The clock struck two, and the room was filled with a blinding light… and much laughter. Stooge awoke with a start. "Bah! Who is it?"
"Come, Under-Achiever, and know me better, man."
Stooge stumbled out of bed and approached this strange new Muse. "Spirit, who are you?"
"I am the Muse of Drafts Present, a balance of fun and hard work. I come to show you scenes of writers everywhere. Take the hem of my robe."
"No," said Stooge. "You're much too bright and merry, not unlike my present muse Bob."
"Under-Achiever Stooge," the muse said in a warning tone. "Here take a sip from my cup."
After one sip, Stooge was giddy as a schoolboy. "I feel so giddy!" he said. "Like I could write for hours upon hours. What was in that cup? Inspiration? I want some more."
"This is the drink of Dedication. With or without Inspiration, Dedication is the thing which keeps a writer coming to the page. Now, do as I say and take my hem."
Stooge obliged and they were pitched into a scene of wonder. Writers were writing everywhere! There wasn't an inner editor in sight. "What is this place?" Stooge asked.
"You knew it once," said the muse; "back in that scene from your childhood. This a writer's workspace… a space where writers work."
"Yes, yes, I know what a workspace is, and I want to go home now."
"Under-Achiever! Here, take another sip." So Stooge did, and again felt the wonders of writing.
"Look at him! He's missing the delete button. And him; he's thrown out his eraser. They're all getting it down on the page."
"You've forgotten that, my good man, the joys of writing. You've been caught up in the business of it all."
"Edits aren't bad."
"Yes, but they are when you're creating. It's time to return, I fear. Again, take the hem of my robe."