Listen, I hate to question, but“ haven’t we come this way before? Really, I recognize those rocks, that dismal swamp, those hungry tigers. And this is the third time I’ve stumbled into this quicksand. (Can you throw me that vine again?) We had a map, remember? Hand-drawn, it’s true, but still a path that ran straight from opening sentence to denouement. So why all this wandering around?
Not that we haven’t seen some interesting things. The fields of flowering perversity were particularly impressive. Who knew it would all be so… vivid? (The rash has mostly healed now. Thanks for asking.) And, yes, the moment when I mistook you for my mother was amusing. But do we have to keep talking about it?
“We’re most human,” you like to say, “in our inconsistency.” Certainly my characters agree. But are you? Human? If so, then why am I following you?
Look, no pressure, but I confess I’ve been counting on the whole divinity thing. It’s the golden glow you give off in the morning. Who wouldn’t be charmed? But by the afternoon, you’re beginning to look a little frazzled, a little more ??? how shall I put this? — sweaty. And the robe’s starting to get a bit frayed. Didn’t I buy some sheets in that pattern last year?
Here’s the thing: writing a novel is an act of faith. It’s like jumping off a cliff with a needle, string, and a few yards of silk, counting on sewing the parachute on the way down. It would really help to know you’re who you claim to be, and not just some projection of my desire. All the other boys are out playing in the sunshine, but I sit in this little room, day after day, following you wherever you lead. Frankly, it’s a little humiliating. And have I mentioned that you snore?
I know you don’t like to hear about creative writing workshops“ Wait, hold on! Honestly, you’re just being paranoid. Nobody’s saying we can do your job better than you! We just want to understand you better, that’s all. You have to admit that you can be a little confusing. It’s the rational mind that gives us trouble. (Can we leave your old boyfriends out of it? Not everyone can be Rimbaud, okay?)
But I had a teacher once who warned us about you. “If the muse gets in your way,” he said, “push her out of the boat.” Misogynistic? No question about it. We all winced. Still, you have to admit, there are times every writer finds you frustrating. He was talking about clear story structure… No, I don’t think writers only talk about structure when they have tiny… Okay, I’m sorry! Just don’t let go of the vine, please!
Yes, I find you attractive. No, you haven’t put on weight. You look… healthy. Sorry, I haven’t found any goats to sacrifice yet. (Why only goats?) Of course I have faith in you, even if you can’t read a map.
You’re the love of my life.
Now will you pull me out?