Just like any other mental condition, there is a lot written about Writer’s Block and much of it is total tosh….because, like other mental conditions, the causes vary from writer to writer.
Mine is due to head trauma so telling me to just get on with it is like asking a Parkinson’s disease sufferer to enter the egg and spoon race. However, I had some very good advice during yesterday’s journeying. It is no secret that I am a Narnian in exile. So I suppose it shouldn’t have surprised me that I was taken to speak to the man himself, C. S. Lewis.
We sat in a study full of heavy dark wood furniture on opposite sides of the desk and he smiled at me pityingly. “You are looking at it through the wrong end of the telescope.”
I thought for a while and then dared to say “You mean the advice to treat it like a job?”
He nodded. “Yes. What exactly is your job now?” He leaned forward as if extremely interested, causing me to blush.
“You must know that. I’m on disability pension. I can’t work at all.”
Beaming, he threw himself back in his captain’s chair and swung it slightly. “Exactly. Treating it as work is the last thing you should do. My advice to you, if you’ll take it, is to go home.”
With that he left and I wandered out into a beautiful garden to ponder on this advice. That was one of the oft-quoted “bum-kicks” for writer’s block- just treat it like a job. But of course I can’t. Go home?
A large foxglove smacked me on the head and I heard giggling from behind it. Of course!
Mr. Lewis, like I have, invented his own world and peopled it with his friends. I remembered how happy I was when living in the world of Alchemy and how unlike going to work it was. He was absolutely correct, I had been out of perspective and now he had turned the telescope around for me. An obliging beaver brought me a notepad and pen so I could write the order in which I should tackle my books and a cup of tea.
The gigglers tripped me up on the way out of the garden with a rope twisted from convolvulus but I skipped off happy. I had my answer.