If You Don't Keep Your Feet

It's been a while. So what's the point in coming back?

1.Going full circle.
2. New perspectives of the beginning and where you are now.
3. Never leave something incomplete.

Really, that's three ways of saying nearly the same thing.

Returning to the beginning always brings fresh perspectives which, when you're deep in an adventure, whether it's physical travel, a mental goal post or something else entirely, it's very easy to forget about where you are going. Your feet get swept off.

In other words; sometimes you are so close to a particular situation (your life) that you cannot see where the road is going, or where you actually want it to go, or where you had originally intended it to go.

Since I last wrote I've had a bit of that. Loosing my feet, getting some perspective, going back to the beginning (when I went home for a visit) and loosing my feet some more, getting more perspective and currently still existing in a state of slightly lost feet as the clock ticks on this particular experience.

I've been calling myself a writer and a photographer for a long time now. People give me envious looks. They cheer me on for being a creative individual. (As if it's some sort of select cult that only those with an intrinsic gene can enter. Ha. I'm creative because I like expressing myself differently and I've done it long enough I've had oodles of practice). 

Yesterday I just told someone I am an imaginist. As in, my job, my career, my life. All in one. They looked at me oddly but with envy again.

The ability to freely choose your identity, your time, your life. That's the ultimate for all people (dictated by society to keep us unsatisfied), and yet, very few ever step onto the road and let themselves get lost in the imagination, the wonder, the "who knows what will happen next week or next month."

Letting go of your feet is one of the most frightening things you can do. And this is coming from someone who has only done that halfway. To fully let go of your feet, letting go of friends, family, home and belongings for a time or longer would be more true to that way of life but, despite the ultimate (dictated by society to keep us unsatisfied) belief of freedom to choose your identity, time and life, you really don't, and don't want to, because certain things exist, such as cars, buses, trains, airplanes, theatres, restaurants, parks, pools, books, films, chocolate and computers, that most would not give up.

Thus one must play into ladder of employment, of government documented identity and a life rotated around mental misery because "freedom" and "happiness" are untangible and definitely individual ideals but also, ones which, if you've been born into society, you'll inevitably be influenced by the definitions which society formulates. Even if you scoff at the current ideal of "high-paying job, marriage, car, house, kids" thing which has been around since the early 20th century.

Oh please. All of that is desperately passé. Also, it's the 21st century. 'Bout time we made our own ideal. And it's there. A bit. Struggling along with most of us millenials who saw the lives of older generations and put our feet down. With a stomp.

Thing is, all that stomp is still very much just the moon rune riddle on a map. Not even the map itself, let alone a decent trail.

The first step is solving that riddle.

Start by testing your limits. How far can you give things up? What can you give up? How much control do you want over your freedom, identity and life?

Freedom being defined here as: The ability to create a living.
Identity being defined here as: The overall image you associate yourself with. (Yes we all wear different hats, but ultimately, everyone can boil their identity down to one word which encompasses all the hats. Try thinking of emotive language, of active language; a maker, an inventor, a saver, a helper, a planner etc).
Life being defined here as: The event you choose to make up each day, week, month and year.

Spend an hour this week making a list of all the things you could give up and all the things you could not. Give a reason for each.

Think too about what single word defines you. This is your job. This is what you are here to do and be. Not a chef, not a manager, not a lawyer, not a archivist, not a customer service agent or an artist. No, you are more than that.

You are also your feet. Take a look at where they have taken you this past year. It's autumn and nearing the best time of the year to curl up in a chair with a cup of tea. This time to reflect on where you have been and where you are going.

Don't let your doer feet get wild, don't let your inventor feet get distracted. Focus next on your freedom and life.
Can you create living with at least some of the events you fill your time with?
Do the other events support this living by expanding a part of your identity and freedom through knowledge, connections or other faucets?
Does frustration play into any of your answers? If so, why?
How will you cope with the frustration?
Where will you go from here?

Everything out there means something if you look at it hard enough but also, sometimes a leaf is just a leaf and the wind just blew it in a direction which made it hit your face.

When you step out your door today, don't be afraid to look away from your feet, but know that they will sweep you off toward directions you might never have planned for.

