Noun . . . a Person, Place, or Thing. We all remember this from our days in elementary school. In fact, it’s among the earliest language lessons that we are taught.
As one who thoroughly enjoys his role of interpreter for those persons that regularly show up on my doorstep, I hadn’t yet seen the potential of place and thing as characters until recently. This may draw an eye roll from more seasoned writers, but it’s a surprising twist for me, an epiphany that required further consideration.
While writing both The House of Long Shadows, and Town Lawe, my approach to place was that of a stage or set on which those stories were presented. Place certainly plays a large part in both tales, but is it on equal footing with person? Throughout reader reviews and conversations, the writing of place receives consistently high marks, as does the traditional cast of characters. So, does our writing perspective of place even matter? My conclusion is that it does as a check and balance to our storytelling. Here’s what I mean:
We’ve all treaded the quagmire of excessive description. As readers we may be tempted to drape the writer with a pejorative mantle because of it. As a writer, it’s easy to become so captivated by the moment unfolding that we want to squeeze every drop of vibrancy onto the page for the reader to experience. Sound familiar?
Working with a quality copyeditor draws the writer’s attention to the use of 150 words, when 30 yields greater impact and keeps the reader engaged. But we do ourselves a great disservice if we allow this tendency to proliferate, only to rely on later clean up. Interestingly, whenever I encounter the dreaded over described as a reader, it’s usually of place, and not person. Now we’re getting to the real value of writing place in the same manner as the other characters in our yarns: it’s providing the reader with just enough detail to form their own images.
This creates a personal bond with person and place; one that’s so powerful that readers may miss both for days after they’ve turned the final page. As far as I’m concerned this is among the highest of compliments a reader can share and one that conveys we’ve faithfully interpreted the story entrusted to us.
Does thing get the same treatment? The short answer: it might. Thing may need more or less description depending on its prominence in the story. For example: I want a higher level of detail for The Giving Tree itself, but much less regarding a flower vase on the table of a scene; an exception to this would be if a person stares at it in contemplation and the description morphs into a person’s thoughts. I found place to be the clearer example that bears the brunt of over description, thus I focused on place for this post; no disrespect for thing intended.
This little exercise has shown me that place has always had a starring role in my life and as a result I’ve subconsciously written it as I would person. I attribute this to an early independence and the amount of alone time I had growing up. The theme carried into the late 1980s-early 90s with my solo adventures as an Atlanta-based music rep driving the highways and byways of the Southeast. Those experiences with place have shaped me as much as the people in my life, and although I’ve never scrutinized the relationship prior to this post, it’s evident that I’ve always viewed place and those associated memories as a friend and silent witness to our history together. An interesting revelation!
Happy New Year to you and yours.
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Up next – Writing Women Well. vs. Writing Women. Well . . .
Until then—
Happy words,
-Bruno