Depictions of the literary Muse always show some dreamy ethereal woman draped in a classical Greek robe, with brilliant ideas swirling like rainbows around her perfectly coiffed head.
Ha. I wish. Here’s the conversation I had with my Muse this week:
Me, strolling up to the Muse’s door on Monday: *knock, knock* Hey, there…
Muse: What’s the matter with you? Can’t you read the “Do Not Disturb” sign? Get lost!
Me: Oops. It’s just that, well, I usually write my blog drafts today, and…
Me: Okay, sorry. Um… maybe tomorrow…?
Muse: Yeah, whatever.
Me, shuffling bashfully up to the muse’s door on Tuesday: *knock, knock* Hi. Um…
Muse: You again? Whaddaya want?
Me: Um… a blog post…?
Muse: You gotta be shitting me! Didn’t I just bust my ass for you all morning on Book 13?
Me: Well, yeah; and I was really happy with your ideas. I appreciate it… but… you know I do a blog post once a week…
Muse: Oh, for… Okay, FINE! Check out the Urban Dictionary for “shower growler”: “When you’re showering you press your butt against the wall and fart, making a rumbling growl and vibrating the walls of the shower.”*
(*Note: This was not even the Muse’s own idea – my friend Chris emailed it to me last week.)
Me: Come on, I need more than that.
Muse, glowering dangerously: Oh yeah?
Me, finding a backbone at last and glowering in return: Yeah!
Muse, emitting a martyred sigh: Fine. Write a whole post about farts. How about a page of euphemisms? I got a million of ‘em! Blow the butt trumpet, strangle the stank monkey, play the colonic calliope, roast your Jockeys…”
Me, snickering in spite of myself: Well… I dunno…
Muse: …Do the one-cheek sneak; drop a barking spider; hit 7.4 on the Rectum scale; a turd honking for the right of way…
Me, stifling giggles: Stop! I’ve been trying to behave lately.
Muse: You? Behave?!? As if. How about this: “Shit a brick and fart a crowbar”. Or hey; how about some definitions? Like “Fartabout”: Walking away from everybody to ease out a fart so nobody notices. It’s like a walkabout, only you’re farting…
Me: There’s already a word for walking around and spreading the stink. It’s called ‘cropdusting’.
Muse, huffily: Well, fine, you obviously don’t need me, then. *slams the door in my face*
Me: Wait, I didn’t mean it that way! *knock, knock* C’mon, open up! I need you, really I do.
Muse: Get lost!
So there you have it. I would have prepared a literary masterpiece for today, but my Muse had a bad case of brain flatulence.
Everybody else gets the classy chick with rainbows and perfect hair. I get this:
So how was your week?