“I don’t know yet,” she replied. “I’d like to write a poem, since I think that’s my forte, but I just can’t find the inspiration under this kind of pressure.”

“I think I can help you,” Martha said slowly. “Call this number and ask for Calliope,” she said as she scribbled. “Gotta run.”

That night the girl sat for a full hour staring at the blank sheet of 8½” x 11” paper before she dug out the bubblegum wrapper and dialed the number etched on it in #2 pencil. After three rings there was a short silence and a perky voice chirped, “Calliope and Company, may I help you?”

“Uh, yes,” the girl stammered. “May I speak with Calliope, please?”

“Calliope is in a board meeting right now,” the voice bubbled. “May I connect you with another party?”

“I don’t really know,” the girl replied, flustered. “I was told to ask for Calliope, but if there’s someone covering for her . . .”

“Well, let’s see . . .” Sounds of pages flipping. “I believe Erato and Thalia are free, but I can’t be sure. What is it you would like to write?”

“Um, a poem,” she replied, puzzled.

“Wellllll,” the voice said, “Calliope deals with overall eloquence, but perhaps Erato could help you. Is this a . . . love poem?”

Is it? the girl wondered furtively. “No, not really.”

“Hmmmm . . . Perhaps bucolic poetry? Thalia is free today.”

“No, that’s not quite right somehow . . . I don’t suppose you have a resident expert on prose poetry, do you?”

There was a tinkling laugh. “No, I’m afraid not. Would you like to try your hand at music or dance? I could ring up Euterpe or Terpsichore for you.”

Where do they get these names, she smiled to herself. “No, I’m afraid this has to be visual. It has to be done on one sheet of paper.”

There was a puzzled silence. “Oh . . . I see. Can you use both sides?”

“Um, I’m not sure. Good question . . . lemme check.”

She grabbed at the sheet and quickly scanned it. “ ‘. . . on or with an 8½” x 11” piece of paper . . .’ Yeah, I guess you can.” She was growing desperate, staring at the list of deadlines posted above her desk. “I just need a little inspiration on this poem, that’s all. It’s very important.”

“I could try for Polyhymnia . . . she’s the muse of sacred lyric poetry.”

“I said important, not sacred . . . did you say muse?”

“Well, of course,” the voice bubbled. “You are speaking to Calliope and Company, Muses, an agency designed to help inspire artists of all sorts.”

Where did Martha get this number, she wondered. Ready to try anything, she said dully, “Oh. Well, who can inspire me?”

“Well, I’m afraid I don’t quite know what to suggest,” the voice said sadly. “Please hold while I check with Calliope.”

Blowing the stray hairs out of her eyes, the girl slumped back in her chair and sighed, listening with half an ear to the faint strains of lute Muzak. A frosty voice broke the tranquility, shattering her thoughts: “Calliope speaking,” it snapped. “Is there a problem?”

“No, ma’am,” the girl stammered. “I mean, yes, there is . . . I want to write a poem, and I need it by the first of the year.”

“And what is it you wanted of us?”

“Inspiration?” she quavered.

“Of course,” Calliope sneered witheringly. “May I ask why you need this so soon?”

“College essay,” she replied in a near-whisper.

“For whom?”

“University of Pennsylvania.”

“And the question is?”

“Um . . .” She grabbed once more at the sheet. “ ‘. . . your sense of imagination and creativity are also important to us . . . Create something on or with an 8½” x 11” piece of paper or other thin, flat material. All means of expression, written or otherwise, are equally encouraged.’ ”

There was a dead silence on the other end of the line for a minute. Then Calliope, colder than ever, hissed, “You would do better to simply recopy and send a poem that you had already written. One that you created spontaneously, not under a royal command. One does not call upon a muse and order her to inspire. Inspiration does not come when one tries to force it. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

The light bulb clicked on over her head. “Oh! So that’s why I had that mental block! It was the pressure . . . you know, normally I can just sit down and churn out some funny little story or a nice poem with some good images, but this ‘Fill up this paper’ business just threw me!”

“Wonderful,” said Calliope, unenthused. “And now if you’ll excuse me—”

“Wait!” the girl shrieked. “What about Penn?!?”

Calliope snarled. “Tell Penn that creativity can’t be forced,” she snapped. Click.

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz . . .

Terrific! Organized confusion and a spoof on anyone not up on his mythology. The central figure asks, “Where do they get these names?” only shortly after the reader asks the same question. There is something dreamlike about the essay. It’s very clever. (TH)