Writing of Syrupwit

The most striking and immediate impression a visitor to the Plane of Shadow experienced was the lack of color and light; no sun, moon, or stars adorned the vault of the inky black sky, and all things looked as if the color had leeched out, leaving nothing but black and white, which in the dimness were more like "dark black" and "light black". A light source only illuminated half the distance it normally would, flames and fires put out less heat, and spells that dealt with light or fire were less predictable and prone to failure, whereas shadow spells were enhanced. On the other hand, although it would not illuminate as far, any light source on the plane could be spotted at a distance of up to ten times its normal range of illumination, such was the contrast to the constant gloom, similar to a star in the night sky. Even a light source that only put out shadowy illumination, like a darkness spell or a lantern burning shadowlight oil, could be seen up to five times its range of illumination.

Some things:

. . . I can well remember how when I was writing Gallantry the characters perforce all went to Tunbridge Wells and spent the earlier half of my book there, and thus landed me -- who then had not ever visited this watering place -- in endless difficulties. Map and histories are all very well: but they do not comfortably suffice in dealing with a town which you have never seen, and which still endures to confute you . . . Meanwhile, to every side, problems arose. Upon which of the hills would Lady Allonby have lodged in 1750? just where would Captain Audaine have fought his duels? what was, in 1750, the dubious quarter of the town to which a profligate nobleman would abduct an heiress? into what suburbs would Vanringham most naturally have eloped with his Marchioness? and at what inn would the great Duke of Ormskirk have sought accommodation when he came down from London to dispose of the Jacobite conspiracy? Such were but five of the hundred or so problems which fretted my imaginary stay in Tunbridge Wells; which made mere maps and histories inadequate; and which caused me to resolve for the remainder of the book, and indeed for the remainder of my auctorial career, to deal with a geography less prodigally adorned with doubts and pitfalls. Never again, when any possible option is at hand, I said, will I lay the scene of any story in a real place. And I have held faithfully to that saying. Of the books written since 1905, none has paid the least tribute, in a point of fact, to the fixed laws or to the shapings of a world contrived by any other demiurge than myself.