" 'Fraidy Cat," said Myself.
" Am not." Me replied.
"Then open the door." Myself said.
" What door?", Me said.
"The one behind you. The one marked 'writer'," Myself said.
"Well, I will," Me said, scuffing a toe.
"Why not now? You're right here. It's right here," Myself explained.
"I don't want to do it in front of anybody,", Me said.
" Not just anybody. I am YOU," Myself said.
" Yeah, but you are right here."
"What are you hiding?"
"What are you hiding from?" Myself asked.
" How can that be? I'm you."
"I know that. I just want to be the only one that does this. The only one to share. To choose what
"I share," Me said.
"Well, how you gonna do that? You know it's not just the two of us. I will want to be in on it, too."
" I know. I know."
"What else are you afraid of? What is dwelling behind that door?" Myself asked.
"A monster. A dragon, in fact. With wings and fire," Me shuddered.
" Are you crazy? There is no dragon. Maybe a spider or two," Myself said.
" Yes, with big hairy legs and bags full of venom," Me's eyes grew large as she spoke.
"Oh, for heaven's sake. Just open the door, turn on the light and the spiders will scurry away.
"You are so silly." Myself reached for the door and Me slapped her hands away.
"No! That's not for you to do. It is for me to do! If I don't it the monster wins. Meaning if I don't
write my stories won't get told and will die before they are born. "
Myself shook her head and waited.
" What's going on? Why are you just standing there? Why don't you open the door?" Myself
" Waiting for the muse," Me replied.
" What's a muse and why does it have to show up?", Myself asked.
" The muse," Me sighed, "is what makes a writer a writer."
" Are you nuts? It's writing that makes a writer." She turned and stomped two steps away.
"No. Not nuts. Everything we read says you have to wait on the muse. If she doesn't show up, you
"can't write." Me explained.
"Let me get this straight. You can't be a writer unless you open the door. You can't write if the muse
"doesn't show up. AND you can't be a writer unless you write. Is that correct?" Myself questioned.
" Well. When you put it like that it sounds stupid, but yeah, that's about the way of it. That's not
"quite all of it, but yeah. Yeah. That's right." Me said.
"Why don't you start by opening the door. Let's what is really there." Myself said.
"I can't. I just can't", Me said.
"What do you think is going to be there? Spiders and dragons, but what else?" Myself tapped her
" Dark. I expect it to be dark. Maybe lightning flashing, dragons fighting and giant spiders running
around." Me shuddered as she spoke.
"Oh, good grief," Me said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
" Impossible to open it. Won't. Can't." Me said.
" Um, what's gives here?" I asked.
" She won't open the door," Myself said.
" Why?", I asked.
" Scared. To. Death." Me replied.
" Of what?" I asked.
" Oh, trust me, you really don't want to know," Myself said.
" I do. I will.", I said.
" Spiders, dragons, and dark.", Me replied.
" Okay enough."
I opened the door.
" Good Grief," Myself said.
" Oh", Me said.
Out of the door came sunshine, the smell of sweet roses and ...a gecko with a briefcase marked,
' Writer'. He handed it to me and went back to lying in the sun.