Never cross your muse

 

     My muse avoids making eye contact.  I dust off my keyboard, clean the monitor, and straighten my desk.  Then I take some time to dust the living room and vacuum the rugs.

     “You ready to help me yet?”  I ask as I sit in front of the computer again.

     Silence.

     “Did I do something to upset you?”

     No answer.

     “This is about the ad I put in The Mystical Weekly isn’t it?”

     “You were looking for applicants for a muse!”  She began to sob and scrub her face with a lace handkerchief.

     “Yeah, and a unicorn, a troll, and an elf applied.  I turned them all down flat.  I don’t write fantasy I write mysteries.”

     “But, but why the ad?  Are you firing me?”  A huge tear dripped off her nose.  Not attractive.

     “I thought about it.  You haven’t been around much lately.”

     “I have too but you weren’t listening to me.  You were too busy.”

     “Okay, I admit it.  I have been run ragged lately but when I sit down to write you aren’t here.  Maybe we need to synchronize our watches.”

     “I don’t own a watch.  I’m a freaking muse.”

     “I was being rhetorical.  Would it help if I apologize?”

     “It’s a start.”

     “I’m sorry.”