When you step into your door today, look down at your feet. Thank them and then get yourself a cup of tea, a writing implement and get on with drawing that map.

Moony

The Frabjous Days of Fandom

What is fandom?

One of the rare shots possible in such crowded, happy quarters.

To the people you bump into on the streets while you duck and dive during December's pre-Christmas consumerist chaos, they would say fans are insane, generally female and usually teenagers or the adults who still live in their parents' basements.

In short, they reel off a load of stereotypes.

Today I'd like to give you a general view of fans, from the belly of the beast itself...

The London Premiere of The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies. (With a precursor the night before at a pub).


The evening before the premiere, theonering.net, the leading force behind Middle Earth gatherings, news and fandom (apart from the more exclusive Tolkien Society), held a pub moot at a place just off the film centre of Leicester Square, called Waxy O'Connors. This pub looked and felt like it had dropped out of a black hole from the medieval period. It's all wood, celtic carvings and goblet. There were tin and iron basins in the toilets, wood carved into tree branches and bits of holly and ivy sprigged about. Also, grand fireplaces with deep pits, low benches, round tables, teetering stools and so many overhangs, balconies and twisty corridors, it never seemed to quite end.

The event took place in one of the upper floor rooms called the Cottage Room and also had a background of Howard Shore's epic scores. Well, at least until there were too many of us of present for there to be much point trying to have a background of "Concerning Hobbits" or "The Ring Goes South" being two of my favourite tracks which were played.

I arrived apprehensive. It's a social gathering. I am going alone. I am an introvert. It's par for the course then that I found myself a corner between a high backed chair and a wooden pillar near the bar. I leaned there and observed for an untangible amount of time. Appreciating the music, the warm atmosphere and the gorgeous costumes some people showed up in. Being that I had to pack as frugually as possible that meant no costumery, whether Middle Earth or otherwise, could find a home in my suitcase. So I made due by letting the Evenstar glint off the flickering fire place and maybe, possibly, my freshy done hair. (Which did in fact turn out rather lovely, despite all my worries. I am just flat thankful it didn't cost my head in pounds or sanity).

I bounced a few words with a girl who was shocked how busy it was and left right after as she couldn't stand the crowds and attempted to ooze my way into a coversation between four rather handsome Scots who were dressed as hobbits, complete with bare feet (they pulled their shoes off when they came in). They were more interested in getting drunk...

All the costumed people were gathered for a photo and prizes, one of the websites moderators did a quick speech of thanks and the chairman of the Tolkien Society, a thirty year old who has a hobbit complexion but an elf's height talked for a bit. Then, among the regular chatter a guy grabbed the mic and freaked everyone into thinking Andy Serkis was in the room, his Gollum impression was so spot-on. The cast and crew of the film did have this particular event on their iternary for the evening but they were free to chose what to do and what not to do, particularly in the case of a fan-run event like this. And so no more people left due to the crowded rooms. 
After all, a filmic hero could appear at a later hour. It was around this time that I heard the jarring drawl of an American accent. Around the other end of my corner a guy was expostulating his love of collecting Tolkien's works with the Tolkien Society chairman and somehow, I found myself leaking into the conversation. Probably because they started discussing the possibilities of the Silmarillion, if told in alternative mediums. I leaked into the conversation for a bit, rather aware that the guy was American and if I am going to meet any guy I would prefer to him to not be of the New World variety because hey, I am here, not there.

The pub moot was, as I predicted, a highlight. Meeting like-minded individuals always is. It means you get an evening full of people singing Tolkien songs, songs from the films and when, they get just drunk enough, they start dancing up on tables and re-enacting the pub and party scenes generally influenced by hobbits in the movies. Amusingly, this was largely directed by the Scottish hobbits. Unfortunately they eventually got so drunk by near midnight that their renditions of The Green Dragon, I See Fire, The Misty Mountains, the Cat and the Fiddle and The Road Goes Ever On, to name off a few, had devolved into what is apparently the bane of pub singing...Bohemian Rhapsody. I can agree now. The phrase "sounds like a dying cat" has never been more true.

