As I sat in my room one day, reading stories off the Internet as I usually do, it occurred to me that while many of the authors out there had muses or some type of creative being, I had nothing. So being the resourceful person that I am, I tried to invent my own muse, figuring he and I would get along pretty well, and he could help me out in a tough spot or two. Boy was I ever wrong.

I guess you could say it started out innocent enough. I tried going through my small collection of stuffed animals to come across a favorite that I could use as a house for my muse to live in. But after carefully checking out each animal, I decided none of them would do. Tigger and Pooh just seemed to hyper for the kinds of things I wanted to write, and if I had them as muses I? won?t be able to sit still long enough to type. Mr. Cow seemed like a really good choice too, until I gave it some more thought. While cows might be just about the coolest animal on Earth, they weren?t very intelligent. I mean, for Pete?s sake, they?re happy eating grass and standing outside when its raining. Mr. Skunk, well the answer?s in the question, while I might love him, he does carry around a rather distinct odor. Having discarded all my stuffed animals as possible muses, I went to my next door neighbor and cohort in Power Rangers, to see what she thought of the whole thing. Her answer was Squiggle.

Now who or what is Squiggle, you ask? Trust me when I tell you, you don?t want to know.

?I highly resent that! There is nothing wrong with me. I?m absolutely perfect in every way, shape, and form.?

?And he has an ego that won?t quit.? I mutter to myself. ?You wouldn?t happen to have somebody else to bug, now would you?? I ask hopefully.

?Nope.? Squiggle replies in an impossibly perky voice. ?I?m all yours, Toots.?

I glare at him. He know that I hate to be called toots more than anything in the entire world. Chick, I can handle, but toots reminds me of some B rated movie where the heroine is some loopy actress who has the world?s most grating accent, and absolutely no brain to speak of.

?Listen you warped little tadpole. I don?t like it when you call me toots. You know that.? I say sternly, hoping against hope, that just maybe I can offend him into going away so I?ll have a moment of peace.

?I am not a warped tadpole. I?m a Greek letter. I have the highest social standing in any calculus book you?ll ever come across. I?m the life of any party that gets thrown too.? He replies smugly.

?Your the life of the party for a bunch of brainy, nerdy math symbols. That?s not saying much.? I say, rolling my eyes. ?You?re not even one of the cool Greek letters, like Alpha or Beta, you?re . . . well, I?m not even really sure which one you are.? I finish doubtfully as a take a step back and examine my wayward muse.

?I?m Delta, thank you very much.? He glares at me, slightly disgruntled. ?And just for that last little remark Missy, I?m going to throw a real humdinger into the works.?

?Humdinger? I think you?ve been at one too many math book parties.? I say skeptically. He glares at me again and then hops up onto the edge of my computer.

?You can?t leave Carlos all by himself. He needs a main squeeze. Everybody else has one but him. You?re not going to leave him out in the cold are you? Who?s he going to turn to when things get hairy?? My muse asks smugly from his position on my CPU. I groan and thump my head on my desk as I begin to realize he?s right.

?Listen Squiggle, I don?t have time to write a story about Carlos. I haven?t even finished the one about TJ yet, and I still have Cassie and Phantom to deal with!? Squiggle merely grins back at me, and I am over come with the urge to see if a person can actually strangle a Greek letter.

?Well, if you hadn?t made up so many characters in TJ?s story, you would have been done with it by now.? He has the gall to remind me.

?And just who gave me the ideas for all of the characters, do you think?? I ask sarcastically. He shrugs and looks innocent.

?Hey, I?m just a Greek letter. What do I know? You?re the poor sap who?s listening to me, Toots.? He says with a huge grin, that only a Greek math symbol can pull off.

?You?re the bain of my existence. You know that right?? I ask rhetorically. He nods happily, and I resist the urge to flatten him with my fist. ?Sheesh. Why couldn?t I get a cool muse? Everybody else gets muses that are insightful, intelligent, helpful. What do I get? A math symbol. How the heck is a math symbol supposed to help me do any writing?? I mutter to myself.

?Hey! I?ve come up with some really great ideas!? If you have ever seen an indignant math symbol, then you?ll understand why I laughed.

?Drop kicking Tommy off of a high, high cliff is not a good idea, no matter how arrogant you think he is. I don?t want to write a story about Tommy, and I don?t want to write a story where all the characters are mourning Tommy?s death. I wouldn?t be able to write it as well as other people have. You know that.?

?It was a good idea!? He insists with a pout. I raise an eyebrow to say otherwise. ?I don?t have to take this.? He adds in a huff, and then disappears.

?Finally! Peace and quiet.? I say thankfully as I switch my computer on. I?m about to open Microsoft Works, when Squiggle reappears, followed by an entire bevy of jittering math symbols.

?What the hell is this?? I cry as the math symbols begin to sort through all the crap I have sitting on my desk. Squiggle looks up at me innocently.

?It?s a math book party. We?re having a treasure hunt, and I recommended your place. You haven?t cleaned in a while.? He states calmly as he roots through the three day old lunch that is sitting on the corner of my desk. I groan and thump my head against the table for the second time in one morning.

?I give up. I?m not going to get anything done.? I say tiredly, and I reach over and turn the computer off.

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