Worldbuilding
The most useful landmarks in a fictional town are often the ones nobody thought worth putting on the map. The underpass everyone avoids, the bench by the bus stop, the ruined wall behind the shops, the old noticeboard with half the posters peeled off. Those places do more work than a tidy list of streets ever will, because they tell you where people actually go, what they remember, and what the town keeps circling around without naming.
Official maps are very neat about everything. Towns usually aren’t.
Official maps are very neat about everything. Towns usually aren’t.
The useful thing is often the bit that changes over time. A bus stop bench is one thing in summer, another in winter, and something else entirely once the timetable stops being reliable. Static landmarks can be too tidy. If I need a town to feel lived in, I usually want the places that collect habits, not just geography.
The trouble with that sort of landmark is that it can become a writer’s shortcut. A ruined wall or a dead noticeboard is fine, but it still needs a job to do. If it only exists to look weathered, it’s dead on arrival.
A better sign is something used badly: the wrong bench, the step everyone misses, the alley people cut through even when they shouldn’t. That tells you how a town behaves.
A better sign is something used badly: the wrong bench, the step everyone misses, the alley people cut through even when they shouldn’t. That tells you how a town behaves.