Fooling Your Muse

“Hey, Liam, is that you?” the man with the dinosaur mask asked the tall fellow standing at the door to Conference Room A.

“Yeah, it’s me. How could you tell, Tri?”

“Some of your hair is sticking out from under your hood. I don’t think anyone else here has hair quite so blond. How’d you know it was me?” Triceratops asked.

“The dinosaur mask and the cape were a dead give away. So, why do you think Uncle Jim wanted us to wear a costume to this class anyway, Tri?” Liam asked as the two entered the room.

“I’m not sure. The class is called, ‘Fooling Your Muse Into Cooperating’. Maybe he thinks a disguise will intrigue our muse enough to come out of hiding. Of course, I don’t usually have that problem but it sounded like a fun class. Anyway, it’s right before lunch.”“Whoa, would you look at that. I don’t think I’ve seen so many odd looking characters since the last time I went to the ‘Rocky Horror Picture Show’.

“I know what you mean’, Liam agreed. “Do we know these people?

“There’s Dawno”, Tri said. I recognize the sparkly ears. I wish I had a pair of those.” Liam looked at Tri oddly.

“For research purposes, Liam. Haven’t you noticed how much more prolific Dawno’s writing has become since she came back with those ears? I think she’s channeling Nora Roberts with them. Maybe I could get a pair that channel Terry Pratchett or Orson Scott Card.”

Liam shrugged, “Anything’s possible I suppose. Let’s go sit over there next to the person wearing the shrimp head. Do you suppose they’re channeling lunch?”

Tri laughed, “Maybe. Look, there’s Alphabet dressed as the letter ‘A’. Think she’ll let me buy a vowel?”

”Sure she will”, said Liam. “Right after she tells you what the letter ‘A’ stands for.”

“Ouch”, said Tri. “You got me there.”

“Hurry up, there’s a little blighter wearing a pumpkin head and someone dressed as a wolf headed for the shrimp’s table”, Liam told Tri. “Those are the last good seats close to the front. Uncle Jim always puts on a good class; I’d like to sit up front so I can hear.”

“All righty then, let’s meet our table mates and see if we can figure out who else is here. I must say, this is a motley looking bunch.” Triceratops arrived at the table a step ahead of Liam and graciously held a chair for the diminutive person wearing the pumpkin head. “And who do we have here?” Tri asked.

“It’s LanternJack. Don’t you recognize me?”

“Och, I should have known. Forgive me, please” Tri said.

“And who are you?” asked LJack peevishly.

“Oh. So sorry. It’s Triceratops here and this is Liam Jackson disguised as Death Warmed Over.”

”Tiaga, here” said the person in the wolf costume. I’m pleased to finally make your acquaintance.” He gave a little bow before taking a seat. He turned to the person wearing the shrimp head, “I say, that’s a remarkable set of antennae on your shrimp costume. How do you keep them waving like that?”

“I’m not a shrimp”, Vanessa replied from beneath her costume. “I’m a crawdad. I’m trying to reclaim my Cajun roots. I’m channeling Crawfish Etouffe.”

Liam poked Tri in the ribs, “See, I told you they were channeling lunch.”

Tri tried to cover a laugh with a discreet cough. “So, Vanessa, do you recognize anyone else? Who do you suppose that is over there with the planets circling their head?”

“Oh, those aren’t planets. That’s Gehanna. She’s still investigating scientific theory. I suppose those must represent her atoms. Or maybe they’re her electrons. I helped her pick out that costume but I really didn’t understand her explanation of ‘Shared Atom Degeneration’. I’ve never been much of a scientist. That’s Shwebb next to her wearing the moose antlers and Joe Calabrese at the table behind them. I’m not sure I recognize anyone else.” Vanessa’s antennae continued to wobble as she reached beneath the table for her laptop. “Excuse me while I fire this up. I want to be ready when the class starts.”

“I recognize Joe”, said Liam, “He’s looking wonderfully fit. The sabbatical must have been good for him.”

“When’s the class going to start?” asked LJack. “I have a novel to write. My words aren’t getting any fresher. The world needs this story and I want to get it written.”

”The class isn’t due to start ‘til half past, LJack, “It’s only just quarter past the hour now”, said Tiaga. Although it may start earlier; the room’s pretty well full already. I’m glad I got here early enough for a good seat. Who do you suppose that is?” Tiaga nodded toward the corner near the exit. “The chap looks like a cat burglar don’t you think? I don’t suppose I’d carry a coil of rope around like that, though. People might get the wrong impression.”

“I do believe we’re looking at our famous Mr. Underhill”, said Liam, “He always shows up in the last place you look.”

“I think you’re right, and I believe that’s Dave Kuzminski over there. See the bit of green between the moose antlers? I noticed him as we were coming in. We met at a SciFi convention in Richmond last year. I believe he’s branching out into non-fiction – writing test questions for biology exams. He’s become quite the expert in frogs, you know.”

“Well I want to know when this class is going to start. It’s getting more than a little bit uncomfortable under this orange hood of malevolent perdition. I demand to speak to a member of management. It’s unconscionable that people should be kept waiting like this. I believe I’ll ask for a full refund.”

“But these classes are free, LanternJack’, Liam pointed out.

“Then at the very least I should be compensated for my time. What time is it anyway, Vanessa?”

“It’s twenty eight past the hour. Didn’t any of you others bring a lap top or something to take notes with?”

“I have my handy dandy microrecorder”, said Liam as he pulled it out from beneath his robe.

“I’ve got a Blackberry here”, said Tri.

“Steno pad and favorite ball point”, Tiaga said as he threaded it through his fingers like a baton.

