For me, fantasy cartography is a way of delving deeper into story. As both a writer and a map-maker, I find creating maps a useful tool for me as I explore story and the places in which it dwells. There is, of course, the practical use of a map: the tracking of characters and the places to which they travel (the surface story, if you will, the dotted squiggly lines of quest and journey), but maps also contain a mythology unto themselves. A map is a visual representation of conflicts and tensions eons old: that of history, of climate, of the land itself. In a recent talk about her new book, Atlas of the Heart, Brené Brown said:

“The story is in the layers of the map.”

Map-making, for me, requires if not an understanding of, at least a curiosity about those layered stories. My curiosity extends far beyond the historical tales of conquest and cultivation (the historical overlay), to the stories of “why?” that underlie them. Why are countries shaped the way they are? Why do coniferous forests grow here, but not over there? Why are cities where they are?

Map-making can also be a delightful form of procrastination. An excuse of “sorry, I can’t tackle those plot holes yet, I’ve got mountains to create. Mountains!”. I personally get far too caught up in the illustrative and decorative map elements (more on that later), and often use it as a way to avoid, you know, writing the actual book to which the map is mere accompaniment. Though perhaps one day I’ll make a book of nothing but maps: an atlas of onionskin pages with maps of forest mycorrhizae, of water patterns, of air currents all overlaying one another. But I digress. This is my meditation on map-making. In the next post, I’ll create more of a practical guide to creating and illustrating fantasy maps.

The map for my fantasy duology, *Spectra Datura* and *Petrichorum*.

The Surface Story

Most of my maps begin here. This is the practical information as relates to the main narrative arc of the book. Where do the characters come from? Where do they go? What distances and obstacles lie in their way?

When planning out a new book, I’ll make quick sketches of the map so I know the basics of the world: what kingdoms are where, their general topography, major cities (especially as they pertain to the narrative). Sometimes I’ll also include rough sketches of cities or floor plans of a house or building. Any space that a character spends a significant amount of time in is worthy of a map. Mostly because it helps my poor little pretzel brain.

The Historical Overlay

Borders, inevitably, are the stories of humans. It is humbling to realize when gazing at a map, any map, that people have fought and died over every curve and corner of every border, ever. What tragedy lies in those lines, what grief?

Borders are often the scars left over from war, conquest, and colonization. They are gouged out by history, yet are still changeable. There’s a certain amount of fear, but also hope, in the impermanence of borders. In the realization that they are abstract constructs defended by armed guards. Maps never stay the same for long.

This is also the layer of the map where countries and cities are refined and their relationships to one another expressed through borders, ports, even rivers and rail lines. These are lines of communication and trade, even isolation. So much can be expressed through simple lines and the positioning of cities on the map. For example, in the above excerpt of the city of Stormwell (the capital of Rennan), I positioned it on the coast and in a river delta to show its power as a port. This then serves to reinforce Rennan’s position as an economic and industrial power, especially as opposed to Venland, which is landlocked and surrounded by mountains, making trade difficult.

The Saga of the Land

I am fascinated by stores of land and water. Why do those fjords have that shape? Were they carved by glaciers? Where are the glaciers now? What lies beneath them? Why do deciduous forests grow there? Is rain funneled to them from the mountains? Are they protected from winds by the hills? Why are the cities where they are? Do warm currents make those islands rich with fish, easy for trading ships to pass through?

Once I sink into the stories of the land, I am apt to remain there for days on end. Perhaps weeks. Which is good because, at least for me, this is the most time-consuming and labor-intensive part of creating a map. This is when I draw the endless mountains, rivers, forests, deserts, and coastlines that constitute the body of the map.

In the map excerpt above, I spent a long time thinking about what kinds of trees would grow in what parts of the forest. So more coniferous trees grow to the North and West, toward the mountains, while deciduous trees constitute the heart of the forest and increase in volume as the forest grows into moors and river plains to the South and East. As this is an important location in both books, I wanted to spend time considering the stories of the forest itself: how it grew, why it was cut back, the geography that has helped it survive. (And yes, I drew every single one of those trees by hand. Madness, I know.)

This is then the time when I contemplate the sagas underlying the book’s surface story. The forces of land, water, climate, weather shaped the cultures of each country, and thus, each character. So many of my childhood memories are inextricably tied with the forests, lakes, rivers where I grew up. Those forests shaped me as my family did. They are, in a sense, my family too. Environmentalism underlies much of the fantasy I write, so for me, these stories are as important as the human stories a map tells (the stories of cities, economies, politics, and people).

The Symbolism of Decoration

One of my favorite parts of creating a map is illustrating decorative elements for it: a border, compass rose, city labels, and of course, the occasional sea monster. I love being able to hide symbols that relate to the book in the tangle of borders and compass roses.

For instance, when I created the map for my fantasy duology, Spectra Datura and Petrichorum, I drew two “portraits” of the main characters, both of whom are perfumers, in the borders in the form of their signature scents. I decided to not only illustrate the main notes of each perfume, but to also design symbolic perfume bottles for both of them (one is decorated with hawks and a tree, the other with a datura and dagger).

Similarly, I included more literal portraits of their familiars: a red-shouldered hawk and a peregrine falcon, who act as sigils for the two main characters.

The hawk and the falcon can also be seen in the compass rose. One soars gracefully above, while the other erupts from below in chase, a nod to the main narrative arc of the book.

Fantasy cartography can be a wonderful meditation on the layers of a story, and the places from which they grow. It’s an opportunity to think deeply and consider they “why” and the “how” of place and how those places influence the underlying structures of culture, politics, economics, etc. Besides that, maps are fun to make. Even if you’re not an illustrator, give it a try! You never know what buried treasure you may find.

Bonus: Music to Make Maps To

Below are links to albums on Spotify that I enjoy listening to while I draw maps. All are classical/instrumental and help me create a good meditative mood for map-making.

Ludovico Einaudi’s Seven Days Walking :

https://open.spotify.com/album/5Otajf16kZ0zkVZWhu7LtO

George Winston’s December :

https://open.spotify.com/album/4aZ3oEhEWIW4KmgbimsvFt

Ólafur Arnalds’s Island Songs:

https://open.spotify.com/album/1LvZUmULkYj2c3oxIZhbkX