Pure Writerly Moments 2 (Short Stories, Essays, Book Reviews, and More)

On Not Knowing How to Write Place

A writing teacher once told me, "Place is character." 

I have tried to take those words of wisdom to heart. I have done so by trying to write places I know that have enchanted me. "Sage and the Scarecrow" takes place in a fictional town that combines all the various nuances of these small towns that dot the Florida Coast line (as they existed in my imagination in 2003). These little towns had downtowns that combined charming elements of American 1950s and 1960s architecture. Old brick buildings and diners. If you explored a little bit more, at least as a tourist, you might even discover these amazing little artist community enclaves (as I found in Lake Worth, for example). The beaches, while missing some of the grandeur of Miami Beach, were clean, charming, and beautiful (Deerfield Beach!). As a young college student (2000–2004), these settings seemed perfect for a kind of romantic journey by a literary romantic. Yet, years later, I'm not sure I captured that charm.

If anything is lacking in that early novel, it is my inability to capture the character of "place."

Years later, as a young professional in Nagasaki, I would experience a place that was full of natural cosmopolitan character: a site of Christian persecution, atomic tragedy, and the charms of mountainous coastal geography. Again, I found in my daily existence all the charms of particular places, spaces, and atmospheres. But again, though I lived these experiences, I had difficulty, I believe, capturing these aspects in words.

Now, as I explore a little place in Nagasaki, Wakimisaki Machi, I find myself struggling again. The deeper questions of what attracts me to this place and how to put its various characteristics into words seem to frustrate me. Instead, I find myself taking pictures. I linger over these pictures as I try to find the right words.

I had to spend four minutes doing a Google search to understand that the concrete things along the sea wall are called "concrete tetrapods." What about the houses? Some of them seem abandoned (possible "Akiya") that people can buy cheaply, though with a lot of paperwork, through city hall. What about that yellow house? The one with the chipped paint. How do I make that into part of the character of Wakimisaki? It occurs to me as I write these words that Wakimisaki Machi is a lot like an early retiree, in his or her early 70s but could pass for early 60s, with a spring in their step and a constant tan. Someone who knows everyone's name in the retirement community and isn't quite sure he or she should still be there. The beach in Wakimisaki is so beautiful that near sunset couples about to get married go there in their wedding attire to get those "perfect" photos. I sometimes see windsurfers out there too...and yet, there are never enough people at Wakimisaki to make it a "happening place." I love it better in its faded glory. It's now a private delight, unencumbered by tourists. Yet, somehow, I feel its best years are in front of it (her). As if the fade of 2040 will be even more glorious than the fade of 2023. 

Perhaps this is another way of saying that I don't yet understand the character of Wakimisaki. 

I am re-discovering the place in 2023, but I have this very present, haunting memory from 2005. Let me share it with you. It's so strange; it might be delightful, though it is certainly not a story.

I was a young man living in Nagasaki, only 23 at the time. It was a Saturday night, and I found the movie "Gattaca" on TV. I love that movie, and I found myself watching it and even thinking about it into the early morning hours. I didn't fall asleep until 2 a.m. When I woke up, I saw the clock hands reaching for 5 o'clock. For some reason, I had assumed that I had slept until Sunday evening. My Japanese class was starting in downtown Nagasaki at 6 p.m., and I was sure I would be late. I hurried to shower and get downtown. However, when I got to downtown, I noticed something odd. There was no one around. Was it a holiday? No, it was only 6 a.m. in the morning.

I was all out of sorts, both temporally and emotionally, for reasons that elude me in 2023. But I was in downtown, and I had a full day ahead of me. I also had only three hours of sleep. I decided to get on the first bus I could find going to Nomozaki, someplace I had only been once before. After an hour bus ride, I got to Nomozaki, walked to Wakimisaki, and then found myself walking and walking, just getting lost in these old neighborhoods. As I walked through these narrow alleys with old houses, my heart ached. Somehow, I could feel all these stories passing through me. The housewife who married too young, the salaryman who retired too late, the young teenager trapped in a small town hoping to move to the big city, the poor angry fisherman drinking himself slowly into an early grave.

I spent most of the day walking, scribbling, dreaming...

I don't know how to write place. Perhaps the character will stand out on its own. But for right now, I can take pictures, I can dream, and I can write what I know. I know that I need to find more of these places. Perhaps, too, I need to get out of their way and let them write themselves.  

Perhaps places are more than just good characters, perhaps too these are the architects of their own stories.