This was the month she was going to do it. Yes, really. This time.
Sitting down at the keyboard she faced the blank screen. First things first, time for coffee.
Now she could start. Come on, come on, come on. Where is my muse?
She strokes the keboard, searching internally for inspiration.
At first she thinks the computer screen is broken. Or maybe a virus has hijacked her software. She peers in astonishment.
A green face is forming in front of her eyes. At first the details are vague and hazy. Then it grows clearer. Yes, definitely a face. The nose may be a little large and there may be horny outgrowths on the forehead and, maybe, the eyes should not be that vivid red colour. But, all these things considered, definitely a face.
"Who, on earth, are you?" She didn't mean to say this out loud.
A smile spread across those green lips and a voice, crackled and gravelly, like an old gramaphone record with a dusty stylus, replied.
"I am your muse."
"Good heavens. You are a ugly bugger!"
"Yes, my dear. A little like your writing."
And that was when she gave up. Writing.