Muse

"What do you care if I give it up for? It's not like I'm any good anyways." she said with disdain and anger flowing from her voice.

"I care," the gentle woman replied, "because you are very talented and you can't give it up just because a few people tell you it was no good."

"How do you know I'm talented- you've never read any of my writing. And what do you gain if I do keep writing?" she interrogated, not willing to trust the good nature of the kind stranger.

"I have read you work, and I have to say it is very promising. A few grammatical errors here and there, but no one's perfect. And I have nothing to gain by you continuing your writing." She answered, tenderness flowing from her voice.

"Then why do you care?" the young girl asked, starting to become very curious.

"I care because I hate to see talent wasted because some unfeeling people want to make themselves feel better by putting others down. I hate to see such wonderful ideas die because someone was afraid of what others would say about them." She answered passionately.

"Sometimes it is best for the ideas just to die. No one wants to hear about them anyway." The girl admitted hugging her knees as sadness crept through her voice.

"What if Shakespeare didn't write [i]Romeo and Juliet[/i] or [i]Hamlet[/i] because he was afraid of what other people might say? Where would the world be without those precious works of literature?" The woman retorted more passionately than before.

"That's different, he was good. Anyone in their right minds can see that. He didn't have to doubt his works, he could just tell they were good." The girl reasoned, becoming more and more depressed by the moment.

"Yes, but there are those who belittled his works, called him a horrid writer. What if he had listened to those people?" she questioned trying to make her point seen.

"But he didn't." she said starting to see where the lady was going.

"That's right, he kept writing and created masterpieces. So what if some people didn't like it. He did. It made him happy. He wrote something that he was proud of and that's all that matters. Who do you write for if not yourself?" pride growing in her voice.

"Yes, you do write for yourself, at least I do," her voice growing stronger, then weaker as she added, "... or used to."

"Why don't you anymore?" The woman asked concerned.

"Because people are expecting me to be great. I can't let them down. Even if I did enjoy writing more when I did it for fun." She admitted becoming more downcast by the moment.

"Then stop writing for others an start writing for yourself again. Don't try and live up to their standards, think for yourself. That's what the world today needs more of. People never reach their full potential because they're too busy cowering before other people's expectations and thoughts. Who cares if they don't like it. You do. There is always going to be someone who doesn't like something, it doesn't mean they are always right." She said, a little aggravation creeping into her voice.

"But what if [i]nobody[/i]likes it?" the girl inquired timidly.

"If you enjoy writing it, and [i]you[/i] like it, then there will always be one person who likes it now won't there?" she asked confidently.

"Yes, I guess you're right," the girl replied her voice growing more confident as she spoke.

"Where are you going?" the woman asked as the girl stood, turned, and started jogging back towards her house.

"To write. I just thought of the most wonderful idea for a story." She cheerfully answered as she turned and waved goodbye to the woman.

As soon as the girl was out of sight the woman muttered to herself, "I can't wait to read about it," and she walked away- off to find the next writer in need of a muse.