5-6 years ago I quit Tobacco (and maybe one other thing I may have smoked).
It is currently 2020.
I took chantix, it was hard, cause it made me sick, kept taking it.
We also increased a brain med by a few milligrams.
Well, right about that time, my muse keeled over and died.
I still cranked out a couple books, but I lost a lot of ability for revision.
No more short stories.
In the end I buried that muse, it was over for me as a writer.
I always blamed the quitting smoking and chantix.
I couldn’t start tobacco again no matter what.
So 3-4 years my muse was dead and buried.
I couldn’t revise or polish, blind to errors.
One day I was taking my brain meds.
A pill stuck in my dispenser.
All of the sudden the next day I was outlining,
3 days later I did notice that stuck pill.
Talked to my doctor, we cut the medicine.
Now I’m writing again.
Zombie Muse I call him.
The short story I tell people on twitter:
My muse was dead, I used dark magic to bring him back.
But it was some kind of twist of fate, or pure luck, or divine intervention,
and I’m not sure which of those things is true,
but Christians I’ve talked to all say divine intervention
there is no luck in the world.
I don’t know.
I know my muse is back, he’s strong
and after a long time in a pit, I can see the light of day.