Spit Out by the Wormhole

I made it through the wormhole and, if my sassy muse did appear, I can’t remember. spiral galaxy

Three weeks later, gallons of anesthesia seep slowly from my brain. My almost revised novel slumbers safely on my external hard drive. As I realize I can’t hurry this healing process, my muse begins to tease me with back stories, plot ideas, and flirtatious phrases. In a way, I’m enjoying the flush of ideas secure in the knowledge I don’t have to do anything (even if I could). I’m free to just enjoy this time with my characters deep in their dangerous and fantastic world.

Flexible goals are key now. Today is the first day I’ve been able to work at my desk. Tomorrow will be the first day I begin writing a daily page. The day after that – who knows?

What are your immediate goals?

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Into The Wormhole

Writers often wonder about the source of inspiration. Some people say it comes from dreams, meditations, or the moments of in-between daily life and fantasy.

Could it come from the wormhole of general anesthesia?   According to my brief research at several medical sites, there are many kinds of fancy pharmas used to put you under and several methods of delivery for these drugs. All that is well documented. Even so, no one seems to know how general anesthesia works in the brain. Imagine that. And, even more amazing, the professionals admit it.

When you’re floating below the surface of consciousness, do you dream? The articles I read said no, no one dreams during general anesthesia. Well, maybe not, but how the hell can they tell?

During pre-op, I had an interesting conversation with the intake RN. I asked her if I would dream. She looked at me for a moment, as if gauging my receptiveness.

“I know the experts say you don’t dream,” she said.  “But that’s absolutely untrue. I’ve dreamed during general anesthesia, and I’ve been with patients who didn’t want to open their eyes, mumbling I was waking them from a wonderful dream.” She smiled at me. “Keep one thing in mind, though. When you’re readying for surgery and they push the sedative into your IV, go to the special place you love the most. The way you float into unconsciousness is the way you come out. Go in happy, come out smiling.”

“So,” I asked, “if I go in questioning my muse about the plot for a sequel to my novel, will I come out inspired and full of ideas?”

She grinned. “Maybe. Just keep a pen and paper handy. You’ll want to write those ideas down quickly.”

I still haven’t figured out how to smuggle a pen into surgery, so I just have to hope whatever ideas come to me will find their way to my consciousness later.

They usually do. I’ll keep you posted.

In the mean time, you tell me. What was your most amazing visitation by your muse?