A few nights ago, I watched a History Channel special on the mythology of Star Wars. Nothing in the show was particularly groundbreaking, especially to someone like myself who has paid attention this sort of mythic analysis for a lot of years. It was not very critical, but I think it was produced (at least in part) by Lucasfilm, so that’s not very surprising. But it did have a lot of fun clips from the movies along with an interesting panel of guests: along with the expected representatives of academia, it featured comments from notable filmmakers Joss Whedon, Kevin Smith, J.J. Abrams and Peter Jackson, news commentators Linda Ellerbee, Dan Rather and Tom Brokaw, and some unexpected oddballs (for this subject) like Newt Gingrich, Nancy Pelosi and Stephen Colbert.

The special is part of the 30 year anniversary hoopla celebrating the release of the first Star Wars film in 1977, and wow does it feel strange to think that it’s been 30 years already. Even stranger to think that there are people — adult, grown-up, with-kids-of-their-own people — who have lived their entire lives post-Star Wars. Some of them are probably reading this right now and thinking, “Yeah, so…?” To them, I can only extend the feeble explanation that life is just somehow different in a world with Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader.

I don’t know that it’s exactly right to claim that Star Wars changed my life — it’s possible I would have fallen into the world of fantasy and mythic storytelling without its influence, that my predilection for these things are in fact what made Star Wars so appealing to my developing creative personality. I would have still found the Wardrobe, after all, and after Narnia I would have journeyed into Prydain, and Earthsea, and Middle Earth, and Camelot. But Star Wars…Star Wars was first, and it colored everything, in more ways than I have yet been able to perceive.

A big one was this: at 8 years old, when I first saw the commercials for Star Wars, I didn’t even want to see it. Why? Because it was about space, and it was about war. It’s natural that an 8-year-old wouldn’t want to see an war movie, right? But I think the whole space thing chilled me more. I remember being newly conscious of the vastness of the universe beyond the sky blue vault of our earthly heavens, and it freaked me out. I had no inclination to go watch something that was going to remind of all my fears of the strangeness above, especially if it was a war movie to boot. But my best friend, Karen Brown (who must have moved away not long after), dragged me to see it with her family. As we waited in the long line outside the theater, she assured me that her dad had seen it, and that it was funny, not scary. So, trepidatious but willing to suck it up for my friend, I went in.

I loved it, naturally. I don’t know that my fear of space dissipated immediately upon that first viewing, but it certainly opened the door. I insisted my whole family go to see it, of course, and I remember sitting in the fourth or fifth row with my dad and grandfather (neither of whom ever went to movies with us), gaping up as the Imperial Cruiser inched across the screen over our heads. My grandfather’s work in the space program was suddenly much more interesting. I didn’t mind watching Star Trek reruns with my family on the weekends. I didn’t care for the creepy television production of Bradbury’s Martian Chronicles, but when Battlestar Galactica came along, oh yeah, I was there!

My younger sister and I collected Star Wars action figures (sadly, all gone, except for one Han Solo floating around somewhere). We collected trading cards (also sadly gone, but here’s a funny trivia note: the profiles of Luke and Leia in the set for the Empire Strikes Back have their ages set at two years apart; in light of the later revelation that they were twins, I never forgot that detail). I joined the Star Wars Fan Club one year. I dressed up as Luke Skywalker for Halloween, inflatable light saber and everything. We had books and comic books and read-a-long storybooks.

One of my last and favorite memories of my grandfather is Star Wars related. For Christmas in 1983, I was given (at last!) the two record soundtrack album for the first movie. My cousin (living with my grandparents at the time) was the only one I knew with a record player with an attached tape deck and I asked her to make a copy of it for me, so I wouldn’t risk scratching it. One afternoon, I walked into their house to the sounds of Star Wars blaring at top volume. It was my grandfather (redoing the recording my cousin had done), loving it every bit as much as I did. Even though I’ve got all the soundtracks on CDs and in my iPod, I still have the tape he made that day, just a few weeks before his unexpected death. I think about it on days like this, when my girls ask me if we can listen to Star Wars in the car.

I wrote Star Wars fan fiction in high school (though my sister claims the more complete work here…I’ll have to type it in some day and post it, just to embarrass her!). I crushed majorly on Mark Hamil and plastered my closet door with his picture. In college, a close friend and I all but worshiped George Lucas, only half-joking when we called him god. We had buttons made up once that just said “George” on them: they were great conversation starters. I imagined myself as part of the team that would, someday, bring the promised prequels to life.

Sadly, my faith in George was destroyed when the prequels finally did make it to the screen, and I have to admit to an absurd load of guilt for how poorly they turned out. If only I’d followed through on my dreams, what might George have wrought with my help? I’ll always wonder.

