Sunday 24 January 2010

Life block


I may have mentioned this before but, ages ago, I read an article by Terence Blacker in which he wrote not about writer’s block but about what he called ‘Life Block’. I hope I’m not misrepresenting his argument with this summary but it went something like this. The writer (we’ll assume she’s female to save all the his/her confusions) sits at her keyboard, immersed in the world of her characters. She knows them all well, is comfortable with them and, while they can still surprise her, she likes the time spent in their company and it flies by. She belongs there, contributes to it all and has a clear role.

The working day ends and she then has to make the transition to ‘real life’. And what does she find there? She finds people (even friends and close family) whose motives and actions she can’t predict or control, whose preoccupations don’t always coincide with her own. In brief, integration into that reality is qualitatively different from the total immersion in the reality of the fiction she’s just left. She feels more comfortable with the expectations of her characters than with those of the real people around her. The former are, on the whole, easier to be with. And that’s ‘Life Block’.

So why am I bringing this up? Because I understand and agree with Blacker on this and because the recent silly blog about wanting to be a guru and the wonderful set of responses to it proved it yet again. And in a bizarre way. Because I know that you (i.e. the person reading this) are real, with your own joys, sorrows, idiosyncrasies and passions and yet those of you who left comments became part of the fiction. In my head there’s now an actual hut (thanks, Michael), in which I (or rather the fictional guru I) sit and dispense wisdom, parables and dubious aphorisms about inserting animals into bodily fluids. And there are others wandering about there, with their own desires (such as Rolls Royces and dreams of women who use long words). And each evening, as the sun slips behind the trees, a group gathers at the Candy Store. Over a low humming sound, one or two tentative voices can be heard:
‘Is she really going out with him?’
‘Let’s ask her … Betty, is that Jimmy’s ring you’re wearing?’
And soon, as the dusk thickens, the sweet voices join in the harmonies of Leader of the Pack.

And it’s the same with that blog I did months ago – The Lovers of Wensley Dale – those fictions are still lurking there and I know that they just need me to get together with them again to live out their lives. And it's true of all the individuals we've created. But more than that, in our completed novels we've given them and their lives meaning, purpose, structure, significance, something which life itself never manages to achieve - because we're always becoming rather than being. Maybe the meaning we've given them only applies within the context of the book but there is a completion, a satisfaction about it which is elusive, not to say unreachable outside of fiction.

I don’t think Life Block suggests that we’re tongue-tied misfits in our daily routines but there’s a real contrast between the intense reality of our fictions as we inhabit them and the relative tameness of normal life, between the layers of meanings and personalities to which we have access as we write and the guesswork that constitutes so much of ordinary social interaction.

Yet again, I think we’re very lucky and very privileged to have been programmed to be writers. Success would be nice, so would money, but having that extra dimension of experience is already a very sweet advantage.

19 comments:

  1. You and I both have our tongues planted firmly in our cheeks most of the time, but I say with all honesty that talking to the people in my head is what's been keeping me sane this past few months.

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  2. When fantasy crosses over into reality there is no controlling it. Characters behave more predictably between the pages.

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  3. The two most important words to a writer; WHAT IF? When we write, we can WHAT IF? endlessly and probably part of the appeal of what-iffing is we get to CHOOSE our favorite answer and how we're going to play it.

    Maybe it's a control thing. Maybe it's an imagination thing. Maybe it's a combination of both.

    I can honestly say, however, that the only people I've EVER met who truly understand the way I think are writers.

    Let's just call it a writer thing and be thankful we have each other.

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  4. You are so right - and I know Life Block all too well. It's what makes me grumpy whenever I have to make the switch! But I wouldn't be without that other dimension.

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  5. I know the symptoms of Life Block all too well. It's probably why I became a writer/reader/dreamer in the first place. ;)

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  6. Thanks, all. It's reassuring to know I'm not deluding myself with this. Non-writing people do sometimes give me funny looks when I'm talking about the writing process and getting all enthusiastic.

