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Rudiments
«I am told there are people who do not care for maps, and find it hard to believe. The names, the shapes of the woodlands, the courses of the roads and rivers, the prehistoric footsteps of man still distinctly traceable up hill and down dale, the mills and the ruins, the ponds and the ferries, perhaps the Standing Stone or the Druidic Circle on the heath; here is an inexhaustible fund of interest for any man with eyes to see or twopence–worth of imagination to understand with!»
Robert Louis Stevenson, My First Book, «Treasure Island»
Robert Louis Stevenson, My First Book, «Treasure Island»
Writing an adventure novel may be like playing
—to convert a series of imaginary events in a tale rather than a game
—as children did in the past …
—to convert a series of imaginary events in a tale rather than a game
—as children did in the past …
A map may be a portalling device to awake imagination
—to trace Robert Louis Stevenson towards Treasure Island …
To dream over a map may be like staring into a mirror
—images and voices may arise,
glimmer & flicker & sound through the mists …
To trace a lost city, or an untraced land somewhere, or a secluded magickal nook in a city, or an hidden wreck, or a looming & fading island lurking outside of time in the unfading gloaming of the Web, more real than illusion, more illusory than so-called reality …
To trace place names,
to trace routes & intersections,
to trace what’s unspeakable,
to trace whirls
… … …
to trace routes & intersections,
to trace what’s unspeakable,
to trace whirls
… … …