My adoration for the original trilogy remains undiminished; only The Lord of the Rings has come close to eclipsing the emotional response Star Wars is capable of creating in me. It’s not that I think they’re the best movies ever made: you can’t watch Star Wars as many times as I have and not know the flaws that are there. But there is something raw and powerful in it; at a very early age, it created a connection for me to the world of mythic storytelling that I have pursued ever since. It’s the standard by which I judge everything else I see and read — not the movies themselves, but my response to the movies. To recapture that moment of awe, to be able to create that moment of awe in someone else…that’s what it’s all about. That’s what I’m all about, why I continue this struggle with words and characters and concepts, trying to understand how it all works, trying to make it work for myself. Egads, what standards I have set for myself! Can anyone hope to live up to the expectations of their 8-year-old self? I guess I have no choice but to continue trying.

I thought I’d take advantage to my unexpected day off (a “perk” of working motherhood, I suppose, when you have child home sick) to update my list of books read. It’s been three months since I last posted anything about the books I was reading, and though I’ve gathered up everything I can find, I’m sure I’ve probably missed something.

Stealing Fire from the Gods: The Complete Guide to Story for Writers & Filmmakers<, by James Bonnett.

Unlocking the secrets of story reveals the secrets of the mind and awakens the power of story within you. Work with that power and you can steal fire from the gods. Master that power and you can create stories that will live forever.

This was my New Years’ writing book purchase and was, for me, and excellent choice. I honestly need to go back and reread this to make any kind of accurate summary of Bonnett’s theories, but I’ll just say that any writer who feels an affinity for the work of Joseph Campbell will appreciate what he’s done. Unlike Christopher Vogler, who’s A Writer’s Journey distilled Campell’s work into a formula aimed primarily at Hollywood, Bonnett concentrates more on process than product, giving much more insight into why archetypes function as they do, by introducing Jung into the conversation, and how to let structure work for you instead of being a slave to structure. As I said, I need to reread and take notes to give a more detailed report, but very worth the effort!

Daughter of Fortune, by Isabel Allende

Orphaned at birth, Eliza Sommers is raised in the British colony of Valparaiso, Chile, by the well-intentioned Victorian spinster Miss Ros and her more rigid brother Jeremy. Just as she meets ans falls in love with the wildly inappropriate Joaquin Andieta, a lowly clerk who works for Jeremy, gold is discovered in the hills of northern California. By 1849, Chileans of every strips have fallen prey to feverish dreams of wealth. Joaquin takes off for San Francisco to seek his fortune, and Eliza, pregnant with his child, decides to follow him.

Allende is undeniably a great writer, but I found learning about the three different worlds depicted in the novel the most interesting part of the book: Victorian Valparaiso, Imperial China, and Gold Rush California provide an interesting contrast to one another, and it was interesting to see these cultures that are otherwise pretty unfamiliar to me. Even the Gold Rush, of which I have a greater knowledge, was awash with detail and description that brought it to life for me in a whole new way. A rambling, pleasant read, but not the most satisfying story.

Harrowing the Dragon, by Patricia A. McKillip
A collection of short stories, most of which I’d read previously in other anthologies. I’m glad to have them all in one book, now, ready to dip into whenever I need a dose of McKillip’s unique style.

Swordspoint, by Ellen Kushner, and The Fall of Kings, by Ellen Kushner & Delia Sherman
I’m grouping these together, even though I didn’t read them consecutively. The first was a reread for me, though it’s been a good decade since I last picked it up. It remains a great story, even though I can’t figure out how I enjoyed it so much when I’m not sure I really like either of the main characters. It must be all the dashing swordplay. My only quibble with this book is how one of the viewpoint characters just drops out of the story towards the end, playing no role in the climax or resolution whatsoever. It makes me think his whole storyline was simply filler. But otherwise the book is a classic, deserving of the enduring praise it has received.

The second book, likewise, seemed a little stretched out. I think it could have been told more compactly. All the same, it made me cry at the end, and I won’t blame it entirely on that time of the month. A very touching tale that adds a fascinating dimension to the world Kushner created. I only wish the women in the story played a less peripheral role, but I anticipate the most recent addition, Nebula-nominated The Privilege of the Sword, will make up for that minor failing.

