Conflicting Muse

"Write." That demand seemed like it was going to make today a bad one.

I looked up at the message board I had taped to my wall. On it: a single Post-It note with the word "Write" written in black permanent marker. Yeah, I thought to myself, this is going to turn out well. I had work today, and I had no idea what I could compose and place on my blog.

Two hours remaining.

I had to write something. Anything. Whatever came to mind... all so I could meet my deadline for today. But what? Nothing came to mind. I stared at the screen for what seemed like an eternity, and I looked at the clock.

One hour remaining. Jesus Christ; what have I been doing?

"Wasting time, apparently."

I looked around to see who could've spoken to me (and somehow answer my internally-spoken question). No one. It was just me. ...was it?

A sigh sounded off, then: "Inside you, doof."

I scoffed. Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath, and when I opened them, there on my desk sat The Unnamed Muse. I stared at her. She stared back with an almost-icy glare.

"Now, really, was that scoff necessary, Josh? Or are you just annoyed that you're failing yourself yet again?"

I rolled my eyes. The hell was I failing myself on today, you crazy representation of my inner thoughts? Like hell I'm failing right now.

She shook her head and looked at my blank laptop screen. "Huh. Seems like you don't have anything written on here. You got..." She looked across the room and spotted a clock. "...58 minutes left before your self-imposed deadline's up. And nothing is on your screen." She smirked as she looked back at me and finished her train of thought: "'Like hell you're failing right now,' huh?"

I let out a sigh of defeat. Damn her.

"So, what seems to be your problem? Oh, let me guess: another supposed artist's block?"

I looked at my screen. I didn't think there'd be anything magically appearing on it any time soon to alleviate me of my problem, so I figured I could spend a few minutes of my time amusing one of my muses.

"What's the matter? You not going to tell me?"

I took in a sharp breath and looked at her. "No; I am. I think it's a block. I'm not quite sure, actually."

"Since when have you ever been sure of anything? Self-doubt's always been tacked on to you, following you like the shadow you can never get rid of."

"Yeah, but that's not what we're talking about. I just can't think of what to write for today's entry." I turned away from The Nameless Muse and looked back at the laptop. I placed my hands on the keyboard and waited for them to start drumming on the keys, but...

"Nothing, huh, Josh?" She blinked at me as if she was expecting me to look at her and give the obvious answer sitting in front of us.

"...yeah. Nothing." I sighed. What was I to do?

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes!? How the frak did time fly that fast?

"Well," she began. "I think it has to do with the fact that nothing interesting and fun to write about is coming to mind. Your muse well's dried up and you've no source of inspiration for the time being."

"Oh, that's bullshit if I ever heard it," I spat back. "Coming up with something for me to write is your job! I didn't appoint you as my Head Muse just so you could sit there and state to me the obvious facts lying before us here!"

She seemed to be taken aback, as if I just insulted her. Come to think of it, I think I might have accidentally just done that. "Excuse me? I'm not doing my job?"

"Apparently not," I growled. "I'm still stuck here with naught but a blank page on this entry for today! Now you show up, but instead of giving me some kind of inspiration you're just prattling on about everything but inspiration!"

"Yeah. And you want to know why, you thick-headed bastard? Sometimes inspiration has to come from the artist alone! We muses can't help you all twenty-four hours of the day! We might be linked to your soul and be summoned every time you want us to show up, but we're not your goddamn mind-slaves! What, you can't think for yourself?"

"Of course I can. I can't think of everything in the whole world!"

"Neither can we, Josh! We're not the omniscient beings you artists envision us to be. We have flaws just like you, and we have limits as well. I cannot be your melting pot of inspiration every time you ask me to be!"

"Yeah; I know!" I let off a very terse breath, regained my composure, and looked back at my muse. "I know." I looked back at the screen, expecting something... anything. But of course, I'm not that lucky - and as such, there on the screen stood nothing.

And here I was with nothing. What was I supposed to post? And with - Oh, geez; what was the time left?

No time remaining. The deadline had just passed.

The Unnamed Muse placed a hand on my shoulder and tilted her head, giving me a curious look. "Tell me something: why are you so sure that you couldn't come up with anything?"

I didn't answer.

"Josh... are you absolutely positive that you have no idea as to what to write for today? What you could use to meet your one-thousand-word quota for today?"

"...yes. I... I have nothing. I'm mentally exhausted."

"Really?" My muse just stared at me in disbelief. "'Nothing.'"

I nodded.

"Well, then... take a look at your screen."

As I did, I saw a story form up on the text box. As I read along with the phantom typing, I realized something... "Wait, this... this was our argument! W-Why - !?"

She casually grabbed a bottle of Guinness and opened the bottle. After drinking some of it, she responded, "You said you wanted an idea, right?"

"Well, yeah, but... but not this!"

"And why not? They're not going to think you're crazy. (Much.) They already know of my existence. You used well over a thousand words by now. You see that, don't you?"

"I do. But why?"

She took another pull from her bottle. "Because not all strife and struggle results in bloodshed and madness. Sometimes it gives way to inspiration and hope. And in this case: your quota." Using the half-full bottle, she gestured at the laptop screen. "Happy, now?"

I looked between my drinking muse and the now-filled screen in disbelief. Then something dawned on me. I looked back at her and smirked. "So, that whole argument... it was both real and fake at the same time, wasn't it?"

She finished her Guinness, set the empty bottle down, and smirked back at me. "Yeah. It got you to meet your ridiculous self-imposed deadline, and I got to voice out against you and get away with it at the same time. Win-win." Smiling, she grabbed two more bottles of Guinness, opened both of them, and held out one of the beer bottles towards me, silently asking if I wanted some.

"Yeah... a win-win. Thanks." I grabbed the offered bottle, and my muse and I raised our beers to a toast before we downed our drinks, content that I had met today's one-thousand words. I guess today wasn't going to be such a bad day, after all.

...

Her smile was replaced by a look of concern. "Josh, don't you have work in an hour?"

...frak.