“Come on, Calliope! I’m stuck here! Please, get one of your muses to help me, or even help me your self!”

“In the troubled times of yonder,
Writers fixed their own blunders.”

“That’s not an answer! Unless you’re telling me to try historical poetry!”

The tall woman sat on her throne of wisdom, a sadistic look on her face. She was particularly enjoying this writer’s pain.

“Perhaps ‘tis only a rumor,
But you shouldn’t try humor.”

“Well, geez! Thanks Captain Obvious! As if I couldn’t tell that from my comments on ficlets already!”

“Go look at potpourri.
One day you’ll thank me.”

“What kind of useless advice is that? And that was a forced rhyme, you cheat! You know what? I’m done with this. Some kind of muse you are…”

And the writer stormed off to write about his terrible day at the muse’s office on his blog.