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The Dreamer, the Critic and the Book
by Juliet Shepherd
Mslexia
No.4, Winter/Spring 2000
This feature was published in Mslexia, the magazine for women who write. Advice and inspiration; news, reviews, interviews; competitions and grants. Submit your work now! www.mslexia.co.uk
Juliet Shepherd was writing a novel. Or rather, she wasn't. She had writers' block. Then she visited a hypnotist specialising in creativity. This is what happened.
Writers' block is the computer virus in the writer's brain. One minute everything's just fine. The next it's just - not. With an infected hard disk clouding your judgement, you scowl at your talentless self while an inner mantra chants 'All your work is crap. All your work is crap...'
For me, the blinding inability to write anything brings on the following symptoms in order. One: staring at a screen which suddenly contains nothing but rubbish. Two: an overwhelming urge to commit literary infanticide with the delete button. Three (provided I manage to resist Two), flight from the scene and frenzied irrelevant activity. Non-urgent chores take on life-or-death status as I whiz about armed with Pledge and an old toothbrush.
Consulting other writers who have been similarly afflicted turns out to be usefless, probably because the condition is so bound up with idiosyncratic psychic quirks. 'As soon as I got my Decree Absolute I could write again!' declared one friend. Others suggested brisk walks, royal jelly, hot baths. So when I heard about a hypnotist who specialised in the treatment of creative blocks, I decided to give him a try. It couldn't be any harder than bee saliva...
But I felt wary, to say the least. Hypnosis conjures alarming images like being caught with your pants down eating a raw onion you believe to be an apple. The stage hypnotists I've seen all look as if they drink the blood of toddlers. So when I visited Mark McGuinness for a pre-hypnosis chat it was with a pretty palpable degree of trepidation.
Aged just 28, he was younger than I expected but his voice, though entirely devoid of sinister qualities, was undoubtedly hypnotic. A convert to hypnosis through the stress of his finals, (he did an English degree), he persevered with it after his exams and eventually trained at the National School of Hypnosis and Psychotherapy. Since graduating, he has worked for one year for the NHS doing hypnotherapy for drug and alcohol abuse, while developing an interest in the role of hypnosis in the creative process. These days artists, designers and writers - all of whom, he says, suffer 'blocks' - make up a substantial proportion of his clientele.
Mark works in the Ericksonian tradition, Milton Erickson being the founding father of modern, 'solution-oriented' hypnosis. Erickson used spontaneous improvised hypnosis in an attempt to elicit what he termed 'natural trance states' in his patients.
The 'natural trance' is a state we enter when concentrating to the extent that all surrounding stimuli fade from immediate consciousness. The example Mark gave me was of driving on the motorway with no awareness of steering, indicating, changing gear. In my case the best example is what I call the 'cone of silence' in which I sit when I am so focused on the task in hand that I cannot hear the telephone.
According to Mark, creative flow can be controlled to some extent by what he calls 'state management', which is noticing and and then reproducing the conditions that facilitate this natural trance state. We talked about the rituals of getting ready to write, the little things so important to many of us: the direction we face, the chair we're in, the particular pen. For Auden it was fags. For Spender it was cups of tea. Many writers already do a bit of 'personal state management' without realising it. The next step, says Mark, is just a continuation of the same thing.
He believes that all 'quality' creativity happens in a type of trance state and that writers' block is actually an inability to achieve this creative trance. The analysis seemed to fit my 'One, Two, Three, it's all crap' experience pretty well.
He went on to explain the importance of metaphor in the process. Some of his clients envisage a true physical block: a wall, a boulder, a door with no handle or key.
So how to get through it? At the root of solution-oriented hypnosis is something called neuro-linguistic programming (NLP), which can be loosely summarised as the study of the structure of subjective experience.
As a science with no empirical data, NLP is highly reliant on metaphor. This means that the NLP practitioner must make sure that crossed wires resulting from any misinterpretation of a metaphor are cleared up by detailed descriptive discussion. Hence: What does the block look like? What does it feel like? 'In many cases the block has a voice,' Mark explained, 'and once a client is under hypnosis, I am usually able to speak to it.'
