Muses Gone Mad

a continuation of The Writer.

© 2007

Dan Johnson

Prologue:

30 Months before the fire:

There was sheer madness in the convention hall, the annual meeting of Muses International, were voting on critical issues regarding their work with the artsy and creative types scattered around the world and there was a virtual split in the vote to allow Muses to take liner credit in the works performed by the artists.

Now, silence dominated the room and old Max Mystified, the Mad Muse from Munster stood and prepared to speak to the audience.

My friends, I stand before you today in an attempt to unify, rather than divide and it is my hope that we will find common ground…perhaps a plan we can and will accept as workable.

Old Max continued by offering the following plan;

It is my feeling, that if we can find just one arteest that will allow the Muse that works within that mind to be given liner credit, this will lend credence to our work, worldwide.

Just then, the projector flashed on to the face of The Writer and pandemonium erupted throughout the convention hall.

Every He Muse and She Muse knew that if they were to be the one’s to open the mind of The Writer, that Muse would be immortalized. But out of the shadows came two unlikely suspects; This He Muse and She Muse claimed that they had worked successfully with The Writer in the past, then listing the awards and acclaim The Writer received for his work, boasting their ability to function, facilitate and formulate a plan that would surely work.  As they stood before the audience, they said, in no uncertain terms that they could convince The Writer that he must share the credit for his work with the Muses that give him voice. 

Again, silence prevailed then with thunderous acclamation these two characters were given the chance of a lifetime with one caveat, failure was not an option.

Chapter Uno

In a village in a far off place, our story takes place:

It has been almost two years since the fire took place, destroying the humble little home of the writer.

 During this time he has written very little which has caused his popularity to slip horribly in the polls of public opinion. Humans, such as we are, are highly voyeuristic; we say we do not wish anyone ill will…but truth told, our antenna like ears pop up when there is gossip to be spread.

One of the stories going around now, is that the writer simply ran out of gas.

Nothing remained in his head that could be put on paper which left him desperately in need of help. Now remember, that’s just a rumor, so far there is no fact to substantiate the story.

The writer has rented a room over the local bakery where he also works part-time to help pay the bills.

Each morning at 4am he and the shop owner, Brownie Sugarman, begin their day of preparing delicious cakes, pies, sweet rolls and hot bread.  In addition, Brownie the baker is always getting special orders for events large and small.

You could say the writer has settled in to this new life with a bit of sadness, but determination. The Writer still considers himself an artist, but he is also using this time to take a look at the very human side of poetry, a side which he ignored when he was at the top of his game.

Chapter Deuce:

On the other side of the village, almost at the edge of town, where the dark forest begins, there are two very irritating, aggravating, obnoxious and unlikable characters. They have been hanging around the village since the fire took place nearly two years ago. Some say they could have started the fire, but it’s not clear.

When asked by the locals “What is it, you two do?” the stock answer always comes back with “We are muses, which is plural for muse” going on they would say, “It is our job to fill the head of the artists with grand and glorious work.”

At that point they would boastfully declare all of the creative work accomplished through their inspiring whispers; their works included the most recent painting hanging in the gallery, the sculpture molding a great image on the village square, and most of all the best writing ever created, now available in bookstores and libraries across the country.  All of this took place because of the muses.

Frankly, no one cared what they did as long as they didn’t do it to them. This is, after all a village of mediocrity.

One night with the fire blazing in the fireplace, the duo sat puzzled, wondering what they could do to rekindle the fire that once burned in the heart and soul of the poet, The Writer.

The he muse spoke first, “Let’s have an intervention!” The she muse sat quietly, thinking, conspiringly quiet was she, until she said, “Yes, let’s have an intervention”

“It seems to me” the she muse declared “that we need to sneak inside his head, leaving subtle messages about how first he needs to start writing again, and that there are thousands and thousands of things he could write about.”

“Yes!” the he muse shouted. “We could go in every night for a week, telling him how great he is…then BOOM! The Writer will come out of this dry spell stronger and filled to the brim with wonderful things to brag about. We have the technology!  And then he will share the credit of his creative efforts with us.”

Lurking in the shadows was another character, known only to the muses. He is known as, drum role please! M&M. this is short for majestic muse, all hail M&M!

M&M was a sneaky bugger, in an instant he could be in many different places and most of all none of his subjects would know he was there. On this occasion M&M decided to make his presence known, and when he did the two muses were shaken right down to their dangling participles, and that’s bad.

