My favorite scene in the The Lord of the Rings movies is the lighting of the beacons. You know, when Pippin executes a feat of acrobatic daring in order to light the signal fire at Minas Tirith, setting off a chain reaction captured in a magnificent series of aerial shots and stunning special effects in which, one by one, the watchfires that line the peaks of the mountains that divide the realms of Gondor and Rohan (no, I don’t know the name of the range — get a life) spring to life, triggering, ultimately, the Ride of the Rohirrim to war.

I really love that scene. Gives me shivers just thinking about it. I couldn’t really say why, though, until a little while ago, while I was enjoying the sunshine, the view of Mt. Saddleback, and the book The War of Art by Steven Pressfield while taking my lunch hour. It was just “cool” or maybe “awesome.” I wasn’t able to verbalize my response any more than that.

I don’t know what about that particular combination of sunshine, view and reading material suddenly made me think about the scene in LOTR, or why I was suddenly able to say, with perfect understanding, “The reason I like that scene so much is…” I do know that I’ve been paying a little more attention to why I like or dislike things — books, movies, artwork — trying to define my response instead of just experiencing it. It’s important, I think, as a creator to know what you value in creative work, so you can try and include those values in your own creations. In fact, I have a whole post on the subject of “story values” that I started months and months ago and may finish some day soon, if I manage to get back on a regular blogging routine.

Another example, if you will permit me: Madelyn Mulvaney is an artist whose work I’ve been pleased to feature twice, once in the spring issue of Artful Blogging, and then again in the upcoming issue of Life Images. Her photograph, in fact, will appear on the cover of the issue. Everyone in the office finds her photography immediately appealing — you might say we have a little fan club going on here — but when I showed prints of some of my favorites (which Madelyn so kindly sent to me) to my mother, she didn’t get it. It’s not that she didn’t appreciate the skill of the photography or the quirky nature of the subjects; she just didn’t have the same emotional response as I (and my colleagues) did.

So why is that? What is it about walking into the waves carrying a suitcase, or standing on step stool with an umbrella, or a stack of teacups caught in the spray of the sea that lights my fire? Here’s what I said to Madelyn about it, when I wrote to thank her for sending the prints:

… it’s not just that your work is quirky or colorful or pretty, which are all the quick ways to define your imagery. For me, it’s all about the question each of your pictures makes me ask myself. “Why take a picture of teacups on the beach?” Well, why not?

For a creative person like myself, I think “why not” is the single most important question we need to ask. It’s so easy to get trapped in the usual ways of thinking and seeing; it can become a challenge to do things differently. It’s probably some kind of survival instinct, to mistrust the urge to do things that don’t really seem to make sense. But doing things differently is the only way growth will happen in art, in the self, in the world.

Of course, you’ll have to figure out for yourself what Madelyn’s photos say to you. That’s the thing about art: it forces us to make up our own minds.

Oh, are you still waiting to learn what it is about the beacons scene in Return of the King that I like so much? It’s because it signals the start of the action. Until the fires ignite, everything is stalled, the men of Gondor hiding behind their walls, the Rohirrim waiting, waiting, waiting in Rohan. And then … the skies are set afire. It’s a stunning visual representation of what is happening structurally in the story. I just love it. I love it even more now that I understand why I love it. Shivers, I tall ya!

To close, a brief writing update: the hardcopy of “Caribou House” has been returned. The first thing I did was make a photocopy of it, so I don’t have to worry about losing the only copy again. I don’t know when I’ll get around to transcribing it, however; I’m anxious to get it out, of course, but I’m also making good progress on chapter 2 of False Queen (I did over 1000 words last night) and I’d like to keep at it and have a readable draft by Thursday’s writers’ group meeting (not that I anticipate reading myself — it’s just my self-imposed deadline). Given that I’ve only got about two functional hours (at best) in the evenings, I may just have to wait until the weekend to get “Caribou House” ready to send.

It’s indicative of the effect my job has had on me that my first thought upon seeing this small scrap of carpet left by the workmen at the office this week was that I ought to save it for use in some future mixed media artwork. Or, at the very least, a scrapbook page.

Well, at least I’m blogging it, right?

Saturday was date night for me, a date with my notebook, favorite pen and iPod. We went to Borders, where I was happy to see Artful Blogging on the shelf, even though the official release date is August 1st. There were only three copies there, but they were right up front — I don’t know if they only had three copies to begin with (when there were 10 or so of the other new issues of Stampington pubs), or if it really is selling that fast. I’ll go back in a few days, I think, to investigate again. Of course, I’d like to think it was doing that well!

The writing, unfortunately, did not go all that well. I blame it on the fact that the only Kay book they had on the shelf was Ysabel. Not that I have anything against Ysabel, but I was planning on buying a fresh trade copy of A Song for Arbonne that night, my own mass market edition being old, falling apart and in storage. I also hoped that a little dip in Kay’s prose before I started writing would warm up my own pen; alas, it was not to be, and I spent the next couple of hours hopping between two works-in-progress and not getting very far on either.

I know a good part of the reason is that I’ve suddenly become hyper-conscious of one aspect of my writing, namely the blocking that goes around dialog. “Blocking” is a theater term, referring to the actions and movement that actors perform whilst saying their lines, but I’ve seen it used for prose as well. Recently, my style has been gravitating away from exposition and especially from the internal stream-of-consciousness of the viewpoint character; I want to show what’s going on in a characters head by what they say and what they do, not by what they’re thinking. The dialog comes easily for me, but I feel terribly deficient when it comes to describing what’s going on. But then, description has always been a bug-a-boo for me.

Back when I was playing on MUSHes — way before Castle Marrach — I actually got quite good at writing descriptions. Because there was quite a bit of freedom to build and create rooms and objects of my own (not to mention character descriptions), I could indulge in textural artistry without having to weave it into a dramatic scene. I don’t have any of these passages readily accesible, or I’d include a sample because (at least as I remember them) some where quite lovely. But their not the sort of thing you’d dump into the midst of a story (unless you’re Robert Jorden, from all reports). Also, it was only descriptions of things, not actions and interactions and reactions and all that must take place within the midst of a narrative scene.

What I’d like to do is delve into some good examples, and while I’m sure I have many, many good choices on my shelves, I find myself hesitant to pick up anything to read lately. Some of that is no doubt a hangover from the marathon Harry Potter reading, but I think mostly I’m afraid of another brain drain that will negatively affect my creative output. In fact, in the week-plus since finishing HP7 I’ve only read a few short stories in the Wizards anthology. I think that’s one reason I was so set on getting Arbonne — a well-beloved book isn’t going to short circuit my creative paths like I’m afraid something I’ve never read before will do. Oh, yes, I know I’m overthinking the whole problem, but I can’t seem to help myself.

At least I made up for Saturday night’s poor performance on Sunday by writing and submitting a flash piece to a contest at the Clarity of Night blog. The piece, Wizard in the Wood, was inspired by one of those Wizard stories, a piece by Gene Wolfe (a writer I never imagined I’d be inspired by myself) about Merlin and Viviane. I’m not sure if my two characters are Merlin and Viviane or not. You’ll have to decide for yourself. Also, be sure to check out some of the other pieces in the contest!