I recently heard about a man who has locked himself in a castle (large mansion that is nicknamed the castle). He doesn’t have visitors often and is mostly there to maintain the place and enforce the rules. It is an isolation job where he doesn’t see anyone for many days throughout the week. When he does have an interaction with someone, it is usually brief and him discussing what he does.
Now, I know that I am an extrovert and introvert blend, and because of that, I need to see humans on a regular basis. I need to see the way they tick and move. All these observations go into creating mannerisms for characters, speech patterns, and all of that fun jazz that makes a character three dimensional/realistic. Obviously, I make some stuff up, but I often listen to the world around me and pull from there. This blog post is developed from this approach and a conversation with a neighbor.
So, the man in the castle confused me. His goal is to write a screen play for a movie. That’s why he took the job in the mansion – he needs the isolation to work on his product. Now, when I write I am capable of doing it in a coffee shop (only for short stints, I am actually writing this blog in a coffee shop right now) or with pure silence/instrumental music (if a neighbor is being loud). So I do understand the benefit of being in your home, by yourself, with silence, and how it makes writing easier. If I could have a pure silence chamber, I would write exclusively in there.
Yet, when I am writing, I am usually writing or creating something that comes from a semblance of reality. The concept of existing in a bubble, in a castle, and writing a screen play (unless it is about living an isolated life and the incurring psychological damage you receive) doesn’t seem possible to me. Where is the material coming from, the ideas, the human characteristics? Then again, everyone is different and I am especially adept at knowing the environments I need to be productive. Perhaps, his is isolation allows his thoughts to hammer on his brain box until something squeaks out his hands.
All I know is I couldn’t do it.