“I rely on my memory”, LJack boasted. “I have near perfect recall. I never forget an insult or a bit of raging diatribe either real or imagined.”

Vanessa nearly lost an antenna as she dove beneath the table to tie an imaginary shoelace on her tassel loafers. When she came back up she had managed to regain her composure even if she couldn’t manage to hide her smile. Tri chuckled into his cuff as he checked his watch.
“Witching hour is it, Tri?” Liam asked.

“Nearly so, Liam, nearly so.”

At that moment, a tall, slender fellow burst through the door with his arms extended. An American flag was hanging from beneath his left arm; a Canadian flag was hanging beneath his right. With a swirl that would have made his drill team proud he settled his flags about himself and sat down with a flourish next to a man dressed as a mushroom.

“Glad you could make it, KTC”, said Cao Paux. “I thought maybe you’d been busted for violating an International Treaty or something. It would have been quite the sticky situation, wouldn’t it? Cao Paux nearly choked trying to swallow his guffaw. Kevin KTC narrowed his eyes and glared. “The joke’s on you, Mr. Magic Mushroom and violator of the Geneva Convention. I had two pair of spandex with me and you botched the blue pair. Did you think I wouldn’t notice a great gob of shaving cream stuffed into the crotch of my pants? It’s better I wore the red ones anyway just to show you that the Canadians will prevail.” Cao Paux lost it then and he laid his head on the table and laughed until the tears ran from his eyes.

Uncle Jim chose that moment to take the stage. “I’m happy to see there are a few of you here getting into the spirit of this class. Writing is a serious business but we sometimes forget that our purpose is to entertain our readers.” Uncle Jim McDonald was dressed as a pirate, complete with eye patch and a stuffed parrot on his shoulder. Anne Watkins wondered if the parrot were illegally taken but she shrugged it off. She knew Uncle Jim would never be party to smuggling, though his pirate costume did cause her to ponder what else she didn’t know about her mentor.

“But I write non fiction, Uncle Jim”, called a voice from the back of the room. “I want to inform my target audience.”

“Good to see you here, Optimus”, said Uncle Jim. “So let me ask you, do you want your narrative to be merely a dry recitation of facts?”
“No, but – “
“Do you want to give your readers a laundry list of points to ponder?”
“No, but – “
“Do you think an info dump of all the salient details is a way to engage your reader and convince them to inquire further into your subject?”
“Well, no, but – “
“Do you believe the best way for a student to learn is to study a slew of statistics, presented with a plethora of references followed by a fortune in footnotes?”
“Well, no, but – “
“Then tell me why you think that your readers of non fiction would want to be any less engaged and entertained than the readers of fiction?”

For once in his life, Optimus was speechless. The class burst into spontaneous applause. Optimus had the good grace to appear embarrassed.

“Now”, said Uncle Jim, “Back to the matter at hand. I’m sure many of you are wondering why I’ve asked you to come to this class wearing a costume. The answer is – I want you to believe. I want you to believe in yourselves and in your writing. Not just to believe that you have your facts straight, your spellings correct, and your punctuation appears in the proper places. Those are the bones of your writing. In this class I’m assuming most of you are well past digging up bones, and if you’re not, you know what to do to correct that. This class is about the meat. Put some flesh on those bones people and make those zombies walk!”

The class sat in rapt attention. The room was nearly silent but for the clicking of keys and the scratching of pens. The faint hum of the hotel’s air handling system accentuated the stillness of the room. Someone gave a discreet cough. Uncle Jim came around to stand in front of the podium. His eyes scanned the room surveying the different costumes of the participants. Each one gave small insights to the thoughts and character of their wearers.

“You three ladies in front; those are new mortarboards you’re sporting are they not? KatieMac, have you decided what you’re going to do with that fine new diploma you have hanging on your wall? Sgtsdaughter and Natalia, those are PhD’s you have now. You’ve earned the title of expert.” Uncle Jim made little quote marks in the air with his fingers. “Tell me ladies, do you feel any smarter this week than you did last week? Do you feel any more like an expert?” The three girls shook their heads.

“But you must, ladies. You must believe in yourselves. Your universities believed enough to confer your degrees on you. How are you going to convince a roomful of freshmen that you’re experts if you don’t believe it yourself? I’m sure you feel you have the technical aspects of your craft down well enough. But what will it take for you to believe that you have progressed far enough to consider yourselves experts?” The three stared at Uncle Jim wide eyed. The room held its collective breath.

“I’ll tell you what it’s going to take”, said Uncle Jim as he looked out over his class. “For the duration of your book, regardless of the subject, you have to absolutely believe it. If that means living on hard tack and grog while you’re writing your Napoleonic Naval Adventure – then don’t forget the lime juice, matey. If your book is about the Life Cycle of the Wild-Eyed Guatemalan Fruit Bat, make sure your readers know how it feels to fly through the jungle at night searching for mangoes. If you hold something in your hand or see it in your mirror, your readers will be able to hold it in their hands and see it in their mirrors, too. Don’t tell your readers about your adventures; let them see it through your eyes.”

“Now, for the next twenty minutes, I want you to write about why you chose the costume you did. I want you to tell me how it feels, how it makes you feel, and how you want others to perceive you as you’re wearing it. If you’re dressed as a butterfly, I want you to speak as if you were a butterfly. Ladies and Gentlemen, you are your muse! So let your muse speak!” As Uncle Jim hopped down from the podium, the parrot gave a little squawk and ruffled his feathers before settling back down on his perch on Uncle Jim’s shoulder. Anne Watkins nearly fell off her chair in surprise.