Odalisque, by Fiona McIntosh

Captured by slave traders in the inhospitable desert, Lazar fought his way to freedom, earning the coveted position of Spur of Percheron. Charged with protecting his adopted city from enemies on both sides of its walls, he has led a charmed life as confidant to and protector of Zar Joreb for many years. But now Joreb is dead…

I read about this book online in a few places, with such glowing phrases of anticipation I went looking for it eagerly, even though I’ve never read any of the author’s other work. Sadly, I was disappointed. An intriguing setting is about all this book had to offer. Well, less critical readers than I might enjoy the story, which is a political melodrama spiced with an impeding war between the gods. But, personally, I’m not encouraged to go looking for the second volume when it comes out.

Never Have Your Dog Stuffed, Alan Alda
Yes, I know…an aberration in my usual fantasy-stuffed reading list. I don’t typically read biography, and neither am I an avid fan of Alda, but my sister gave this to my mother who passed it on to me, so I went ahead and read it. The man had an interesting life, that’s for sure. I’d like to add a few more biographies to my reading list: anyone have any suggestions?

Paladin of Souls, by Lois McMaster Bujold

A royal dowager, released from the curse of madness and manipulated by an untrustworthy god, is plunged into a desperate struggle to preserve the endangered souls of a realm.

Wow. Wow wow wow wow wow. All I can say is no wonder this book won both the Hugo and Nebula awards. I’d never read Bujold before last year, when I picked up The Curse of Chalion and was totally swept away. After that, I eagerly picked up the first book in her new duology (The Sharing Knife: Beguilement) and was equally impressed by her setting, characters and skillful writing. Paladin of Souls surpasses them both by far. You know how picky I am, and I cannot find a single thing in this book to pick apart. The story is carefully told, each detail given precisely the right amount of emphasis to build tension and plot. The characters are unique individuals, real people trapped in extraordinary circumstances, surprising you sometimes, but never acting, er, uncharacteristically. I adore how unabashedly Bujold’s characters fall in love with one another, hopeful, awkward, but without all the angst and denial present in so much fantasy, where characters wait until the last possible moment to realize they’re in love. The inner journey of the main character is twined perfectly with the outer complications of the plot, so when they reach their simultaneous conclusions and the book ends, I just let out a happy little sigh of contentment.

I liked it so much I went out and bought the only remaining fantasy book of hers, The Hallowed Hunt, and am reading it now, and I’m wondering which of her many SF titles I want to start off with — and I never read SF.

***
I think that’s all of them, but I probably missed something along the way. What I’ve never counted in my reading list is the books I read to the kids; perhaps I’ll do a special edition that covers those. It’s been a year filled with fairies, for us, but right now we’re reading The Bridge to Terebithia (which I’ve never read before) and soon I’m going to introduce them to some of my favorite books from when I was a girl: Misty of Chintoteague (ponies!!!).

Coming Soon:
The Hallowed Hunt, by Lois McMaster Bujold
Kushiel’s Scion, by Jacqueline Carey
The Darkness that Comes Before, by R. Scott Bakker
Un Lun Dun, by China Mieville

It all started with this:

Two weeks ago, Chris, Anna and I went with my mother to the Fullerton Arboretum (where, incidentally, Chris and I were married all those years ago) for the annual herb sale. While my mom and I debated over varieties of basil, oregano and thyme, I suggested Chris take Anna to view the table with the enticing sign reading “Fairy Gardens.” They came away with the three above “miniature” plants and the idea that they would draw fairies to your garden.

My mother, being much more garden savvy than I, had heard something about fairy gardens before, and pointed me towards M & M Nursery, in nearby Orange. I found out, thanks to the web, that the whole idea of fairy gardens seems to have originated there, and became even more intrigued with the idea of planting these miniature vignettes filled with magic and whimsy.

So the following weekend, Chris, the girls and I headed to Orange where we eventually found the nursery and headed inside. It’s an enchanting place, as most nurseries are in the spring, full of shady walkways and bursts of color. Of course we walked the wrong way to find the fairy garden section, but if we hadn’t we wouldn’t have found these other enchanting spots within the place.

But the fairy gardens themselves! I can only hope the pictures convey the charm of the things, from tiny garden paths…

…to hidden glens…

…stately trees….

…and even underwater vistas!

Not all the fairy gardens were confined to pots, either. This is part of a large plot, perhaps 10′ square, filled with wandering paths, tiny cottages, wells and all the magical denizens you might expect in a fairy garden. (Unfortunately, this was the only decent photo that I got of this spot..taking photos in spotty shade is tricky, I’ve come to discover.)



We came away with our fairy plant collection doubled.

