In recent weeks my muse seems to have left me. Consequently I have written less and put little up on my blog. In desperation I write this letter:
I hope you are well. After much soul-searching I have decided to write to you in the hope that you may find it in your heart to forgive me and return home.
Life without you has been a nightmare. I’ve not managed to put pen to paper in weeks. All those wonderful ideas we shared have dried up and my head is in tatters. It is only now that I have come to appreciate just how much you mean to me. Life without your daily presence hardly seems worth living.
I look back to that argument that drove you away and feel ashamed of myself. My arrogance and conceit got the better of me. I just pray that, over time, you might forget some of the dreadful things I said to you.
Please, I beg you, come home. Let us get back to the way we were.
Your friend and companion.
A week later I received this reply:
Thank you for your letter, though I have to say I was disappointed that it took you such a long time to contact me.
Unlike you I have not found our separation to have had any detrimental effects on my health, quite the contrary. I now sleep well (not having you wake me in the middle of the night with another stupid idea may have a lot to do with this). My days are my own and I can go for long walks, or to the local coffee shop, without feeling obliged to return with the outline of yet another novel.
You will probably not be surprised to hear that I have had no end of offers. There is a plentiful supply of potentially gifted writers out there desperate to team up with a muse of my creative abilities. But, to date, I have turned all offers. I am too sentimental for my own good and, despite your many failures, there are aspects of your erratic behaviour that I quite miss.
I am therefore quite happy to return as long as certain conditions can be guaranteed;
a) No more late nights. If you get ideas in the middle of the
night you must note them down and we will discuss them
the next day.
b) Any ideas I come up with must be acted upon until I feel
they have been successfully completed.
c) There must be no more talk of us writing romantic
erotica in order for you to make a fortune. This is not
going to happen.
If you are prepared to comply with my demands then I will return at once.
I look forward to hearing from you.
What shall I do?