My Muse

Come on, Mym, just help me out here this once!

No.

But what will I write?

That’s your problem.

You’re my muse; if you don’t help me, no one will!

Why do you insist on thinking that I am your “muse,” whatever that’s supposed to mean?

You’re the only one that gives me ideas for what to write.

I do not.

Yes you do.

I certainly wouldn’t have given you the idea for that awful poem you wrote last week!

Yes you did.  And I don’t care if you think it’s awful; it won first place, didn’t it?

Luck.

Your luck.

But I hate writing!

And I love it.  You don’t have to do any of the actual writing, Mym; just help me out a bit!

You know I would end up writing some.  I can’t help it, watching you mess everything up.

Oh, why do you always have to have the great ideas?  It’s not fair.

But you’re the only one who has the patience to actually write it all out.

You really think so?  I bet you could just as well. 

No.  I don’t mind fixing the places that you’ve written out wrong, but I don’t think I could stand typing that long by myself.  Actually, I wish I could write like you. 

So will you help me?

No.