Yesterday, another whole week later, I finally had both the time and the energy (a necessary combination) to actually assemble our garden. I got everything ready to go:

But the girls decided they’re rather do something else instead:

Finally, I was able to drag them over to the potting bench…though because my hands were covered in dirt I didn’t manage to get any pictures of the garden in progress. I do think it came out rather nicely in the end, though:

In time, the groundcover will spread to cover all the bare dirt, I expect. It will be fun to watch it grow and change. The eagle-eyed will notice we didn’t use all the plants we purchased: we decided the Wink Garnet Dascia (with the pink flowers) was too large to fit with scale of our other plants. My mother has promised to find a nice place for it in her garden, though. Or, just maybe, we’ll have to start another fairy garden to accommodate it. I know my head is already bursting with ideas I’d like to try.



In the meantime, I’ll be keeping my eyes out for fairies!

I’ve just pre-ordered my copy of Fairy Tales for Writers, by Lawrence Schimel, due out next month from A Midsummer Night’s Press, from my local Borders. Kind of a joke, really…the pre-ordering, I mean. Every time I go in, I never fail to hear how screwed up the special orders desk at the store has been since I left the position a few months ago (a comment less on my own outstanding capabilities, but rather showing that they just haven’t bothered to fill the job).

At any rate, from the sample posted on the Mythic Imaginations website, I think it will be an interesting read, worth looking for elsewhere even if it never shows up at my Borders. The title of this post is a line from “Sleeping Beauty”, the above linked poem, a bittersweet reminder of how talent and dreams may be put to sleep and forgotten until it is too late. A second poem, “The Little Mermaid“, is likewise sad, but the publisher’s blog promises some happy endings as well.

As ever, Mythic Passages is full of lots of other interesting tidbits, but I’m feeling too lethargic after two weeks of extra hours at work and a trip to Disneyland to focus properly on any of it. Instead, I’m downloading some of the podcasts to my new gifted-for-Mother’s-Day iPod, to enjoy in a more comfortable chair.

Taken this evening in the backyard, last weekend in the backyard, and last weekend at the arboretum.

It’s 2:45 on Friday afternoon, and with just over an hour of work left I am finding it hard to concentrate on much of anything. The truth is I don’t have to stay — I volunteered for the extra time this week, after all. But, I feel like I need get just a few more things done today before taking off for the weekend, so I thought I’d distract myself between spurts of work with listing what I’d like to do this weekend.

In no particular order:
Sleep
Start our fairy garden
Do a journal page
Experiment with some paint-y things
Carve a stamp
Stamp something with said stamp
Get very inky fingers
Get very gluey fingers
Take pictures of flowers
Post pictures of flowers
Post some pictures of the girls playing in the snow when we went to the mountains
Watch a sappy movie that makes me cry

Zoiks! Where’d the time go? Time to commute!

In the earliest days of Castle Marrach, back when Skotos was still running the show and plots were being contrived and executed by people getting paid for their efforts, I had a minor conflict will a fellow storyteller over the way he introduced some off-the-cuff plot elements into the game world. From the players’ point of view, it was all good: there was mystery, there was a villain, there was stuff to do. From my point of view, it was a fiasco. My colleague didn’t know who the villain was, what he wanted or how he fit into the established story structure. It took some serious creative mojo to take those random story bits and build them into a cohesive storyline, working backwards to make sure that all the things that had already happened made sense as the story moved forward.

Right now, I’m feeling a bit the hypocrit for the hardline I drew back then: determine the complete situation first, then tell the story.

The problem is this novel I’m working on now. I know the setting. I know the characters and their relationships, and I have a good sense of how I want them to progress through the course of the story. I know the basic course of events, and where I want my protagonist to be at the end, physically and emotionally. What I don’t know is, specifically, what she has to do to get there.

This happens to me all the time. In fact, counting the current book, I have four novels sitting in my head that are stymied by the fact that I can’t figure out the inciting incident that leads to the changes I want the character(s) to undergo. To me, it’s that internal journey that’s at the heart of a good story, and it’s with characters that I find my inspiration, asking myself “who is this person, what do they want, and how do they respond to this kind of stress?” Emotion, reactions, interactions…imaginging all these things come come easily to me.

But when it comes time to put those hypotheticals into action, I find myself frustrated by the specifics. For example, in the current book, I know my character has been thrust into a situation where there is a curse, and the book will end once she has broken that curse. I even know what the effects of the curse are, because that has shaped all the characters in the story. What I don’t know is WHO cast the curse or what the heroine has to do in order break it. I know what her internal journey is, in other words, but I don’t know the external one, and everytime I come up with an idea I end up dismissing it because it ends up feeling constructed and unorganic. An obvious McGuffin.

