MY MUSE DIDN’T BAKE GINGERBREAD CAKE FOR STEVE LOPEZ, by Art Smukler MD

“So listen to my new post,” I say to my muse, who I’ve been married to for three hundred years.

She puts down her book, and waits patiently while I fiddle with the laptop.

“Okay, here goes,” I say, and begin my latest rendition of Inside the Mind of a Psychiatrist. When I’m done she says, not unkindly, “It’s boring.”

“Boring? How can you say that? Aren’t you interested in psychiatry or the homeless or heroes?”

“I am,” she says. “But I’d like a different slant, something that hasn’t been said hundreds of times by people who are experts.”

“Like who?”

“Like Steve Lopez who writes everyday for a living. He comes up with new ideas all the time.”

“I’m not Steve Lopez.”

“If you want people to love your work and buy your books, make it funny, interesting, different.”

“Jesus,” I say and sit stunned (For the ten-thousandth time in three hundred years). “You don’t take any prisoners.”

“You don’t agree?”

Moments pass. Finally I say, “You’re really annoying.”

“So you agree?”

“It is boring.”

“You want some freshly baked gingerbread cake?” she asks.

“I do. I need some gingerbread cake.”

That night as I drift off to sleep, I know for a fact that I’ll never think of anything new to write. How can anyone be as good as Steve Lopez?

The next morning my next post popped into my head. After my muse listened, she said, “I love it. It’s new, different and interesting.” (You’ll all have to wait to read it.)

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You have any gingerbread cake left?”

LOOKIN’ COOL, BUT A FOOL: THE MYSTERY OF SCHIZOPHRENIA, by Art Smukler MD

I looked in the mirror and nodded. Yeah, I really liked my jacket and wool cap. It was chilly this morning, but with the new additions to my wardrobe, I’d be warm and look good.

Minutes later, I was browsing the window of Barnes & Noble when a homeless man, pushing his cart filled with plastic bags, announced to the street, “Lookin’ cool, but a fool”.

Shocked, I stepped away from the window and watched as the man shuffled past. “Jesus”, he was talking about me! I glanced at my reflection in the store window and shuddered. How did he know? I was feeling so full of myself this morning, and the old guy picked right up on it. It was brilliant.

It’s uncanny how some untreated schizophrenics have the intuitive skill to read our minds. Like a psychiatrist uses his “third ear” to pick up hidden nuances in psychotherapy, the schizophrenic can be even more acutely in tune to another’s inner workings.

To me it is absolutely amazing and mysterious. Sadly or happily or whatever one’s perspective, when treatment is successful, the magic fades — as do the voices and paranoid ideas.

How do they do it?

Maybe being paranoid, with all senses on alert, allows the primitive part of the brain to pick up and decipher the hidden thoughts of all potential attackers?  The biochemicals align just so and magic happens.

I loved my first year of psychiatric residency when I was surrounded by untreated schizophrenics. I loved the mystery and the magic.

I still do…