How To Live Write Like A Goblin On The Muse

This time a post by the Goblin on a topic us authors all know about, but not all of us have one. Flea has and I like her.


“…do you think I talk to myself slot…”, “…no goblin you’ve got the muse and me to talk to, but mind you what with innerman lamenting the superficiality of outerman, and outerman craving “this, that, and the next thing”, the wonder is not if you do actually talk to yourself, it’s more how you can ever get a word in edgeways…”, “…hello you two…” said the muse who popped in from the back room “..I heard that, is that you goblin worrying about whether you talk to yourself then…”, “…um, well I, um…””…yep, he sure is, muse…”, the slot had noticed the goblin was seated looking down at his shoes woefully, the muse put her hands down on his shoulders from behind him “…there there goblin I am sure you’re not talking to yourself, any schizophrenic will tell you that much…”, the man in the mirror found the whole image rather appealing as the goblin lifted his hand to his shoulder placing it on hers saying “…thanks muse but…, …”, “…goblin…” she moved around the chair to look at him clearly, then, placing a lone finger on his lips as only a woman could do, spoke softly “…anyone can post but only mad people make interesting posters, leave sanity for shallow people, we’re different…”, “…that’s better Your Madnessty…” joked the slot as the goblin then started typing his hapless posts once more


17 thoughts on “How To Live Write Like A Goblin On The Muse

    • (“…just that it’s a paradox then…” complained the goblin about if, yet thanking the ape for his company still, then adding “…for doesn’t the reader already know what he wants each time, though what he doesn’t know as of yet is that he no longer wants it, well no, not until one writes what he expects in the way he expects it, so instead one gives him what he didn’t know that he wanted, where invariably he will then know what he wants anew, and where one will then have to move those goalposts again, lest he eats you up in those expectations once more…”, “…clear as mud goblin, can I swallow this down yet…” inquired the slot pushed for time now, adding “…oh, and thank the mouse for the fun while you’re at it…”)

    • (“…thanks, just make that two small continental coffees then, off course one for your good self now…” went the goblin ever appreciating williamkendall1’s intelligent company, and then sighing “…ah now, if only you humans would still read those books like you use to even a few years back now, where I dare say that nothing I could relate here, however well it might be written, could possibly equate to that pleasure we derived form actual bookreading, the truth indeed, and I know it too, though having said that, hasn’t this internet here somehow addicted us to this interaction instead of passive reading…”, the lines seem to float to the fore his mind again, so the goblin continued “…thus I’m just a realist then, and a pragmatic one at that, for if I note too, that that readership there has given way to this replyship here, thus resulting in far more readers actually viewing online then reading offline, so then, really what choice has one now but to go to these readers in their medium of online here, that of short interactive posts perhaps…”, simply, it seemed that the reader had become a livereader whereas the writer hadn’t as yet changed)

  1. ~If you like what you just read, please leave a reply~

    “Fine then!” laughed Dejavu, who did, not to mention those who’d written it.

    • (“…welcome human, well that is if I may so bold as to call you one now…” went the goblin grateful for the company once more, then adding “…naah, on forumland one knows if one is being read by the hitcount to the thread itself, whereas in this blogworld it kind of depends on whether someone is actually replying…”, whereupon the goblin wondered who else was here though, smiling “…you by your keyboard then, so come feed me humans, I mean what is a readership to someone who is anonymous with no fame nor fortune by it, but just maybe then, something that you might yet comment might become payment in full to me…”, but by now, who didn’t know know that goblins were not to be trusted)

      • “Yes, human is what I’ve always been, and an anonymous being here like you flea. Despite my eye there looking at us.” Wrote Dejavu. “Known alone for our words here, so let’s never not write ourselves into them, even when the third person is elsewhere.” he added. Dejavu was sure his words would never quite requite what another expected of him, so at this very juncture he embraced the unexpected, his true muse, whose beauty at once lent itself to him and estranged him. “Life! Too much for me who loves you?! If I leave you, you know it will be me alone who hears my farewell. You, witch of Atlas! It’s you who has me here, just exactly as I would be… yet how I ache that my neck were at your beck, and not simply at your… what can I call them before you who have no true opponent? Departures?! But they’ll never have it! You have my promise!” She smiled and pleasure flushed through him. He looked directly into her eyes, and she winked at him before looking away, saying “You and your promises Dejavu! I’ve only ever asked that you remember me, and never in so many words!” Dejavu, disconcerted, was about to reply that her so saying was as many as he needed, but he knew she knew he never had enough from her. His own wildness was only an approximation of hers, and he stood there, dumbfounded, and in love. He motioned to the slot to remember them clicking post comment.

