So there I was yesterday, trapped inside the too-cozy confines of an MRI tube as my doctor tries to figure out what is going on inside my left shoulder (I reach to pick up a pen and am getting sharp pain shooting down from the shoulder to the elbow) when inspiration struck.
I suddenly knew exactly what would be going on in the mind of someone buried alive and had the scene perfectly described. Problem was, inside the tube, especially for someone 6-foot-2 and not exactly slim of build, there’s no room to move around in there much less to take a notebook and pencil inside.
And by the time they hauled me out of there – and no, it isn’t an experience I wish to repeat anytime soon thank you very much – and I got home, the emotional impact had faded and much of what I had thought of while inside was gone.
Writers get their inspirations from the strangest places – read Escaping Infinity and then ask yourself where the “Cowboy Cobbler” came from not to mention what dark part of my subconscious generated the giant blue teddy bear guardian – and often and the worst possible times.
I can still draw on my experience of being trapped inside that machine yesterday but it won’t have the same feeling to me as if I’d been able to it write down as I was experiencing it.
But I’ll bet you that if and when I do write about someone being buried alive it will have more than enough reality to it to make the reader want to be outside in a wide-open park for awhile.