smut…
smut…
smut…

Well that’s going well. The Author glared balefully at the blank screen. smut. A smarmy giggle from the Muse lounging on her bed did nothing for her mood. “I’d ask if you could do better but you obviously can’t.”

“Hey now,” the Muse sat up and gave the Author a hurt look that went unnoticed. “I’m not the Romance Muse and I’m certainly not the Smut Muse.”

“Well I do not need a Meta Muse.” The Author leaned back in her chair and absently skritched the Plot Dragon who was napping in her lap. “I need traffic, I need eyeballs, I need smut.” She waved a hand vaguely at the notes for her website. “Smut!”

“Right. And when pray tell have you ever written smut?”

“Well, never,” the Author blushed, “but there’s a first time for everything.”

“Witty retorts aside, everything romantic you’ve ever written has ended with the death or near-death of one of the fictives involved. So I don’t think you’ll be getting any volunteers. Love might hurt, but it isn’t supposed to kill.”

The Author muttered something unrepeatable.

“‘Fuck Off’ is not unrepeatable, it’s just not very polite.” The Muse crossed her arms and glared right back at its Author. “Give it up, you can’t write smut. Hell, if you can’t even swear then you certainly can’t have them [bleep]ing [bleep] the [bleep]… you’re [bleep]ing joking.” The Muse’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you bleep me you power-hungry [bleep] [bleep] [bleep][bleep], [bleep]!”

At which point the Author realized (as she dodged a barrage of pillows) that she was much better off just sticking to her Comedy Muses as they seemed rather less violent on the whole…