Muse, you're insane. And annoying

[elfs]

"I've got it!" Muse said.

"Got what? What's going on out on the plains of Mars?"

"No, your next Sterlings episode."

I gave her my strongest glare and said, "No more Sterlings."

"You mean no more Sterlings until Caprice is done, right?"

"No, I mean no more Sterlings, ever. After Polestar and maybe, maybe, Under the Big Gun, we're done with the Sterlings."

"WHAT!"

"My audience doesn't care for it that much. They want more Shardik stories. Something with strong continuity. Something that doesn't require a user's manual. And I don't think dickgirls sell that well."

She was silent for a long time, biting on her thumb, and tears welled in her eyes. "I hate Caprice," she said. "I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! You never cared about what your audience thought before. You never tailored stories to what you thought might sell before. You wrote because you loved to write, because you wanted to say stuff, because you wanted science fiction that made you happy and horny and there's too damn little of that! Now all you do is write about Caprice and when you have reading time you read the unpubs from the Journal Entries and chuckle to yourself that someday you'll release Empire or Petri Dish or Bridges of Stone or one of the many Misuko and Linia stories that your fans will love. Well, they're not gonna love them if you don't finish them, and it's no fair for you to read the episodes you have."

She put her hands on my chest and said, "Look, I know Shardik started out as your own little Mary Sue, and you've loved it for that reason all these years. You wanted to write something else, but you have to go back to the well, or you're just gonna, I dunno, stop loving writing. And neither one of us wants that.

"Look, Elf, we both love the Sterlings. We do. You can't stop writing them just because, you know, no one else wants to read them."

I sighed and put down my pen. She was mostly right. I missed many posts of Sterlings episodes and never got a complaint; I figured the fifty or so people who really wanted to read it bought the book, and nobody else really cared. But I did want to write more. I especially wanted to write more Dove and Ash and Arwen stories, and she knew it. I wasn't done with them. "All right, what have you got?"

Dove lay on top of Ash (she was sure it was Ash), feeling his cock subside within her. Arwen's slimmer but longer cock was still sliding gently in and out of her ass, the last dregs of his climax oozing out of him. He nuzzled the back of her hair and murmured gentle coos into her ear. They had finally talked her into this and she had, well, she had loved it. She still loved them. She lay there in a daze, her hair tangled and lube-soaked and messy, and she giggled and kissed Ash and said, "I love both of you so much."

He smiled like he was about to say something, but the vid screen to her left blink and beeped. "Call for you, Dove," Dzun said.

"Now?" She lifted her head and stared at the monitor.

"She said it was urgent."

"Who...? Never mind. Put her through, audio only, please."

"Dove? Dovey, are you there?"

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

If you know how the Sterlings storyline runs, the manure has just impacted the spinning propellors at high speed.

Comments

[omahas.livejournal.com]

She was silent for a long time, biting on her thumb, and tears welled in her eyes. "I hate Caprice," she said. "I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! You never cared about what your audience thought before. You never tailored stories to what you thought might sell before. You wrote because you loved to write, because you wanted to say stuff, because you wanted science fiction that made you happy and horny and there's too damn little of that! Now all you do is write about Caprice and when you have reading time you read the unpubs from the Journal Entries and chuckle to yourself that someday you'll release Empire or Petri Dish or Bridges of Stone or one of the many Misuko and Linia stories that your fans will love. Well, they're not gonna love them if you don't finish them, and it's no fair for you to read the episodes you have."

She put her hands on my chest and said, "Look, I know Shardik started out as your own little Mary Sue, and you've loved it for that reason all these years. You wanted to write something else, but you have to go back to the well, or you're just gonna, I dunno, stop loving writing. And neither one of us wants that.

"Look, Elf, we both love the Sterlings. We do. You can't stop writing them just because, you know, no one else wants to read them."

Sigh.

"Muse, we have to talk."

"About what?" Muse's response was at once both interested and suspicious.

"About you. About Elf. About writing. Look, the problem isn't about Elf writing what he wants to write. If that were the case, he'd be doing that and putting them on a harddrive somewhere, then rereading them over and over again in between writing shifts. Twenty years ago or so he cared about what his readers wanted when he started posting them online.

"Ever since then, he has increasingly complained as the Internet has gotten bigger that no one cares about his reading, no one is interested in what he writes *anymore*." I bent down, eye to eye with Muse. "He wants people to read his writing...and like it. It isn't just about writing what he enjoys and hasn't been for a long time."

I sighed. "Maybe...maybe he's even coming to terms with the idea that there just aren't that many people who enjoy the kind of sexy stuff he does. He could probably find enough...he just doesn't market it widely enough to find everyone. Regardless, it's still not a huge market."

"Oh." Her response was quiet, childlike.

"It doesn't mean that he can't write what he enjoys...he just has to also write what his audience enjoys too. But," I continued, pointing a finger at her, "he can't do that if you keep on interrupting him with ideas that you insist he write *right now* because it's sexy and fun and you want it.

"I mean, don't you think that's a little selfish? He needs to balance his desire to write what he enjoys writing with his desire to get the feedback he enjoys from people who enjoy reading the things he writes."

Tears started springing into Muse's eyes. "But...but it's not fair..."

"Life isn't always fair...I want to write, and look at the Muse I have..."

We both chose not to look in the corner, where my Muse lay on his back, staring at the ceiling and muttering something about life having no meaning.

"Elf needs you right now...not to give him great new ideas for the Sterlings or Journal Entries...he needs you to help him forward with Caprice, cause that's where he's stuck right now.

"And," I added, caressing her arm, "after that you guys can write something you are burning to write. See, that's what writers do...they write something for their audience, then they write something for them." And I winked.

Muse stared at me for a while, her expression a mixture of uncertainty and understanding. Then, without a word, she rose and vanished.

I hoped I had gotten through to her.