On The Matter of Maps

First rule of fantasy writing – always start with a map.

Now, I admit that may seem a bit of an odd concept given the nature of the book I’ve written and the fact that the landscape of my world is, by its very nature, of no fixed abode.  But the fact of the matter is, that rule still has to apply for one simple reason – I wouldn’t have a clue where my characters were or needed to go without one. And if I’m confused – what chance does any reader stand?

The above began life as a pencil scribble on a handy piece of A4 paper, created quite messily and on the hop as the story developed. The fact it looks so shiny today is entirely due to the efforts of my good friend Kerry, who kindly applied her skills in Paint to said scribble and made it look thus.

I love a good map. I grew up around them, did a degree that heavily involved them and I take an absurd amount of pleasure inventing my own. I openly admit I’d be rubbish at creating a real one ala the good old Ordnance Survey – I did my time at university stood in a boggy Welsh valley with a surveying pole and tape measure and am quite happy never to go back – but I enjoy looking at ones that already exist, because they contain the potential of a place. A good map is often all you need for a good holiday – if you know how to read the contours and colours and symbols, you can find the places of beauty, places of interest and history, fascinating little roads or sweeping vistas and things you wouldn’t even notice or know were there, with barely any other research. A map is the key to unlocking a place. It tells you its possibilities.

And it’s the same when it comes to a fantasy map. Looking at that can tell you a great deal about the story you are about to read. If there are open farmlands or cosy, hilly corners – that’s where you’ll find the good guys, the simple homely folk from which humble origin many a Boy of Destiny has sprung. Dramatic big cities by sweeping rivers or castles balanced on lonely upthrusts of land will house the Royal or Noble elite. Open grasslands breed sturdy horse folk with swish ponytails. Ruined, ancient cities in creepy, tangled forests will inevitably invoke an attack by unpleasant beasties. And of course any craggy, vicious, almost impassable mountains will be home to the fastnesses of evil. Throw in a big volcano and a desiccated wasteland and you know an enormous figure in black armour will be bestriding to crush his cowering enemies not too far away.

And in this way, the map creates the story almost as much as the story creates the map. It’s a symbiosis in its own way. In drawing the map, the writer wants to use as much of the landscape as they can, which in itself creates directions of travel, incidents and adventures. The geography of a place, even a fictional one, breeds the idea of the kind of people who would live there and how those people in turn would react to the appearance of a Merry Band. Landscape creates culture. Maps define landscape. When it comes to creating a good story - maps matter.

I would say that of course. I’m a bit obsessed by them. Heck, it took me three years to get that geography degree and I really feel I ought to be using it for something. But take it from me – a map is a darned good guidebook to reality and fiction. And it’s always worth exploring.