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Interview With a Muse
By Jack Fletcher
TRANSMISSION BEGINS"So, you're a muse."
"Yes, I am. You want to make something of it?"
"A fairly aggressive muse, I see. No fists! I'm not going to fight you. I just need to ask you a couple of questions."
"Hrmph. All right, but if you make me miss Tabatha's Salon Takeover, I'm going to be really ticked off."
"You...er...watch reality TV shows?"
"You want to make something of that, too?"
"No, no, not at all. Er...maybe we should get started. Tell me, muse, how did you get into the business of writing?"
"Eleven years ago I accepted employment to work on a non-fiction project. It was boring as heck, dealing with software, plus the book's editor absolutely would not let me put in any sort of jokes or action scenes. Honestly, I don't know what he was thinking, because what isn't made better by jokes or action scenes? But no, I was forced to stick to dry, dull software facts. The second that book was sent off to the editor, I told Katie, my typist, that I wanted to write something fun, something exciting, something with romance and mystery and lots and lots of dialog. So that's what I did, and oh, was it fun. So I decided to stop writing non-fiction books, and just do the fun things."
"I'm sure you get asked this all the time, but I've always wanted to know--where do you get your ideas?"
"From an online muse shop run by two Bulgarian ex-secret police named Miffy and Booch. They're a bit pushy in that they give you only what they want to give you, not what you want, but that's life, you know? They take Paypal now, if you're interested. Just don't ever refuse to use an idea they send you--the things Miffy can do to kneecaps would make you shudder."
"Er...yeah. Moving on. What's a typical day of musing like for you?"
"I have a very strict schedule, one that mere mortals like you could not handle."
"I'm actually a fictional...never mind. Go on."
"I start my day with a brisk swim in a salt water pool--salt water is so refreshing to the pores, don't you agree? Following that, I spend an hour with my masseuses, Raoul and Jorge, after which is my yoga time. Then it's a light lunch, some quality time with my TiVo, and then comes the strenuous half hour of actual museage, the results of which I pass on to my typist. She types it all up in a neat document, after which I dismiss her and devote the rest of my evening research."
"Research? What sort of research? Reading old books and that sort of thing?"
"Books? No, of course not. That's what my typist is for! My research is the truly valuable kind--I research human nature. I research it at nightclubs, at the theater, and all sorts of gala events. It's hard work, but I feel I owe it to myself to give my all to everything I do."
"Altruistic of you."
"I think so. Were there any other questions? If not, Raoul is beckoning me."
"So I see. What's that he's holding--some sort of whip?"
"Of course not! It's a birch. It stimulates the skin and makes it glow."
"I just bet it does. I bet it also--"
TRANSMISSION LOST.
Katie MacAlister, Steamed, steampunk, romance, Penguin, Signet, books
