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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1039368-The-Muse-Strikes-Back
Rated: 13+ · Monologue · Writing · #1039368
A distraught author learns a lesson from the midget in her head.
A blank page, the stench of hot whiteness. What do I do? What do I write?

What to write, what to write, what to write.

I long to hit that ever-so-attractive Word Count button. Maybe 25 words so far? Up to 50 soon? My muse plays hide-and-seek in the depths of my cluttered noggin.

The Muse stands shorter than a ruler, with flashes of vivid green hair contrasting her dull grey eyes. She jumps onto my hand and looks at me with some form of pity--which is laughable, if you know what disgusting depths of my mind she resides in. For a depressing ninety percent of the time, anyway.

“Get out of this rut and write something meaningful." Her expression loses its benevolence. "NOW, stupid!”

Sigh. “You know, it would be helpful if you did your job and inspired me.”

“Yeah, well, it would be helpful if we all did a lot of things.”

“Okay, now you're just being annoying.”

The Muse giggles obstinately, plopping down on The Holy Keyboard. Hjidrihbygcxrhfihg htfthgthy5riflihyfrtg

“Hey!” I push her off and tap the delete key repeatedly. 129 words now. 132. Le sigh.

“Okay, here's a question for you:” her tiny eyes manipulating me, “What do you want to achieve out of writing? What do YOU want?”

I pause for a moment, before deciding the question is inane. “The question is inane, Muse. Why do you always have to sound like a self-help guru? Why can't you just do your job?”

Her face contorts into a steely glare; and, for a second, I'm almost terrified of this midget. “I work hard at trying to inspire you, Jules. You just never listen. You never write the ideas down. And the saddest part is, I doubt you'll ever change.”

This depresses me, almost to the point of nausea. The Muse always knows how to evoke my deepest emotions – I guess that's part of her job. “But I can change, Muse! Help me change!” My cheeks grow flushed as I beg, and pray, to my 10-centimetre sized god.

“I can't. It just doesn't work that way.”

“But– but-” Before I can finish the tangent, The Muse is evaporating back into my brain – and alongside her, my hopes of starting my novel tonight completely vanish.
© Copyright 2005 The Great Doog (doogofdoom at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1039368-The-Muse-Strikes-Back