Chapter 1: The Muse and Me

I gave up a gallbladder in exchange for the muse to sing to me…


I didn’t mean to, it just worked out that way. I was supposed to be on a plane to India to give some speeches and win an award – big shot #imkindofabigdeal things afoot – instead of was lying bed-ridden with only the

  • writers voice in my head #youshouldbewriting
  • pain in my belly #youshouldstillhaveanorgan
  • sorrow in my heart #youshouldbeinIndia
  • and words in my presence….

So. Many. Words.

In three weeks, I created the following:

13 part series I have been contemplating for over 2 years and I now have the world-building, the political and hierarchical system, the overarching story arc down to the final book in that series.

This series above leads into a similar but different kind of series that I started before I came up with the series above and therefore now have to rework that series to separate them both… which doesn’t even make sense but the Muse knows…

Organise and obtained the costume (cosplay) for the characters that also include cultural and “historic” references to the political atmosphere of my MC

A non-fiction books series concept for a gap in the professional marketplace that, as more and more people move towards a community of small businesses but on a global scale, the understanding of regulations that you don’t know about, are the ones that will cause irreparable damage

Started and finished what was supposed to be a 400-600 words blog that is now a 1500+ word blog…

And started a few other ideas like this one…


I clearly now blame my gallbladder. I’ve read Louise Hay a million years ago, and I have a Diploma of Aromatherapy, so I’m all good with that side of my “awareness journey”. I also had a 7mm gallstone lodged in one of my ducts ‘cause that little sucker decided to take a roll. There were a few others still hanging around where they were supposed to be, in the gallbladder, but they were making a ruckus. It hurt. A LOT! A week before I was to travel to India to fulfill 4x speaking obligations at a global event this happened.


F**k my life. If you haven’t read my other blogs, the short story is I couldn’t go.

Instead the pleasure of a 4-6 weeks of minimum of lifting, pain management, avoid car travel unless I feel I could handle seat belt shock and so confined to quarters, limited to do nothing. At first I read. Oh the glory, glory, hail the new book – I read 6 books in 2 days. #bookdragon #IdontreadIdevour

On pain management medication, lodged in bed between 2 pillows, I loved my tablet with its reader software and my local library hard {so hard} for those first few days. Who remembers having time for that? I know I did it so much as a child, escaped, leapt, dived into books of all kinds. And stayed there for hours not moving, not aware of the world, consumed by the other… oh the joy. I got to experience that again and realise how long it had been since I had indulged that love, that need. How long had it been since I watered my soul with the collecting of words and experiences through the eyes of another.

I feasted, dear reader. It was not pretty, it was consuming. But. OH! It was so good. I plan to book in a weekend each year where I will be telling people I am working, and I will be. Working very hard at feasting once again.


And then came the guilt. The reminder, the answer to the question when asked, why don’t I do that anymore, reality knocks, barges in, sits down with an esky (cold box filled with food and beverages for the non-aussie readers) and proceeds to remind you.   The why to the why haven’t I?

The painkillers wear off and you can think of more than one thing again and remember your own name. You eat your first gloriously full meal for the first time in about 10 days because you feel human enough to try, and you relish to exchange, the dance, the drool that the flavours create in your mouth and you wonder did food ever taste this good before? Did I ever feel this hunger before, other than for books, for knowledge?


It doesn’t matter screams both mind and body together as they continue to work in sync, loving the texture flavour and remarkable appetite all combining to make this, this glorious ham and cheese toasted sandwich the BEST EVER toasted sandwich in the history of all of the toasting and all of the sandwiches.


I think I may have digressed from my point. I might be hungry again.


So once the hunger had abated, no longer the stuff of nightmares and tacky-cheesy-70-esque-science fiction movies, I read and I wrote. I created and thought and wrote and idea-ed – by which I mean all of those things I listed above came pouring out of me a lot easier than my bloody gall stone did. Little bastard.




It also uncorked the writing genie. Popped the muse. Released a thesaurus kraken. The fountain of words that had been damned by a bladder wall, blocked by a gall ball, stymied by a swollen gallbladder, preventing me from climbing that ladder, is no longer working… and my words are free…


Now to get the wordy b**ch to just sleep for a few hours every now and then so I can too.