![\"\"](\"https:\/\/jerichowriters.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/03\/johari-window-global-coaching-lab.webp\")
<\/figure>\n\n\n\nThe idea is that there are things known to me and known to others, which belong in the top left panel: I have blue eyes. I write books. I like working outside. I\u2019m bad at crosswords.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Then – more interesting now – we have things that are not known to us, but are clear to others. Maybe I\u2019m a terrible public speaker, but think I\u2019m good. Or perhaps I dance like a giant insect, but don\u2019t know it. Or maybe someone fancies me, but I\u2019m the last to know.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n And the double unknown? Well, how I manifest when on my own is experienced only through my own, unreliable, inner world, so maybe there\u2019s some significant truth about me that no one knows. For example:<\/p>\n\n\n\n If I go to bed alone, perhaps my movements seem forgetful and a little jittery, a little uncertain. But in my mind, my going to bed is the same as it\u2019s always been, and perfectly swift and purposeful.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Or maybe I write books thinking consciously only about what would please my readers \u2026 but all the time, an early childhood tragedy threads through all my work, unseen by me and not glimpsed by others.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Now, if you use this window in the context of personal therapy, your job (as I understand it) is to shrink the right-hand side of the window, pulling the unknown into known. And perhaps you may also want to reveal more of yourself to others (shrinking the bottom left pane) in order to achieve greater intimacy with friends and loved ones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But – ?<\/p>\n\n\n\n We\u2019re novelists. We don\u2019t want our characters to be too perfectly therapised \u2013 rather the opposite. We don\u2019t want them to have great, open relationships with others. We want them to be twisted, complicated, interesting \u2013 and probably even a bit nuts. That means finding juicy ways to populate all those quadrants that the therapists want us to shrink or destroy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And, oh boy, those quadrants are rich places to explore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Obviously, there are plenty of blind-spots generated by your plot. We see our hero relaxing in a jumbo hot tub, with a bottle of champagne and a whole fleet of rubber ducks. But little does he know that the baddies are speeding towards him \u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n That kind of thing is commonplace, but it\u2019s not quite what I\u2019m talking about here. What I\u2019m interested in today is the notion of psychic blindspots or hidden nooks. For example:<\/p>\n\n\n\n When Lee Child\u2019s Jack Reacher encounters ordinary people, those ordinary people keep expecting him to react in ways that he doesn\u2019t. His brother\u2019s died? He\u2019s just come through shootout, unharmed? Ordinary People expect some grief, some shakiness \u2013 some something<\/em>. But Reacher gives them… just Reacher, the same as he always is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Those encountering him see his absences and deficiencies. Reacher himself seems barely aware of them. (Actually ignorant? Or are they just so unimportant that they don\u2019t need head space? Not sure. It isn\u2019t clear.) Either way, the gap between Reacher and the rest of the world is a huge part of what elevates this character from the million other action heroes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Or take my own personal nut-job, Fiona Griffiths.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Here\u2019s a chunk, where Fiona is having an after-hours meeting with her boss (Watkins) and her boyfriend (Buzz, who is also a police officer.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n Watkins grabs all the paperwork now and bends over it, leaving nothing for the others. I\u2019m fed up with the overlit room and turn all the lights off, except the spot directly over where Watkins is sitting. When she glares at me, I say \u2018Sorry,\u2019 but don\u2019t put the lights back on. It feels better now. The prickling feeling is still there, but not in a bad way. I like it. I\u2019m beginning to feel comfortable now.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Isn\u2019t this nice?\u2019 I say to no one in particular. Everyone stares at me, but no one says anything.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Then Watkins is done. [\u2026] The meeting breaks up. Watkins says to Brydon and me, \u2018Good work, well done.\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Brydon says something. I nod and look like a Keen Young Detective.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n In the street outside afterwards, Brydon says, \u2018Are you OK?\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Yes.\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018You\u2019ll be OK driving?\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Yes.\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Not too fast, all right?\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018All right.\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Back to mine?\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n \u2018Yes.