Writers block
How a pilgrim taught me to change my perspective
“Is this autobiographical, or pure fiction?”
Carlos asked me when I pitched him the subject matter of the screenplay that I just finished writing. That was five years ago in Santander, in a small hostel, where we shared a room. It was the 10th day of our hiking journey on the Way of St. James, along the Northern Spanish Coast to Santiago de Compostella.
Luckily his English was much better than my Spanish.
After a very hot day, I ordered two more cerveceas in the shade of the porch. We both had a passion for the movies and were happy to share it with each other. Carlos was a writer of historical documentaries. Having just won an award at the San Sebastian Film Festival, he was hoping to find inspiration for his next project on his 35 day, 1000 Kilometer Pilgrimage to the Holy Grail.
“This is not about religion” he assured me, as we trudged along dramatic coastlines with our heavy backpacks. “It’s about finding inner peace and inspiration”. I couldn’t agree more. But in contrast to my Iberian hiking buddy, I was happy to have just survived challenging rewrites, character explorations and dramatic-arc adjustments on my assignement.
And I was fully focused on finding inner peace.
The Northern Route of St. James along the coast is great to walk. We passed small fishermen villages, lush forests and pasture fields. In contrast to the more popular and crowded tracks of the Camino Frances, the Northern way along the coast is a much harder, but also more rewarding experience. The mountainous terrain, with its steep climbs and drops is breathtaking and rugged. And when you walk next to a fellow filmmaker for straight eight hours a day, there’s no way not to dwell on movies or new plot ideas.
Every night Carlos would pull out his tattered notebook and scribble some notes. And he was a darn good artist. His quick sketches were some of the best I’ve ever seen. One night, when we relaxed on our bunk beds in an abandoned church, he turned to me and said: “You see, hombre, writing for the movies is like going on an elongated walk. On our Camino, it’s a mapped out, step by step procedure, following yellow signs and shells. You know where you want to go, but you never know, what happens along the way.”
That made a lot of sense.
A couple of days later, already in the province of Andalusia, but still 400 kilometers away from Santiago, we faced a heavy storm before reaching our dormitory. A young car mechanic was kind enough to brew hot coffee in his cluttered shop. Not out of pity for my soaking boots, but rather because he admired his much older fellow countryman with the disarming, sun-drenched smile.
The overall experience of a long hike is not the sum of our worst days.
We spent the night next to his old dog in the back of his garage. I stuffed by boots with an old newspaper and put them next to the wooden stove. And his wife cooked dinner.
The greater and more complex your task, the more you long for outside guidance.
Over the coming days, my friend continued giving me his wisdom and advice:
“Years back I took some drawing lessons and our teacher suggested that we draw with our non-dominant hand. Your brain is so focused on what we normally do that when you suddenly switch to the other side of your brain, there’s no more filter blocking creativity.”
I never tried the drawing part, but still couldn’t understand the practical aspect of his analogy to writing. Carlos pointed one of his hiking sticks to the horizon: “This is us, the point of view of the protagonists.” And with a mischievous grin he suddenly turned around and started walking backwards: “And this is the antagonist’s perspective.”
My new friend had a quiet, almost sacred approach to everything he said and did. “Every time I write and my story outline comes to a halt, I change perspectives. I leave the dramatic arc of my protagonist and focus on any other character moving my plot line along.”
Nothing is linear. Life is a surprise.
With more than a dozen award winning documentaries, he was a very savvy and experienced professional. And he knew the pitfalls, dangers and difficulties of the Camino. It was his third time on the Way of St. James. “You see, we drive on the right side of the road, but we walk on the left in order to watch out for oncoming traffic.”
In Gallicia, five days prior to our expected arrival in Santiago, Carlos got a call. A family emergency forced him to return back to his hometown Madrid.
When I arrived in Santiago, I stood in line with other pilgrims to get my certificate, the Apostila de Santiago de Compostella. At noon I visited the Pilgrims Mass and put a yellow scallop shell on the steps of the Cathedral. Carlos carried it along for the past five weeks and asked me to donate it to Saint James on his behalf.
Three days later I reached Finisterre. The signpost read: “Kilometer 0.”
I have reached the End of the World.
And the closest point of Europe to the American Continent.
The owners of a local farmers market watched me taking off all my clothes and jump into the cold waves of the Atlantic Ocean. And I missed not to share that experience with my dear friend.
And here’s the analogy:
Despite good outside advice, some things in life you have to finish by yourself. And when you do, the results often surpass your wildest expectations.
Writer’s lesson learned.