“You miserable muses have been here for over two years, and you’ve failed miserably.”  Making the mistake of interrupting M&M, the he muse said, “But M&M we have a plan and…” totally cut off M&M said to both the he and she muses, you have one week to get the writer up and writing or you’ll be banned from musedom forever.

“Yes sir” they replied and as quickly as he appeared the very colorful M&M was gone.

In unison the muses said “Let’s get to work.” And off they went to visit The Writer.

Chapter Three be:

In the stillness of the night our hero is sleeping peacefully. No troubling visions of phrases filled with plot, images, character development…just peaceful un-troubling sleep.  But a night of restful sleep would soon be awakened, and it would not be pretty.

The she muse said, “We should warn him about what happens if he does not use his talent.”

“That’s a good idea,” whispered the he muse, “you start first, and then I’ll follow your lead.”

Being a self starter, sexy she muse slipped past shut eyes, deeply passing the recesses of his soul and into the poor Writer’s head: you were once a great lover, but sex, like writing falls into the same category…’use it or lose it’ and she repeated it again, ‘use it or lose it.’  

Next she tried subliminal messages, trying to bully him, then she tried bribing him with the thought that if he returned to his old routine he would receive universal recognition. This of course was something the she muse could not guarantee, but she was persistent.

The Writer was truly vexed, by this new/old thought rumbling through his head.

And with that he sat up in bed and said with a smile, I’ve got it! I know what I’ll do!

“Great!” said the he muse to his partner…”it looks like you’ve outdone yourself”

At 4am the writer met his boss, Brownie, in the kitchen, but Brownie was troubled. “What’s the matter boss, you look troubled?”

“It seems the huge order we have for ten three layered cakes for the roguish rakes of Marion berry Lake, need to have a story or poem or something on each one and I don’t’ know what to do.” 

Umm, thought the two, then the writer, now awake and thinking said, “How about ten short poems or phrases about the upcoming feast and the desert will be the ten three layered cakes for the roguish rakes of Marion berry Lake, What do you think?”

“Excellent idea” then Brownie gave the writer details about the affair, with the baker saying “I’ll do the baking with tender loving care, and you use your mighty pen to add the creative flair.”  The two were off preparing for their newest challenge.”

The Writer was back but the muses were not happy…not one bit happy!

“That scoundrel” the muses, mused, he’s suppose to write great epic poems, compelling novels, earth shattering essays and all he can come up with is decorating cakes!...oh this is bad!

Chapter Four, there’s not much more:

The days went by quickly until the time to deliver the ten three layered cakes, for the roguish rakes of Marion Berry Lake, arrived, and off they went, early in the morning, before the sun would shine. They moved ever so slowly and carefully so as not to damage the goods.

When they arrived, there was a line of server-persons that helped bring in the three-layered cakes for the roguish rakes of Marion Berry Lake.  All of the cakes were placed on the elegantly decorated dining room table for all the attendees of the gala event of the year, they carefully inspect, gasped at the beauty and gaped at the array of colors adorning the cakes.  There appeared the finest china, crystal supreme that sparkled and shined.  The silver was the bright and dazzling; this indeed would be a first class affair.

On each cake, The Writer had colorfully scribed short quips, no rhyming poems. These writings were more like the notes you would find on a fortune cookie; may moonbeams guide you into love, find peace start within and so on.

respect the land, always,

always love the one you are with,

respect your elders,

cherish each new day,

do not lie, steal or cheat,

humble yourself before others,

a promise made is a promise kept,

today is the best day of your life,

share your wealth,

happy is the honest man.

The roguish rakes of Marion Berry Lake and all the guests inspected with great detail each and every cake and the words written on the top and soon quiet reigned over the gala event and the eldest of the roguish rakes of Marion Berry Lake, declared with joy supreme and compassion in his heart, by saying,

“Dear Brownie, my friend, would you take for payment today, with my credit card?”

Of course, Brownie was happy to take a credit card for payment and The Writer

knew instinctively in his heart that he was back.

Epilogue:

The he muse was last seen working in the head of an order taker at a fast food joint, just off the interstate.

After the mess with The Writer, the she muse was then assigned to the head of the President of the country, working with him to complete sentences when speaking before large and small groups.

Brownie Sugarman was hailed as the master baker of the kingdom and he grew to be so successful that he now has franchises all over the country.

The Writer, still lives in the small apartment over the bakery and like Brownie, has gained recognition throughout the country as the very best cake decorator, ever. You can catch The Writer each day on the Food Channel and occasionally shows up on QVC.  

That completes the story of Muses Gone Mad, and now, the happy life of The Writer.

Happy New Year!

Dan Johnson

© 2007