\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I don\u2019t know why I\u2019m talking like everyone\u2019s favourite village idiot, but it doesn\u2019t bother me and Buzz is used to it<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Buzz (who is stable and sane) clearly thinks that Fiona is behaving strangely, hence all the are-you-OK<\/em>-isms. Watkins also clearly thinks that Fiona\u2019s behaviour with the lights is off, even if she says nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And Fiona\u2019s self-insight here? It\u2019s close to nil. She notes a prickling feeling, but can\u2019t name it. She thinks she looks like a Keen Young Detective, though it\u2019s clear that\u2019s not how she\u2019s coming across. And when she talks like \u2018everyone\u2019s favourite village idiot\u2019, she doesn\u2019t evince much surprise or have any insight into why this is.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The delicious thing for the reader here is that we don\u2019t actually know for certain what Buzz and Watkins see, think and understand. But we get teasing glimpses and enjoy the gap between those glimpses and Fiona\u2019s own (hopeless) reflections.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Here are two more chunks:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dad and Buzz are both tall, big men. I am five foot two and hardly big built. There\u2019s something about the scale of the car, the size of the two men in the front, and me all alone in the back which makes me feel about eight years old. Like I\u2019m swinging my heels on the way to the beach while the grown-ups talk about grown-up things<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The men in the front aren\u2019t Neolithic. They\u2019re intelligent guys who know that Fiona\u2019s own brainpower goes far beyond theirs. So they aren\u2019t<\/em> in fact patronising her in their minds, but in Fiona\u2019s world, she\u2019s turned to an eight-year-old, kicking her heels and thinking about ice cream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Another example:<\/p>\n\n\n\n I stare at my face in the mirror for a minute or two, wondering if it feels like mine. In Bram Stoker\u2019s Dracula, the dark count is invisible in mirrors and I often feel something similar is true of me too. I can\u2019t feel any deep relationship between the face that is mine and the person I am. Like they\u2019re two different things. I don\u2019t know if this is something that everyone feels<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No, Fiona. No one else thinks like this. It\u2019s definitely just you. But this is a lovely private little place shared only by Fiona and the observing reader. We take this little nugget of insight back into the story proper, where Fiona engages with people in the world who don\u2019t know what she thinks about when she looks into mirrors.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And in the darkest quadrant of this window, we novelists can still find something to interest us. For example:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Watkins looks up from the desk, staring at me. I don\u2019t look away.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n She says, \u2018So, your hypothesis is that Langton was working for tips only on some of the nights that Khalifi was there?\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n There\u2019s a prickling feeling in the room. A sense of movement or hidden life. I don\u2019t know why.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I say, \u2018Yes.\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Three heads go back to the lists. Not mine. I\u2019m trying to work out what this prickling sensation is. I can\u2019t. I try to understand the feeling. What bit of me is feeling what? I try to dissect my own sensations the way my psychiatrists once taught me to, but I don\u2019t get anywhere.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I say, \u2018Langton called her mam most nights.\u2019<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Fiona, typically, confides in no one regarding her inner strangeness. What she says to her colleagues is perfectly professional, perfectly straightforward, but what\u2019s going on is simply indeterminate at this point. It\u2019s a feeling, yes, but she can\u2019t name it and the others don\u2019t even know that it\u2019s there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What does the reader do with this? Well, they\u2019re also not sure of what this prickling feeling is \u2013 but what a joyous mystery to have, and to stuff with hypotheses, and to read on to learn the answer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The results of this use of the window is to enrich the book, enrich the text, make it multi-layered and yumptious, like the very best Parisian croissant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No prizes for guessing this week\u2019s task.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Go to your manuscript and pluck out some short passages that exemplify:<\/p>\n\n\n\nPlot-led blind spots<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Known to others, not known to self<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Known to self, not known to others<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
Not known to self or others<\/h3>\n\n\n\n
FEEDBACK FRIDAY \/ The Johari window<\/h3>\n\n\n\n