This is the problem with working backwards. I should have started with the curse, figured out where it came from and how it was meant to be broken, and then put my characters in place around it. If I’d done that, then I suspect I would have achieved the cohesion between plot and character that I desire. But in truth, it is not curses that interest me; the curse is just an excuse for the characters I’ve imagined to do things, to interact, to change…

Obviously, I need to change the way I’m thinking. The curse is going to be of paramount importance to my characters, so I need to stop thinking of it as inconsequential myself. It has to be more than just a plot device; the curse, and the means of breaking it, needs to be fundamentally connected to the inner journey of the protagonist. Which means, I suppose, that I need to take a longer look at my character and really see what makes her tick. Maybe then I’ll be able to figure out the curse. It’s a place to start, anyway.

I’m frustrated, too, by not having more opportunity to write this week. It’s been a terrifically tiring week at work (I’ve been working close to full-time) with lots of stuff happening on the homefront, too. In the few spare moments I’ve had, my brain has been too filled with mush to even think about anything creative. I’m really looking forward to the weekend, that’s for sure!

Who knew that scientists could study narrative with an MRI?

Can they build a diagnostic tool to help me figure out how to end my novel?

Link via Quantum Storytelling.

1) The jacarandas are starting to bloom.

2) It’s Friday.

3) Ice cream, followed by a cup of Assam tea.

4) The girls finally went to play in the other room.

5) The jacarandas are starting to bloom. I know I said that already, but it’s really worth it.

click for photo credits

I’m stealing a few minutes from work to slip in a blog post. I wanted to pass along some May Day greetings, but I ran out of time yesterday, so happy day-after May Day!

I am feeling a bit proud of myself this spring season for having taken one teeny-tiny step toward a greener world. You know those insidious plastic grocery bags that have been talked about so much lately? I’ve stopped using them. It started when I ran into the grocery store to pick up a couple things: I realized that I didn’t need a bag to carry some chips and a loaf of bread, though the clerk seemed surprised at my request to just hand me the items. I’ve been doing that everywhere, since, when I only have an item or three that I can easily manage without a bag, and you know what? It saves me extra effort when I get home, since I don’t have to dispose of the bag!

On top of that, I invested in a half-dozen reusable grocery bags to take with me when I make big trips to the store. It probably would have been more earth-friendly if I’d bought hemp ones, but mine are non-woven poly-something and cost me a mere $.99 each, right in the grocery store. Unfortunately, my green living efforts have to be moderated by time and budget, but I’m doing what I can. And these bags are great! So sturdy…they hold a lot, are easier to carry than paper or plastic, and I don’t have to worry about them breaking, even when they’re overfilled. Why didn’t I do this ages ago? Oh, they’re also multi-purpose — they’d function great when you need a tote for a picnic or road trip. Reusable. That’s the way to go.

I’m now trying to figure out what my next small green step should be. Any suggestions?

Some ATCs I’ve made and sent out over the past month, which is about the extent of the artwork I’ve completed in that time. I’ve messed around with a few other things here and there, but nothing’s finished yet…and even if it was I’d probably not have time to photograph, upload and post. Computer time at home is very limited now that I’m at work all morning, and have two Internet-addicted children to share it with at home. But just to tease, I’ve been playing with watercolor pencils, dip ink pens, glass, mirror spray, tissue paper, acrylic paints, Twinkling H2Os, and no…not all on the same project. Oh, been twitching a few things around in Photoshop too, since I’ve been trying to take better pictures and give them that extra kick through editing.

But the creative effort I’m really trying to get underway is writing. Yes, I know…all you people who know me are thinking, “here she goes, talking about that novel that never happens again…” I know I don’t have a very good track record, but I can’t help myself from trying once again. Nin and her friend are putting themselves through a writing challenge, sort of an unofficial Nanowrimo, without the high word count goals and so forth. I guess I am throwing my hat into the ring with them (if they’ll have me), just to get that extra inspiration I need to keep adding a little to the new project every day. I’m feeling self-conscious about posting word counts and so forth here, because I’ve done it before only to have to sheepishly slink off when the project petered out. Anyway, since I’ve decided to use my ol’ Alphasmart to type (provided it will kindly upload to the PC…haven’t tried that yet), I don’t have an easy means to keep track, between uploads. Also anyway, I don’t want to obsess about word counts at this point…I just want to get a first draft of the story done. So I’m considering jotting down a “milestone” list, events in the story that I know are coming up, and then crossing them off as I pass them. But I still don’t know about posting progress here…I suppose it depends on how fired up I get about the book. Which, by the way, is called Winterthorn. And that’s all I’m going to say about it, for now.

Just to wrap up the post, work is gowing great. Very exciting stuff going on but at times I’m overwhelmed by how much there is to do, especially as we get close to my first editorial deadline. Getting up at 5:30 sucks, but it’s worth it when you’re going to do something that you love.