“Look, you’re the one that wanted something short, sweet, and accomplishable in a weekend.” The Muse, dressed in Company overalls and a well-worn t-shirt, was crashed on the couch watching what passed for Saturday Morning Cartoons. “And now I get ‘I’m Grumpy’. Real writers don’t get grumpy.”

“They do too.” The Writer –who amazingly wasn’t any less grumpy for having walked into her living room to find the Muse blasting cartoons at 7:30 in the morning– finished gathering breakfast-related items and collapsed back into her computer chair. It was Saturday, day of mostly-rest, and she was Grumpy(tm).

“No they don’t,” the Muse sniffed, “They are never grumpy, they never procrastinate, and if their Muse gives them an idea, they damn well run with it right then and there.”

The Writer looked up from her cereal and just stared her best ‘You Can’t Possibly Be That Stupid’ stare (which she had learned by watching copious amounts of House and Rodney). Sadly she apparently needed more practice; the Muse was unfazed.

“Look,” the Muse rolled up on one shoulder to look back at the Writer, “why don’t you just work on it a little. Doesn’t have to be good, just treat it like NaNo. Words on paper, that’s all I’m asking.”

There was a long pause.

“If you don’t I’m going to ask Ship what rhymes with Orange.”

“Ha,” the Writer rolled her eyes, “She’ll just tell you ‘S’morange’.”

“That’s not a word!”

“Yes it is, it’s an orange flavored S’more.”

There was another long pause, this one somewhat smirkier than the last.

“Just write the damned story.”

“S’morange!”