The writer sat at his desk, his arms crossed over his keyboard and his head laid on his arms. It had been a long day already, what with his real job and with college preparations, and the computer screen was still blank, blank, blank. He'd written nothing. In fact, he'd written a whole lot of nothing for weeks.
"Wouldn't it be best just to take a nap?" he said to himself.
"Why, of course not," said his muse.
Slowly, the writer raised his head, and turned around in his office chair to face his muse.
"Musie?" said the writer. "Is that you?"
His muse beamed her freckle-faced smile. "Of course it's me, silly." She squeezed him in a hug. "Now why are you whining about naps?"
"Well..." said the writer. "I've been in a horrid slump. Some of the worst writer's block I've ever faced. You left, and I was worried you'd never come back, and I've been trying to write things, but nothing will come out of me, and I've been wanting to give up, stop writing."
Musie shrugged. "So stop writing."
There was a horrible, terrible, no-good-very-bad pause.
"What?" said the writer. He poked his finger in his ear and wiggled it around. "I'm sorry, I think I just heard my MUSE tell me to STOP WRITING."
"Yep. And," said the muse, "Start researching and worldbuilding. If you can't write, why not do something that isn't writing? You've been trying to draw from an empty well."
The writer started to say something, but stopped.
But... at the same time... not really STOP writing...
"That is the sneakiest way around a writer's block I've ever heard," said the writer. "You're a GENIUS, Musie!"
Musie patted him on the head. "You're welcome. Now, have fun doing your research, and I'll be back tomorrow."
She flicked his nose gently. "Promise."
"Why did you just flick me?"
"I'm your muse, I do what I want."