My new acquaintances, the youtubers, a couple of Danish girls and an older couple from Cheshire who had been buying the group of us drinks periodically throughout the night, said a "hope to see you tomorrow" and there we parted.


Luke Evans, the fabulous individual who plays Bard in the films showed up. Well, there was more action to it than that. See, he started coming up the stairs of the pub to where most of us were situated. We were all alerted to the arrival of said celebrity by a roaring wave of cheer and then crash! The crowd bore down and the poor guy basically had to zip through with waves, smiles and stopping for a few requests of selfies with fans before leaving out the back end again. Yeah, that's fans for you when the shining quarry of various idols are spotted. Especially when the quarters in which said interaction is taking place happens to have a low medieval ceilings with a lot of pillars and tables and therefore precludes little manouvering room to begin with.

In reality it would have been better if it had been organised for said famous individuals to set up behind the bar along with the mic to allow a better interaction that wasn't so mobbish that the pub manager then blocked any other celebrities from entering in the name of health and safety. And so, Billy Boyd, who played Pippin in The Lord of the Rings and Ian McKellen, being Gandalf, dallied outside the back doors of the pub for a bit, interacting with the lucky few who spotted them, but my group and most others missed that secretive stop of theirs.

And that was that. I walked back to the hostel, skipping. People avoid eye contact here when you do something odd. Which is nice. No staring.

What follows is the actual Premiere:

8 hours wait. I arrived on needles and quite hot (because I speed-walked more than usual). The square crawled with workers in bright vests, piles of gates, metal supports, cranes and set-pieces in the form of trees, a dwarf statue and parts of a hobbit hole. In the Burger King at the corner I spied fans, standing out in their elvish crowns, long skirts, and armoured coats.

Milling about the square the fans continued but there was no direct organisation of lines as of yet. Perhaps I was too early? Shocking.

Turns out I was on time for a fan-organised line though eventually one of the workers came over and kicked us out of the square with a rather rude "if you lot aren't gone in 5, you'll be getting your wristbands cut."

And so we skedaddled. I had got myself chatting with a group of three friends who attend Kings College London and we hid in the Costas just below the main Odeon cinema so we could still see what was happening in the square, without actually being out in it and therefore encuring the further fury of the workers. We wondered how they could actually have the place set up and ready in time 11am when they said they would start organising us to line up in the pens.

And so followed an hour in which I wished I could be back in university. Between the three there was a breadth of knowledge (mostly of humanities and arts). Acting, animation, make-up design, English and linguistics. In short, I happily fit in while the one guy, who had just pulled a night shift at Sainsbury's (a grocery store), gulped back the largest possible hot chocolate you can get at Costas while entertaining us other three with his reading of Richard III and a monologue he was meant to memorise.

Eventually it was near 11am and finally, the lines were allowed to form, in the order of our numbered wristbands though, so I said farewell to my temporary friends and found myself in the middle of the line (being number 871 of 2000). I then accquainted myself with two old friends who hadn't seen eachother in three years and grew up in York.

And so the hours trekked on. Despite the official notice that we would be organised into the pens by 11, those weren't up and ready until nearly 3 and not until 4 were we finally ushered into the areas behind the red (or in the case of The Hobbit), the green, carpet. What ensued was a lot of nervous bathroom trips, snack trip, sitting on the ground under a thermal blanket and oodles of time-passing games.

Then came the premiere. It began in a trickle of security guards being flirted at by the three ridiculous girls next to me (who were seasoned premiere goers and stupidly rich with their 1600 pound/month flats in Chelsea, paid for by parents and their L'Oreal long hair which kept getting brushed and flipped in my face...). It began with the stalking of preeming press ladies in high heels and stylish dresses and then the camera people lugging gear and setting up directly across from my location. It flashed to a booming start with the mc kicking off with Ed Sheeran singing the closing song for the Desolation of Smaug credits.

The main press lady who did all the interviewing opened with a speech on the carpet in front of my spot and the press of the fans around me got tighter. A black car approached.