He then introduced me to a powerful NLP metaphor: the internal Critic. This is the voice that recites my writers' block mantra, 'All your work is crap...' Few descriptions have rung more true to me.
'Under hypnosis, I try to negotiate with the client's Critic to persuade him or her to bless destructive,' Mark went on. 'Most of my creative clients are caught in the middle of a tug of war between their internal Dreamer - that's the voice that tells you anything is possible - and their internal Critic. The Critic insists that everything the Dreamer comes up with is rubbish. The Dreamer responds with increasingly wild assertions. The result is a downward spiral of illusion and disillusion.'
So what does he actuall do with his clients? Having become rather excited to find out, I made an appointment for the following week.
His consulting room in the Life Centre in Notting Hill, London, was small and warm. I sat in a chair, and after a few preliminaries we started to talk about what I wanted to achieve from the session.
I explained that my problem was a fear of getting started on my novel without having a Plan of where it was going. But I also felt that I just couldn't make one. I could start the novel, sure, the words weren't the problem. The problem was the Plan. 'So I start,' I explained. 'And then I realise there's no Plan. And then I stop and get cross and think I'm rubbish and throw it all away.'
I can't tell you at what point I slipped into my trance. Mark didn't seem to do anything to me, but suddenly he was asking to speak to my Critic, the guy who thinks Plans are so vital, and asking him why he won't let me just go ahead without one. (At about this point I was aware that I was in a trance, but it felt quite voluntary and useful so I stayed there. I know I was staring at the carpet - there was a particularly interesting smudge on it.) Out came the Critic with his adamant grumpiness about Plans.
Recognisably paternal, he responded to Mark's questions is if he found it difficult to talk about his feelings. 'I want her to do well, to succeed, not mess up. Her work must be good'. My Critic was sincere but troubled; lugubrious; potentially stroppy.
Having a metaphor express himself through my mouth was odd, but not unpleasant. I was aware of checking to see if I was acting (the Critic had a slightly different voice) but I found I was not. I felt a bit tearful: I had never realised how much the Critic cared, or how worried he was about me getting things right.
The Mark asked to speak to Juliet again, and began to negotiate with me, my Critic, and a third voice, which we called the Book (my novel) as if we were three family members at loggerheads over some domestic issue. The hour slipped by as Mark helped these three elements of myself - me and my two metaphorical friends, for that is what they became during the session - to sort out our differences.
We agreed the following: that Juliet would try to work steadily towards the Book, showing the Critic that she was working diligently at it. The Critic said that a systematic approach to the work would reassure him. In return, he agreed to stop insisting on plans, and see how we all got on.
Around this time (having skilfully dealt with quite an angry shouting match between me and the Critic), Mark shifted his chair into the line of my carpet-gazing - and I was no longer in a trance.
I felt very different afterwards - enormously but pleasantly tired and emotionally relieved. The whole thing had felt more interesting than worrying. More to the point, it was useful to describe the Critic's views, which are, I suppose, my ultimate fears about writing. I'm not sure they would have been accessible any other way.
And I have definitely learnt some new ways to push the block out of my path until the next time it reappears.
Do you struggle with writer's block? Read Mark's 10 Tips for overcoming writer's block or enquire about coaching with Mark.
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Wishful Thinking is a coaching consultancy for creative professionals and the Creative Industries.
Based in London, Mark McGuinness works with individuals and companies across a wide range of media - including design, film, literature, advertising, music, acting, computer games, architecture, marketing, photography, fashion, TV and radio.
As a published poet with a track record of coaching and training for large and small organisations, I offer a unique blend of creative and business expertise. In addition to my coaching experience and professional qualifications I am nearing the end of a part-time MA in Creative and Media Enterprises at the University of Warwick.
Please ask if you'd like to discuss how I can help you realise your creative and commercial goals.