  2. (by the second post, the goblin’s doubts were dispelled completely as he then recognized his accomplished friend from forumland yonder, saying “…no I wasn’t sure at first as I thought the name might be coincidence here but your writing style alway has that same dream like quality to it, where the above post doesn’t even need your username attached, one just knows it as you now…”, in fact, livewriters had much in common with painters, smiling “…ah, the very hallmarks of a genuine devavu there, so how are you finding this blogworld now…”)

  3. “Google” laughed Dejavu, having found the place again, not to mention the time to reply to his friend. He’d just now started following Lucys blog, and he wondered if he’d ever start blogging too.

    • “Google is your friend,” said Lucy whom Dejavu also knows by an other name which won’t be hard to find if you use said Google wisely. She laughs as she realises how not everything that is to be found on Google is always the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “But do come back and keep your friends company on my blog even if it is not a forum.”

      • (“…perhaps there’s something of a cross pollination here between the goals of forums per se and that of blogs here…” mentioned the goblin enjoying his stay, explaining “…simply, I haven’t done a blog because it goes against my sentiment of keeping oneself anonymous, plus the fact that it is harder to find a blog across the internet than a forum where the forum is a theme such as writing or poetry, plus one is not the front runner like as in a blog meaning others can tide things over while one’s not posting, however, I see now that the blog too, has a different readership, yes I get to converse with other creatures here, where I’m sure that if I stay I’ll find other advantages too…”, in fact, Dejavu was known for his posts, where the goblin’s experiment was ever with the use of a persona, repeating “…probably what I do is more like painting than writing…”)

  4. “Writers like me have to be painters flea!” laughed Dejavu, who had done a terrible thing in having gone and foreseen the end of writing. His only defence was that he had done it on behalf of the individual. “Self-publication is our pride. ‘Twisted’ some may say, the fate of all dabblers who never appear to adhere to the written rules of writing. Those selfish few, damnable poets, who, sinless, insinuate themselves into their every admixture.” He then smiled at Lucy who, like flea, he considered his friend, thanking her for her welcome, saying, with far too many commas, “I’ve known who you were, and are, here not long after meeting you, finding you easily elsewhere, but didn’t want to say, thinking you might still want your anonymity there.” Dejavu had never really been a writer of accounts. A diary, for instance, would have utterly defeated him. He had a strong feeling that a blog would bury him just as well, but still he wondered, frittering his life away at the keys, as though he had nothing better to do, as though he had not already known himself here by his words then, as now, wanting as always what lay beyond them… He stopped himself short all of a sudden. “Ah, I’d quite forgotten there for a moment what all this anonymity is for!” he concluded, thankful he had words with which to unbridle his imagination by, in a world where the growing consensus was ‘business as usual’ despite its hearts desire.

    • And Lucy laughed after reading the words written by her friend Dejavu, whom she’d had expected to find her easily and soon for she has never fully needed, nor wanted that so desired anonymity that the Goblin and the other livewriter Jats hold so dear. “No, I want readers to find me,” she says as she nibbles on the chocolate orange. “Two for one, who can resist such an offer? Yes, readers must find the writer and read, devour the words that create a story, to find the soul of the author in the heart of the story, for as with posts on a forum, it is in books that the author pours her very being. Are we not what we write?” Rising to make another cup of coffee she adds, “Oh, and the rules are there to be broken, as long as the sentences still make sense and readers do not get confused but captivated a lot can be forgiven, but not all.” She laughs for she knows that is more than just a little confusing to the writer who knows not all and still only dabbles. “Then again, when can one really know all?” Coming back with the steaming hot cup she says, “Unbridled imagination is the best, although sometimes to be bound is even better.”

      • (“…well those readers will come, promise…” smiled the goblin not really needing to promise anything much though, no not if the reader wanted interaction today, adding “…guess these readers here are not those of the bookworld there, or at least not expecting to be entertained in the same manner then, for this is live where an integral part of its liveness is pushing the reader into replying back…”, at which the point the goblin just went “…oh no you can’t humans MYAHAHAHAHA, where I’m not some book neither…” while cupping his hand to his ear again, adding “…the readership is dead, long live our replyship now…”)

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