I was rather well situated I should mention, just in the second row of people and in the end where everyone is dropped off in the cars, has to stop for on-carpet interviews, then stops to get blinded by thirty cameras flashing, before continuing on until they reach the stage at the centre of the square.

Out of the car stepped. Duh. Duh. Duh. According to the mc, Andy Serkis. Cue the crowds screaming. And that, in a nutshell, is what occured for the next couple hours. Though you could, being semi-seasoned with comic conventions as I am, tell the star-level of a particular individual based on the sound level of screaming cheers. It was a tight tie between most, whether it was Peter Jackson himself, the shallowly popular Orlando Bloom or the intellectually popular Benedict Cumberbatch.

Having not thought much about bringing things to be signed or even of how difficult it is to photograph things when you have a row of pushy rich girls in front of you or you feel bad for the people at the back and so you pass up their copies of The Hobbit to be signed or whatnot, you mostly try to not go into shock. 

This entails taking deep breaths in order to get through the sensory overload and as well as trying to stamp the moment in your mind. The moment in which you actually, literally, come 20 centimeters away from people you have only ever seen on screens and have only imagined conversations with. Of course, no conversation is particularly possible in this setting. Those are best left for conventions, but, just being able to realise, these people are actually, physically real is rather mind-blowing. Curly hair and height is particularly more evident in real life than on screen.

A random highlight, I will say, is meeting the illustrious Roger Allam who I first ran across through the hilarious little radio drama that Grace and I listen to (Cabin Pressure). You know the thing I talk about too much? He and his adorable little son got invited by a friend who's on the cast list and he found it sweet how there could be someone who could be equally passionate about a radio show as she could be about The Hobbit. I did get his signature and a well-wish for a brilliant Christmas.

Mostly this was in part due to the fact everyone there was more focused on the big names, if they even knew their names at all. Again, those rich girls who always go to premieres couldn't even remember who people like Phillippa Boyens was and frankly, you are no fan if you cannot remember one of the flipping screenwriters, especially a female one! What I would do to sit down and have a conversation with her one day!

But that's humanity for you. Sheep who do things just to be "in." Well I'm going to "hipster" the "hipsters" and say I was a Lord of the Rings fan long before they got passed the Goosebumps, Roald Dahl and Judy Blume that classmates read while I stuck my nose into the adult fantasy section.

Aside from the chairman of the Tolkien Society and the girl from Toronto who is the enclyclopaedia half of the youtube Lord of the Rings videos, there was next to no one who I ran across who had such a ridiculous knowledge of Middle Earth details as I did. I really do need to just get into academia one day perhaps...

Anyway, on the whole it was a glorious evening. Both extremely sad and extremely exciting. It's both an ending and a new beginning. Now there can be a full 6 film marathon. A bit like the modern version of Anglo-Saxon oral storytelling in which the storytellers would gather the villagers into the mead hall and each night another section of the adventures of Scyld Scefing, the Valkyrie princess Brynhildr or the duel between the dragon Fafnir and the hero Sigurd would be reveals and reveled. 

And that is that.

Take what you will on that night observations of fans. 

And now go forth. Adventure is at hand, my good folks. Oh, and go see The Battle of Five Armies. It is glorious. And I am not just saying that as a Tolkien geek and nerd.

Moony.

Remembering Origins: "Tolkien's Lost English Mythology"

Some weeks back, just as I left on my tour of Scotland, I had the fortune of connecting with the wonderful Simon J. Cook, a particularly unique and insightful scholar, especially of Tolkien. He recently published the following book and you can find out more about him, his other work, and purchase the highly affordable book itself through the links below: 

Ye Machine - Simon J. Cook's Portfolio

Amazon -  (Don't be thrown by it's "Kindle Edition" listing, you can drop the Kindle app on any smartphone, tablet or PC and read it like any other ebook file).

Cook, Simon J. (2014-10-14). J.R.R. Tolkien's Lost English Mythology. Ye Machine. Kindle Edition.

