She knows no boundaries, and nothing is sacred to her, not even sleep.

Arriving with her play-pretties, she entered the bedroom like she always does, taking her leave on my head.

Write this, write that, and don't forget to add this to your writer's list of research. Blah, blah, blah....

She turned on my lamp, and went straight for my candy bowl, coming up with a fist full.

"Muse, do you realize it's after midnight?" I croaked.

"You told me to do this... so, here," she said, handing me a chocolate-stained pad and equally gooey pen. "Write it down! Then you can forget about little ol' me until morning."

"I did say that, didn't I?"

"Of course you did!" She pulled out my ancient trunk of ideas and heaved it open. The dust cloud sent me into a paroxysm of sneezing.

"Ah, ahhh, ahhhhhh, ahhhhtschjjoooooooooooo!"

Unfazed, the shameless muse shook out the writing papers as the lecture began. "Wow! Some of these ideas have been in here for ages," she remarked. "Look at this... and this! Five chapters of a novel? I smell money here!"

I deflated her lofty head like a three-year-old handling a cheap party balloon. "I write for pleasure now," I said, fluffing my feather pillow. "Be a doll and turn out the lights before you leave."

"Huh. So... you've become a contented writer?"

"I suppose I have. Goodnight, Muse."

"One last thing. Don't forget to enter the FanStory contest by ...."

"I said--good night!"

Dusting her hands; she left; a trail of candy wrappers in her wake.