About the muse...

I didn't really have the urge to write this post. I somewhat felt like I needed to. That's pretty fucked. I had the pressure to come up with something, and if I want to someday become somewhat successful in any aspect of writing, I figured maybe the pressure wasn't so bad. Oh, just to let you know, this might be kinda tangential, but if I haven't already told you (I find introductions boring by the way), my career, whatever it may be, HAS to be something to do with literature, most probably screenplays.

Remember my last post? You probably don't. My 'slightly' celf-centered, world-hating rant at everything that I dislike in this world. I felt like I couldn't write, and, on the last post, I needed a muse, something to spark my fire all over again. My prayers weren't exactly answered...

----------

"I really don't know yet", I replied. "I'd like to write a short story? I think that's my forte, but I just can't find the inspiration under this kind of pressure."
"Pressure? Dude, you're writing a blog, on the internet, which nobody reads. What kind of pressure is that?!", Loikey said, hastilty. "But if you want, I think I can help you."
A bit of help never hurt anyone, I thought to myself.
"Call this number and ask for Erato," he said as he scribbled. "Gotta run bro."
That night, I sat for a full hour staring at the blank page on the computer, wandering between the wonders of Facebook and prime time television, before I dug out the bubblegum wrapper and dialed the number etched on it in biro. After four rings there was a short silence and a perky voice chirped, "Erato and Company, maybe I help you?"
"Uh, yes," I stammered. "May I speak to Erato, please?"
"Erato is in board meeting right now," the voice bubbled. "May I connect you with another party?"
"Hmm, I don't really know," I replied, flustered. "I was told to ask for Erato, but if there's someone covering for her..."
"Well, let's see..." she muttered. I overheard the sound of pages flipping. "I believe Adonia and Terpischore are free, but I'm not all too sure. What is it you would like to write?"
"Um, a short story," I replied, slightly puzzled.
"Welllll," the voice said. "Euterpe deals with overall eloquence, but perhaps Adonia could help you. Is this a romantic short story?"
Is it? I wondered furtively to myself. "No, not really."
"Hmmmm...perhaps you want to try writing poetry then? Terpischore is free today."
"No, that's not quite right somehow...not really what I'm looking for. I don't suppose you have a resident expert on writing short stories for blogs do you?"
There was a tinkling laugh. "No, I'm afraid not. Would you like to try your hand at maybe, dance?" I could ring up Terpischore for you."
Where the hell do they get these names, I smiled to myself.
"No, I'm afraid it has to be something written. It has to be done on my blog-page or whatever you call it."
There was a puzzled silence. "Oh...I get it now. Can't you just upload a video of you dancing?"
"Um, I guess I could, but, why would I do that? Look, I just need a little inspiration on this short story, that's all. It's pretty important."
"I could try for Polyhymnia...shes the muse of sacred lyric poetry."
"I said important, not sacred...wait, did you just say muse?"
"Well, of course," the voice bubbled. "You are speaking to Erato and Company, Muses, an agency designed to help inspire all sorts of artists."
Where the hell did Loikey get this number, I wondered. Ready to chance at everything, I said dully, "Oh. Well, who can inspire me?"
"Well, I'm afraid I don't exactly know what to suggest. Let me check Erato again."
Exhausted from the conversation, I slumped back into my chair and sighed, listening with half an ear to Graveyard Girl, faintly playing through my computer. A hasty voice broke the tranquility, breaking my thoughts: "Erato speaking," the voice snapped. "Is there a problem?"
"No, miss," I stammered. "Well, kinda, yeah...I want to write, um, a short story, for um, a blog...and I need it by tonight."
"And what is it you want of us?"
"Inspiration?" I quavered.
"Of course," Erato sneered. "May I ask why you need this so soon?"
"No particular reason. I have expectations for myself, and the world is eagerly awaiting my post." I replied, feeling slightly out of place all of a sudden.
"And what exactly do you have to write?"
"Um..." I clicked once more at the web page. " '...a blog is usually maintained by an individual with regular entries of commentary, descriptions of events, or other material such as graphics or video. Entries are commonly displayed in reverse-chronological order...' "
I heard a dead silence at the other end of the line for a minute. Then, Erato, with the coldest voice I have ever heard, hissed, "You would do better to simply recopy a post from before that you have written. One that you created spontaneously, not under a pressured command. One does not call upon a muse and order her to inspire. Inspiration does not come when one tries to force it. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Suddenly, my thoughts cleared. "Oh! So that's why I had that mental block! It was all about this self-expectations deal, this whole amount of pointless pressure I had put onto myself. I normally can just sit down and hash out some rant or some nice poem, but this 'I need to blog' crap just threw me!"
"Wonderful, said Erato, totally unenthused. "And now if you'll excuse me."
"Wait!" I yelled over the phone. "What about the blog and its followers?!"
Erato snarled. "Tell them that creativity can't be forced," she snapped.
Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

(inspired from an old short story book laying around, by the way)