Book Description:

A path-breaking account of Tolkien’s Middle-earth as the lost world of ancient English mythology.
In this essay the award winning intellectual historian, Simon J. Cook, explores Tolkien’s lifelong project of reconstructing the ancient traditions of the North – myths and legends once at the heart of English culture but forgotten after the Anglo-Saxon settlement of the British Isles. Cook situates The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings in relation to Edwardian scholarship on the prehistory of Northern Europe and the origin of the English nation. Taking us through three key stages of his creative writing, Cook shows how Tolkien crafted stories that fit – and illuminate – our fragmentary knowledge of ancient English traditions. By the end of his essay, Aragorn, Arwen, and Frodo appear in a new light – no longer just icons of modern fantasy, but also the original heroes of a lost English mythology.

So, what did I think?

Tolkien stands as icon of fantasy and of Englishness. His Shire and the resident hobbits are just one of the few embodiments of English culture. Or are they?

Most scholarship on Tolkien focuses on his relationship with the land and the events he employed which lay the ground for the fantasy genre. Namely they are either concerned about physical evidence found in the lay of the land, as the Shire is a perfect copy of English countryside or they focus on the plot and character arcs filled with particular genre tropes made famous by Tolkien's groundwork, such as the Hero's Journey.

In J.R.R Tolkien's Lost English Mythology, the intellectual historian Simon J. Cook, focuses on not on how Tolkien is the forefather and inventor of fantasy, but how he is an archeologist of the origins of English culture. He merely is the medium through which England might be reacquainted with their lost cultural origins. Or so was the original intention.

This immediately makes Cook's book a worthwhile read since it seeks to explore ground which isn't particularly acknowledged in the sphere of Tolkien scholarship.

However, despite it most certainly being a unique and thereby, valuable addition to the compendium of Tolkien discourse, there is an undercurrent of apology, particularly in Cook's "Preface" in which he describes his research to be a mere "exercise," and he also insists this is not meant to be a definitive way of reading any of Tolkien's works, particularly The Lord of the Rings, when really, the purpose of all academic research and argument is to create a space to explore, compare and to most of all, look at things in different lights. 

Cook's discourse is most definitely that and despite the attitude of the beginning, it is evident Cook's awareness of his unique perspective does lend itself well to clearly walking readers through the step-ladder of influence which eventually led to Tolkien's works.

The exploration on how Tolkien's world of Middle Earth reconstructs the lost myths of the English begins with a heavy chapter on how the English viewed history in the mid-Victorian period. However the heaviness is no fault of Cook's as the period is rife with a convoluted chaos; each scholar and intellectual field of study seeking to rise over the other with an ultimate truth. 

What follows however is a much more straightforward and easy to connect section between a particular book, The Origin of the English Nation, by Hector Munro Chadwick which reaffirms Tolkien as a man many years ahead of his time of binaries, which allowed little room for history and heritage to overlap, let alone sit in the same subject together. Cook subsequently endeavours and succeeds at showing how Tolkien's bridging of the gap led to the beginnings of his Middle Earth saga.

In short, Tolkien was not writing just to make stories of faeries (Middle Earth's elves), or quaint English countryside but to hearken readers back to a matriarchal period of time when agriculture was more queen than king was war and thus, nothing was a faerie story, but a culture. 

Fresh revelation after revelation it is easy to get caught up in Cook's perspective and to eagerly re-read passage after passage, if only to re-live the amazed realisation of some new tidbit you had not made the connection to before. As an exemplar, the link between King Sheave, or Scyld Scefing, at the beginning of Beowulf, which calls forward the culture of corn on a distant island whence much of English myth originated according to Chadwick, of whom Tolkien builds his mythological framework, was particularly powerful. Thus a fabulous interconnection of all the elements which Cook has thus far carefully laid out, come to together at the end. 

Again however, it is made very evident how Cook's discourse will open the ground for new debates as all of which he discusses alludes more toward cultural history than chronological history. Yet, the chronological history is as much part of what Tolkien is attempting to bridge in terms of his engagement with Chadwick and his reconstruction. Particularly in terms of how Tolkien alludes to the passage of these stories from Middle Earth figures, to figures of English myth. Nonetheless, Cook in all his care, leaves little ground to fault him for not spending time clarifying this differentiation as even Tolkien convolutes the two. Furthermore, at heart, this book recants that Tolkien's stories are elaborate imaginations, influenced by his personal scholarship, in an effort to illuminate the reality of Arda, or Middle Earth, as a reconstruction of as much a chronological history as a cultural one.

