And it happened one day that King Arthur came upon a battle between the Black Knight, guardian of a quite ordinary stream, and the Green Knight, an interloper determined to cross the stream or die trying…which he did. Arthur, who passed by just as the Black Knight skewered the Green through his helmet, immediately offered a seat at the Round Table to the victor.
- A scene from “Monty Python and the Holy Grail”, 1975.
Not to be diverted from protecting the plank over the rivulet, the Black Knight ignored Arthur’s offer and raised his sword to prevent the new challenger from crossing the piece of wood. Combat between the warriors was valiant and bloody, but in a matter of moments the Black Knight had lost both arms and both legs. Reduced to an angry ranting torso on the turf, the Black Knight demanded Arthur continue the battle, insisting, “It’s just a flesh wound.” Monty Python and the Holy Grail, 1975
I’ve always considered myself reasonably smart. Not genius material, but smart enough to know when to come in out of the rain or when to cross the street. In the Black Knight’s place, I think I would have been clever enough after losing one arm to call it a day and cede passage to Arthur and his companions. Unfortunately, I might not have recognized the wisdom of accepting Arthur’s initial offer and riding off to Camelot with all my limbs intact. That’s the drawback to having one approach to problem solving, you might be so focused on your predicament you miss an opportunity. Sometimes all it takes is a slight course adjustment to make the difference between heartbreak and happiness.
My preferred tactic for dealing with problems is to ignore them. Over the years I’ve learned that most will sort themselves out given enough time. But there are those uncomfortable occasions when a dilemma demands attention and that’s when I fall back on the same course of action the Black Knight pursued with such determination. Planting my feet and facing the problem head on is perfect for some situations. And I’ve defeated a few Green Knights that way. But when the path ahead isn’t clear or my needs are in conflict with another’s, the head on approach can be self-defeating.
In recent months I’ve donned my ebony armor and gone into battle against a couple of obstacles I could no longer ignore—a scary dog and writer’s block. The dog, like a latter day Cerberus, is an angry mutt with a mission, who stands guard at his owner’s front door along a route I regularly walk. The sight and sound of him tensed and
- Cerberus by William Blake
barking at the end of his chain prickles the skin at the back of my neck. But in knightly fashion, I don’t give ground when I pass his way. For reasons I can’t explain, I am determined to walk along the sidewalk that borders his yard, even though there is a perfectly good walkway on the other side of the street. For this the dog and I both suffer.
The head on approach hasn’t fared any better in its battle against my thwarted creativity. I read somewhere that Jane Yolen claims writer’s block is all in your head. And I can’t argue with her logic. But it seems like such a tame and frivolous thing if it’s only in my head, curable by a good night’s sleep or one well-turned phrase. Like many of life’s obstacles, not writing started out as a small annoyance, a pebble in my shoe. But over time the pebble grew to a stone and then a boulder. Until finally it felt like the best parts of me had turned to granite—a monolith that wouldn’t give way, despite determination and self-discipline. For all the days I spent in headlong combat against writer’s block, I couldn’t even scratch its stony surface. What finally made the difference was when I laid down my lance and picked up a feather.
Love as a force of change abounds in fairytales and it was love that finally won the day for me. A few weeks ago I fell head over heels for the touch screen and apps of a tablet computer. Though I had to convince the “mom” voice in my head that there were several practical reasons why I needed this gadget, I really bought it for fun. And it has not disappointed. More importantly, added to the joy of instant and portable e-gratification is the delight I rediscovered in writing. Tablets are not suited to heavy writing, so I use it to type up quick notes and random ideas. Such ephemeral scribbling doesn’t need to be well written or sensible. It can be full of whimsy or just plain bad. But soon what I’d written was finding its way to my laptop and I was fine-tuning phrases and completing whole paragraphs. And I was having fun. This featherweight device didn’t fix my writer’s block, but it shifted my perspective just enough that I found the crack in the stone and was able to break it up and sweep it away.
The Black Knight missed his chance to join Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, because he couldn’t adapt, even after losing his ability to hold a lance or stand his ground. I couldn’t defeat my writer’s block, because I had lost sight of the joy that made me want to write in the first place. That sense of joy has trickled into other areas of my life. Recently while walking, I encountered “the dog”. He started barking as soon as I breached his territory and strained at his chain trying to close the distance between us. But that day, “the better part of valor was discretion” and I crossed to the opposite side of the street and, hopefully, to a greater sense of comfort for us both. Had I done anything else I would have earned Arthur’s parting assessment of the beleaguered Black Knight, “You’re a looney.”
Being Dorothy 