The eternal struggle between writer and Muse.
|My knees fail me as I once again find myself on the cold, hard surface of writer's block.
Staring into the face of my less than penitent Muse, who, has once again managed to pull my rug of creativity out from under me.
Before I can stop myself, the question, of which I'm sure I already know the answer, escapes my lips.
She laughs. My sinister Fate, and replies with a wicked grin. "Why?"
"You know why, my dear."
"You know I can't give you the easy talent. A life of peace, love, and the security of inspiration whenever you pick up a pen."
"Oh no, if I did that dear girl, you'll become humdrum. Vanilla. Plain white bread. In a word...common."
"Face it!" "If I didn't make you suffer for your art, you'd never have anything interesting to say!"
Too bad Muses can't be housebroken.