Writing, editing, design » muse http://robertbohle.com/blog Social media thinking outside the box Sat, 12 Jun 2010 16:15:14 +0000 en hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.0.1 The Muse Convention http://robertbohle.com/blog/the-muse-convention/ http://robertbohle.com/blog/the-muse-convention/#comments Mon, 11 Jan 2010 15:20:22 +0000 Bob http://robertbohle.com/blog/?p=687 I had nothing better to do, so I went to the Muse Convention. Who knew that Muses have to amass Continuing Education Credits each year. I had thought it was a lifelong gig like some marriages or herpes.

Tagging along also meant maybe I could find a better Muse. This one is just a temp, as are, it turns out, my inspired ideas. They don’t last long enough for me to write them down. Then when it comes time to write, the Muse is snoring on the couch, and I’m sitting chin in hand at the keyboard.

I noticed my own Muse, sitting in back and giggling.

I sat in on a session called, “How to Avoid Getting Assigned to a Journalist.” It was packed. Glancing around the room, I noticed my own Muse, sitting in back and giggling with a few cronies, all sharing something from an aluminum flask.

I wasn’t sure whether to be offended because she was at the session in the first place or
thankful because she obviously wasn’t paying attention.

With all that giggling going on in the back corner, it was hard to follow the speaker, but I
gathered from the PowerPoint slides that being assigned to a journalist was the Muse
equivalent of being assigned the overweight kid as your partner in elementary school
ballroom dancing class.

The bulleted list explaining all this went something like:

  • newspapers are dying
  • journalists are hacks anyway
  • you can wave your Muse wand ferociously and little more than “It was a dark and stormy night” is achieved
  • they are notoriously tight with their liquor closet
  • they THINK they are actual writers

The last one drew a storm of howls and laughter and many nods of agreement. I glanced over at my Muse, and she was high-fiving her buddies and and laughing so hard that the flask contents were dripping from her nose.

I couldn’t take any more and left for the lobby bar. I needed a drink, and I didn’t want to
have to buy one for my so-called Muse. How the hell did she keep her license? What kind of an operation is this?

I gratefully tipped the glass back and the nectar of forgetfulness (Ah, Lethe!) was about to hit my lips,
when….

“Hey, Elwood! Fancy seeing YOU here!”

The Muse!

(To be continued)

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