It’s been a while since I’ve shown off any of my work from my day job here. The third issue of Life Images is available this month, and it’s another gorgeous book filled with amazing photography and (most gratifying to myself) really exceptional journaling. Have I used enough superlatives yet? I can’t help myself, I really love the magazine that much.

As I see it, it’s the journaling that really makes this magazine a keeper. We’re surrounded by beautiful photography everywhere, but there’s nothing that puts together words and images quite like Life Images does. Heartfelt, endearing, poetic … true. There’s just something very true about all these pictures and the words that accompany them. Encouraging our contributors to find words that were just as powerful as the photos they submitted was very important to me in this issue, and I think I succeeded.

“…that night my son didn’t say a word when he found me. He didn’t even question me about why I was crying. Instead, he sat there on the floor beside me and put his arm around me…” (Angelina Dominguez)

“…One day he collected he petals of a red flower, a pitcher of milk, and a needle. He went deep into the forest on the night of the first full moon. He pricked his finger, allowing a single drop of blood to fall…” (Diane Keys)

“…It is moonlight leaking on soft skin, a worship song rising within, waterfalls and road trips on mountaintops. The way the breath gets knocked out of you seconds before a symphony plays and the climax of every instrument tin unison…” (Kara Troglin)

“…I discovered that exactly the same door had mesmerized my grandmother some 50 years ago. When I found, embedded in her collection, a beautiful image of the very same door, I examined the photo and compared it to my own. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I considered how eerie it was that we chose to focus our cameras on the same subject, so many years apart…” (Kathleen Russ)

“…That day in July … it was so hard to hear the news that my mom’s cancer has come back for the second time…” (Bretney Endy)

That last quote comes from a particularly powerful series in this issue, submitted by a group of high school students who used photography and journaling to confront their own inner demons and fears. I have read every word in this magazine a dozen times, and some of the pieces in this group still make me cry, they’re that moving.

Here’s a little peek at some of what’s inside:

If you like what you see, I encourage you to visit your local Borders and/or Barnes & Noble to buy a copy. Help ensure I have a job this time next year! (We’re all friends and family here — I can say that sort of thing.)

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 has been crazy busy the last few weeks, what with Christmas coming and production deadlines for two publications coming up fast (er, that would be today, actually, thank goodness). To top everything off, the better part of a week was lost by first Anna and then myself and my mother getting sick (the less said, the better). However, it is not too busy to come up for a moment’s air and show off the newest product of all my paid labor, which is due on newsstands January 1st.

I love this publication, I really do. I don’t think there’s anyone who wouldn’t appreciate this collection of words and pictures, and I’m not just saying that to secure my job. There’s something really special about getting to shepherd this kind of beauty into the world.

It’s only a shame that you can’t read the words that go with these pictures; for that you’ll have to go find a copy for yourself. You can see more samples by clicking on the cover picture above. I’d say more, but I don’t want to sound like a commercial — I just want to show off my work.

Go on…go look!