|Image in Public Domain as a faithful reproduction |
of a work of art in the Public Domain.
So recently I tore the duct tape from muse’s mouth and we had this conversation:
Muse: What the—
Me: Don’t give me attitude! I needed a break. You know how exhausted I was.
Muse: But I’ve had all these ideas. You really should get it together, girl. Your muse isn’t going to wait forever, you know. One of these days, I’m going to go dry. Caput! Finito! The End! And then where will you be? You’ll be a has-been hack! (Note: never call a writer a has-been hack)
Me (with a really fake horrified look): Oh no, you can’t desert me! I need you!
Muse: Oh stop it with the pretendsies. You know you need me. You can’t write without me—
Me: You are a little too sold on yourself. (I study my fingernails.)
Muse (rolls eyes): All writers are divas. (Wait! Can a muse rolls her eyes? Never mind. This is my imagination, so yeah…Mine can.)
Me: You know, that’s a little insulting and…a blanket generalization. If you think you deserve a more…cooperative writer to harass, then feel free to find someone else to pester.
Muse (obviously ignoring my bluff): What’s with the duct tape, anyway? That crap hurts when you yank it off.
Me: I know. (Smiles wickedly.) You know what they say…
Muse: No. What?
Me: Duct tape is the Southerner’s tool of choice. If you can’t fix it with duct tape, it can’t be fixed.
Muse: Whatdaya mean? I am not broken! That is just mean-spirited. You can’t treat me like that!
Me: But I did…
Muse: You’re being ungrateful…again.
Me (tearing off a strip of duct tape): You know, I can—
Muse: No! Wait! I have an idea. Just listen…
Me: Okay, I’m listening.
Muse: So there was this gal with a roll of duct tape—
Me (nods appreciatively): Now you’re talking. Tell me more.