"People give pain, are callous and insensitive, empty and cruel…but place heals the hurt, soothes the outrage, fills the terrible vacuum that these human beings make." Eudora Welty
Last week as I drove to South Dakota to do book signings, I felt the tension leave my shoulders as soon as made it north of Cheyenne. The swells of bleached blonde grass beneath the chambray sky worked like a tranquilizer. The plains invariably act as a catalyst, releasing my type A behavior. As the subtlety of color and landscape, soak into me I forget to plan and worry.
Landscapes play a significant role in our lives whether they provide solace or irritate us to the core. Because the land we find ourselves residing upon shapes our character, it often finds its way into our writing.
When we write about the landscape in fiction or nonfiction as if we were painting a two-dimensional picture with tubes of color, we do it a disservice. Capturing the visual images is part of our job as writers, but we have many more options from which to choose beyond the way the surroundings look. These choices evoke a clearer sense of place for our readers and ground them in physical reality.
Try to engage the other senses as you write. Eighty percent of written description relies solely on sight. Experiment with moving beyond color and shape. See if you can capture what the place sounds like. Touch, taste and smell provide a visceral jolt. Because they are part of our survival instinct, they cause us to sit up and take notice. Sniff the air. What do you smell?
Use the power of naming. Find out what the plants, animals and natural forms you are observing are called. Was I driving through buffalo grass? Was I on the short grass or tall grass prairie? Although you don’t want your reader to get bogged down in the scientific, a sprinkling of specific names, lends a sureness and power to your writing.
Large stretches of passive description put readers to sleep. Unless you’re writing a bed time story, you want them to keep reading. Cross out forms of the verb "to be" in your descriptions, including "is", "was" and "were". See if you can find a stronger way to say it.
Record the movement around you. The landscape is filled with motion. Some of it is slow motion. Some things happens quickly. As I drove to South Dakota, the bugs in my landscape hurtled toward my windshield. The breeze ruffled the tall grass. One puffy cloud that stood between the Rockies and me slowly and steadily grew larger and as it did, turned from white to slate gray. Movement gives the reader the sense that something is happening.
The techniques so far rely on the power of observation. If we stop there, we write with the impartial interest of scientists. In truth, we are not separate from the landscape where we find ourselves at the moment; it and we are part of a larger system.
Description comes alive when we write about how the land influences us. It can change our moods and motivate our behavior. Some places cause us to remember. Others seem to harbor secrets they refuse to divulge. We influence our natural surroundings too, and that deserves a place in our writing.
The intersection of our impact on the land and that of the land on us is a place of relationship that is ripe with meaning. American Indians believe that plants and animals and even the rocks and water are our partners and our teachers. By watching, listening, smelling, touching and tasting we observe their signs. By quieting the chatter within, we can write our way to a space where the meaning of those signs is revealed to us.
This month write about a place that has somehow touched or moved you. Either revisit it or allow yourself to travel there in your mind. You might choose to write about a spot that was special to you as a child or a place that overwhelmed you with its beauty – or its ordinariness. As you write, try to capture the essence of the landscape for yourself. When you’ve finished, revise it with the goal of allowing a reader to travel there. Now share it with someone.