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  7. It's always struck me that people who are so good at communicating in writing can be so bad at it in real life.

    I think it's because, when you're conversing in real life, you don't get to wait for revision 8, and we all know how much first drafts suck.

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  8. Ah yes, Gary - the famous esprit de l'escalier. On the other hand, I remember on the one occasion we met that you waxed lyrical on many subjects - including bloody economics.

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  9. Yes, it's that ability to play out different scenarios and choose the best for our fictional characters that makes writing so satisfying. We only get the one chance at real life and it's so easy to get things wrong.

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  10. That's because I talk a lot. Think how much better it would have been if I'd actually thought first!

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  11. Never thought about the 'only get one chance' aspect, Rosemary, but you're right. Which makes 'Life' even more scary and fiction a comforting place to be.

    As for thinking, Gary - surely this blog proves that it's overrated.

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  12. I never doubted it for a moment. :-)

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  13. At times my characters are my best friends and I have to continue writing my mystery/suspense series so as not to lose them. Because I'm basically a shy person, I allow them to say things I would never dream of saying. I agree, Bill, that we're fortunate to be blessed with writing skills.

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  14. That's such a familiar experience, Jean. At the moment, I'm beginning the process of writing a sequel to The Figurehead and I'm feeling guilty that I've left the characters alone for so long.

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  15. I love this post, Bill. My critique partner and I recently discussed what a gift it is to have this desire or especially in your case, talent, to spin other worlds. Even as physical processes diminish with age, as long as you have your mind, a writer can continue to create and live in the alternate reality. One we can control.

    I wonder if it's healthier, brain-wise, to be a writer. I sat next to a brain scientist on a plane a few years back and he said the biggest cause of brain cell death (and lately they've said the same about heart health) is the inability to control bad situations in your personal life. So, I suppose the escape is good for our health. Too bad for all those non-creative types.

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  16. Thanks Marley. You're right, it's a form of escapism. But it doesn't carry the negative connotations that word usually implies. I think the 'escape' actually helps us to cope with those 'bad situations' a little better.

    But anyway, with the Superbowl line-up the way it is, you won't be wanting to escape anywhere for the next couple of weeks at least (and, I hope, beyond that).

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  17. You are soooooo right! It's exciting. Go Saints! You must have been putting the hoojoo on the frig magnet. Keep it up. We'll need all the extra HJ we can get to beat the Colts.

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  18. Marley, I found your comment about the inability to control one's personal life to be very interesting. About fifteen years ago, I decided to stop trying to be perfect--which turned out perfectly for me, because I used to be doomed to failure and now I'm just human!

    Seriously, though, at around the same time I learned about the circles of control and influence. Picture two coins lying on a table, one about half the size of the other and sitting on top of the larger coin. The small coin represents our circle of control: the things [and people] in life that we truly have control over. The larger coin represents our circle of influence: the things [and people] in life that we have influence over. Everything else in life - and the world - is outside our control and influence.

    This concept can be mind-boggling to those of us who are control freaks or ex-control freaks. But once you accept that the vast majority of anything that happens is outside your control and influence, you get a better perspective of what it is you really can do and who you WANT to influence.

    Maybe we writers have a better grip on that to begin with; I suspect many of us seek our fictional worlds to avoid "life block" and to stay sane...

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  19. I'd never heard that 'control' theory before, Linda, and I like the simplicity of the image that illustrates it. It all makes a lot of sense. My own belief, though, as I've probably made boringly clear many times before, is that we're accidental and that most notions of control are illusory. Yes, we make choices which affect us (and others) directly and may change how others behave, but the arbitrary nature of experience denies us the possibility of making hard and fast plans which we KNOW will come to fruition. I seem to be (and, yes, I am) controlling these words as I shape the sentences but I can't control what they become when they hit your retina. Having said that, I suppose that the definiteness of writing, the fact that we combine words carefully to make specific points, gives us a better chance of maintaining at least a semblance of control of our interactions.

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