Pushy Therapist's Couch

“If you currently can’t seem to connect with your character (when you have writer’s block) put him on the therapist’s couch”, that was a fellow writer’s advice.

The advice made me smile.  Big.  Then I laughed out loud. 

It made me laugh to imagine coming up to Biker Dude – burly, head of thick black curly hair, facial hair enough to cut for a large doll’s ringlet wig –and forcing him onto the therapists couch to dig deep into his feelings.

Of course, he’d land with a thud like a wrecking ball in mud!

 You think he’d take me seriously?  Shoot, no!  He’d grin with a twinkle in his dark eyes, then he’d chuckle.

“How’d that make you feel?”  I’m supposed to ask this as a therapist.  

He’d probably say, “Like Mack The Dog lunging for some petting after my long day at work.”

“From your viewpoint, what’s the problem today?”  second probing question asked.

“I have a pushy therapist?”  he’d query with laughter.

“No, Biker Dude, I’m asking what brought you to the therapist’s couch?” 

“My baby.

“Your baby?”

“The Suzuki, it’s a sweet ride.”

Clearly, I’m not getting the answers I expected.  Nor answers I can work with.  This Dude is intent on being entertaining with literal interpretations.

So, in my mind I turn to his brother.  He’s nothing like Biker Dude.  Brother is tall, thin, impulsive, full of silliness and named S’pencil. 

“S’pencil, have you ever seen a counselor before?” I’d try to solve the problem with this new patient and a new query.

“Absolutely, I saw you.” 

“You did?  I don’t remember.  When?”

“Just now.  When you were questioning Biker Dude!”  Oh, boy.

Still trying to connect with my characters and trying to get to the heart of the problem, “Do you consider yourself to have a low, average or high interpersonal I.Q.?” 

“He’s 5 ft. 9, and I’m 5 ft. 11, so I’d interpret-personally that I have the higher eye-to-eye queue.”  My mind is smiling again.

Going at this from another angle, I’d have to ask,  “Do you get along with your siblings?”

“Yep,” says S’pencil, “we get along just fine.  This afternoon on the way over Biker Dude said, “Hurry up!  Get along.”  “And I got here just fine.” Then he, too, would have a twinkle in his eyes.

In my mind I wonder, shall I put them on the therapist’s couch at the same time?  Biker Dude would command the space, as the saying goes.  And S’pencil would tower over him in a kingly way. 

I’d better separate them -- one on the couch, one in a chair, and me behind the desk.  Yes, the symbolism is there; the desk is a barrier with me behind it, chuckle.

Then, I can just imagine it; these two would sit there in glee watching me.