Empathy and dissociation form a paradoxical and dynamic fusion of opposites in the creative trance. Inherently structured by its domain, cultural traditions, personal preferences, and rules to achieve excellence, the creative trance is an experience of empathy connecting the creative person with the work produced, while dissociation separates the trance state from waking consciousness. Empathy can enhance sports performance by intuiting the moves of an opponent. Stanislavski’s system of empathic acting revolutionized film and theater, and in science, Alexander Graham Bell felt he became one with his machines. Some empathic people view creativity as their children; Charles Dickens called David Copperfield his “favorite child.” Dissociative inspiration can seem to originate from a Muse or divine source; Giacomo Puccini believed his opera Madame Butterfly “was dictated to me by God.” Cross culturally, dissociation in ritual trance possession where dancers assume the identity of deities, may bring numinous experiences for both performers and audiences.

What does ‘write what you know’ mean? The bedrock of human experience is essentially the same in any age and this is part of what writers ‘know’. We bring imagination – and sometimes research – to our own experience when we write. Everything we have lived through is potentially valuable material; writing involves transforming this material. Even inspiration comes from within. The need to top up our own personal reservoir of experience. All ideas begin ‘What if…’ The importance of pushing beyond what we know we can do easily: creativity thrives when we are outside our comfort zone.

‘The magic isn’t out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered: the ingredients are in you right now, in your experience and in your imagination, waiting for you to make the unique connections that will enable you to discover it.’

This chapter explores Elena Ferrante’s use of Virgil’s Dido as a model for Elena and Lila, the two protagonists of the Neapolitan Novels, through the lens of absence. Not only is Ferrante able to conjure and comment on the Aeneid’s treatment of one of its most divisive characters following the classical rules of intertextual engagement with the ghosts of masterpieces past; she ends up changing the whole game. By teasing narrative material out of Virgil’s silences in Dido’s story-arch, Ferrante centres and requalifies the very reason of Dido’s undoing – the trauma which stems from the loss of love – as the generative force behind both Elena’s and her own literary output. However, by making Lila’s invisible writing and her subsequent disappearance into the beating heart of Elena’s writing, Ferrante uses Virgil as her Muse to stage a woman-centred takeover of literary greatness. Elena’s anxieties over how much of Lila’s life she has truly cannibalized, and her responsibility in Lila’s disappearance, not only take Virgil to task for hiding his Muse, but suggest an alternative model of criticism; moving beyond the postmodern view of the absent author and his unaccountability by giving agency back to the Muse.

This chapter turns to Propertius and Philip Sidney and, taking its cue from from Cynthia as the eroticised muse of Propertian poetry, and the scornful muse of Astrophil and Stella 1, explores metaliterary themes of poetic practice. Reading the muse as a figure for ideas of inspiration and creativity, for authority and canonicity, we consider how the selected texts negotiate, articulate and configure ideas about the nature, identity and cultural function of poetry in Augustan Rome and Elizabethan England.