You were eating cheesecake for breakfast?” Cali hopped the remaining distance to the freezer on the foot not coated in ick. “What’s wrong with you? You’d hit a sugar low by your second class.” She pulled the freezer door open and grabbed their ice pack.

He pulled the pack out of her hands. “Now I’ll get something on campus. Like ibuprofen and caffeine. You can clean up the mess.”

She yelled another apology to his back as he headed for the front door.

I don’t think he’s playing anymore.

* * *

When Hayden returned after dark, Cali tried to talk with him.

She closed her textbook and set it beside her on the sofa. “I sent you messages.”

“I saw.” His book bag hit the floor with a thunk. He picked it up with a grunt after his shoes were off.

“How’s your back?”

“Fine.” His expression showed as much comfort as a thunderstorm.

“Hey-day, I won’t sneak around the house, anymore.”

He sighed and stopped to lean against the sofa. “I don’t see the point, anymore.” Some of the dark energy in his face and voice lightened. “You can obviously wake up in time to get to classes. So can I. Wasn’t that the point of creeping each other out?”

“Yep.” Months ago, he’d snuck into her bedroom to shake her out of sleep. The anticipation that one of them would scare the other each morning had encouraged them to wake earlier and earlier until they were no longer arriving on campus late or ungroomed.

“But I owe you one, Cali-girl.”

“I know.”

* * *

Mornings passed with as much anticipation as before, at least for Cali. Whenever she entered her bedroom or the bathroom, she locked the door. She padded through the house on the alert for sounds of movement or the smell of aftershave. She couldn’t help but jump every time Hayden turned a corner. He smiled and acted like nothing bothered him.

And why shouldn’t he? He didn’t have to worry about her popping out of strange places.

The biggest concern for her was the old rules didn’t apply. Hayden’s attack could come at any time from anywhere.

Pleading to set rules didn’t help. He refused to say when or how he’d end her debt.

On the third week, she gave in. Doors stayed unlocked, and she turned her back to them as she studied. Other times, she wandered through the house with the hope of entering a trap.

Hayden struck on the fourth week.

* * *

Coming home from a particularly long day on campus, she hauled the front door opened.

“Surprise!” In the living room, about a dozen friends and classmates threw their hands in the air.

Hayden strode forward to give her a hug. “Happy birthday, Cali-girl.”

Cali glanced over her shoulder at every smiling face. “That’s on Sunday.”

At the sight of her cousin’s warm smile, tears welled in her eyes. A month of waiting and he’d scared her with kindness. “Hey-day, I’m sorry. I never imagined you’d do this for me. Are we even?”

His smile widened. “Just get some cake.”

She grinned and turned to wait for her piece. The cake made her mouth water. Layers of gooey chocolate dripped onto one plate then another. Her chemistry partner handed her the last piece. “You’re supposed to get the first piece, but you were busy.”

“Thanks.” Fudge filling jiggled on her plate. “May I have a spoon?”

“BOO!”

Something tapped Cali’s shoulder. She spun to face her attacker. Too late, she remembered the slippery condition of her cake. Chocolately goodness lay on the floor as ick.

“Now we’re even,” Hayden said. “You can clean up the mess.”

*******

Ann M. Lynn is a writer of speculative fiction. One of her favorite hobbies is reminding people that hope and kindness can exist in the darkest of places. She resides in a place of light and shadows, in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains with her husband, cat, and dog.