Cook rounds out his discourse with a final word on Tolkien's true passion, language. This, however makes Cook's use of 'English' mythology unfortunately insufficient, as he notes most of the world now speaks English. It is in the language where culture flourishes. As such, that makes Tolkien's writings today, less of a geographically English story, and more of a story for the English language, meaning any speaker of it can connect. Thus it is less a story of the English people and more a story of English speakers.

Overall, Simon J. Cook has forged a new path of study for the future of Tolkien scholars, which not so much demands acceptance of his perspective, as much as offers it as a suggestion. The book sits as a small bite of delicacy which leads to one wishing for another bite. 

Though this delicacy is perhaps not easily accessible to the casual reader, and I wouldn't recommend it to anyone who hasn't dipped even lightly into Tolkien scholarship, it is a highly valuable addition to the never-ending discussion to the purpose, place and origin of Tolkien's mythology. To anyone who knows Tolkien like they know an old friend, this book reads like the discovery of an old family genealogy which reaches beyond time.

Values of Difficult Relations

"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."
— J.R.R. Tolkien (The Fellowship of the Ring (The Lord of the Rings, #1))

After my last post I figured I should do a more standard quote-based post. It's one of my favourites (though who am I kidding, if it's got JRR Tolkien's name attached I'm going to like it). This one is especially perfect though because it runs a balance between a perfect compliment and a sneaky insult.

Try it on people. It's a laugh. Truly. 

That said, I'm going to take this post to both unpack the multiple meanings in this oft befuddling quote (remember the looks of the poor hobbits in the movie?). 

The best sort of friends use broken sunglasses to make cyclop guards for your sandcastles.

"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like" is the easy bit to the quote as it implies Bilbo would like to get to know more of the hobbits in the Shire because he believes they are all worth knowing. Simple.

However it goes a step further. Due to the implication that half of the hobbits there are worth getting to know better, we can take it to imply that most people we know will reveal hidden gems to us as we get to know them better. Perhaps it is a hidden talent, a perspective or a common experience, at least half the people you meet in your life will be worth getting to know better. They will teach you something.

"I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve" is a little trickier as it can be disguised as a bit of an insult to the other half of the hobbits.

However it too goes a step further. In all actuality it doesn't reveal that half of the hobbits present at the party are not worth knowing, but rather that Bilbo is acknowledging he has a personal shortcoming in that he doesn't like half of them as much as they deserve to be liked. As with the first half, this second half is also implying that all the hobbits there are worth knowing, it's just that Bilbo cannot quite make himself come to like one half of the lot as much as they deserve to be known and liked.

That's rather true of life for us humans too. We all have people we dislike, or at the very least, little habits and triggers that others do which bother us. Nonetheless, it is important we all move beyond that and recognize everyone deserves to be liked. Maybe you are not full on friends with them. Maybe you were friends with them and it fell through. Maybe you never will be able to friends. But at the very least, find something about them which is admirable. Find something about them you could learn from.

Also, and most importantly, recognize your own faults. What triggers and habits bother you? Do you dislike people who show-off? Do you find laziness irritating?

Now ask yourself why that is. More often then not, the things that irritate you, irritate you because they trigger feelings of doubt within you. Perhaps you feel unworthy, or you work and work and work but no one ever recognizes your effort?

Scratch it. Tough, I know. But worth it. Yes, it is important to surround yourself with people who allow you to be honest to your identity but it is also important to learn from others who trigger insecurities and other such negative thoughts of your identity and skills.

Not only do they help you become aware of those insecurities so you can work them through and finished, but getting to know people who bother you might just give you a new perspective to observe the world from.

Am I the only one who is curious about the inner lives of the silverware stealing Sackville-Bagginses related to Bilbo?

Maybe. But regardless, take a moment now to think of someone who you dislike, or at the very least, has a habit which bothers you. Think about why. Think about their life. What is their perspective?

Respect. Live and let live. Learn.
Moony.