They call her Calliope. It means literally “Pretty mouth”, because she’s meant to be the eldest, and the wisest, of the muses.

If you ask to me, they should call her “smart mouth” too.

Muses appears the way they want. And when my mind is dry as a desert, Calliope comes to me, an ethereal, but rather simple, girl in a white dress.

“I just heard in Olympus a funny story about a man and a wo… mn?”

I shush her gently with a finger

“Cal, dearie. If you heard it, someone has told you. I’m searching a new story, not to copy something already done”

“I’m sure someone had already said this words, so, don’t blame me if you’ve got a bad case of writer’s block. Art is not what you say, is how“

“Still, if you’ve not anything useful to say, who’s going to help me?”

“Booring! You’re a boring man, so, your prose is boring. Think at Homer. He lived in such interesting times…”

“Are you suggesting me to become a war correspondant or something?”

“Not at all. Just to get out of here and get a life”

Smart mouth