|
||||
|
|
In Search of Elusive Metaphors: The Art of Travel WritingBy Mark Mardon Travel writing is journalism with an emphasis on place rather than events. It may or may not aim for objectivity, but almost inevitably it explores states of mind—that of the writer, and of the people who dwell along the path the writer wanders. It may even presume to convey the attitude of the land, on the assumption that nature speaks a language humans can interpret. Apart from when it serves a utilitarian function—such as guiding tourists to exotic locales—the travel narrative stands alongside the novel, biography, poem, history, and essay as a genre aspiring to high art. As such, it requires of the author meticulous attention to detail and mood, an ability to vividly convey fleeting events, sensations, and thoughts, the capacity to sort out myriad impressions, to eliminate tedium, and to interpret information by placing it in various contexts, be they historical, environmental, or personal. Far more than news reporting, where the focus is on an issue, travel writing involves recreating an atmosphere, crafting a story imbued with dramatic tension and rendered in such a way that readers come away from it exhilarated, dreamy, despondent, amused, philosophical, or otherwise engaged. Accomplished travel writing reveals emotions and behaviors, catching its subjects in intimate, unguarded moments. In this it resembles lovemaking. Readers will note whether the author's attempts are adept or clumsy, sensitive or callous. Revealed emotion is travel writing's key. A journey's essence must be unlocked, be it through astonishment at glimpsing a snow leopard, reverie induced by the discovery of scattered potsherds, or frustration and fear welling up from having to stop and dole out a bribe at yet another rebel checkpoint. The critical element in each travel story is the writer's thoughts, not the plodding details of how one gets from airport, to taxi, to hotel, to restaurant, to mosque, to moonlit shore—then back through winding streets to bed. Whole days of such monotony are better left as blurs across the writer's canvas, while select moments stand out as flashes of color. Each detail rendered must be purposeful, an element in a scheme designed to surprise, delight, captivate, illuminate, sadden, or confound. Though the trip itself may have been random, nothing in the manuscript is left to chance. Every word is plotted, subtle phrasings are employed, humor is injected, glimpses of familiar places are afforded—all with the aim of seducing readers, enticing them to abandon their egos, follow a certain route, lose themselves to other ways of thinking and perceiving. Success is achieved when readers let their minds wander at ease through a landscape their bodies may never know, or when they eagerly revisit a known site, only too glad to see it in a new light, or from a different angle. A fresh viewpoint is critical, for not a single castle, village, river bend, rock formation, back-alley brothel, wind-swept plain, temple, gorge, bridge, or slum has escaped being visited by English-language writers. An author seeking to publish a manuscript about, say, trekking to Machu Picchu must convince an editor (especially a jaded one, the most common kind) that their account is novel—even though it follows upon hundreds of other articles and books by writers who traversed the same trail. To eschew banality, to somehow rise above the literary pack, is the travel writer's greatest challenge. But in the effort to be original, the author must be wary of stretching too far, of becoming a poseur. Truth is essential. If any word in any account breathes insincerity, readers will turn suspicious, even hostile. They'll reject a writer they suspect of posturing. Readers have no sympathy for adventurers who boast of facing danger when the thrills described seem cheap, the bravado contrived, and the threats unreal. Certainly, though, the writer who tosses humor and cockiness into an account can afford to flavor it with a bit of braggadocio. But even in this mixture, at its base, there must be honesty, the most fundamental ingredient. South American Explorer - Writer's Guidelines Generally we like pieces that run about 3,000-5,000 words. Even wretched and awful submissions are greeted with cries of joy and read in the most favorable light if they arrive by e-mail, IBM-compatible floppy disk, or CD ROM. Preferably in MS Word. If mailing, please put your diskette in a protective mailer. If mailing from abroad, inscribe "Do Not X-Ray" on the package. Yes, we know it's not a photographic plate, but do it anyway. The inclusion of dramatic photographs in focus is appreciated. Ideally we like color or black-and- white glossy photographs. Digital photos are also good if the dpi is 300 or higher. If you send copyrighted slides, include a release so we can have them made into prints. Please label (your name and address) and caption all photos and slides. Also include biographical info on yourself, and a sketch map (it can be rough, we'll redraw it anyway) where appropriate. Content and style? Ay, there's the rub. Need we say the article should be readable. This is a magazine, after all. Style helps. Lengthy extracts from a dreary diary don't hack it. "Got up at 7:00, breakfast ham & eggs, boat in at 7:30, blah, blah." No Inca trail articles unless they're fantastic. Personal accounts fine, provided they reveal the wonderful and fascinating you. Best of all are articles by knowledgeable authors about their specialty. To get a better idea of what we want, read Mark Mardon's "In Search of Elusive Metaphors: The Art of Travel Writing", above. Remuneration? Ah yes, well . . . Best of all, there's vanity indulged. Then too, the Club pays, albeit reluctantly, a munificent (if you happen to live in Bangladesh) $50, and even sweetens the deal by conferring a one-year membership, or extending your existing membership one year. You also get any amount (within reason) of free magazines featuring your article, a free T-shirt (we choose the color), and if you visit us briefly in Ithaca, we will treat you to a sumptuous, though modest, meal at a local beanery. Boot up and write. |
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
