"Esther M. Friesner - Chicks 05 - Turn The Other Chick" - читать интересную книгу автора (Friesner Esther M)

"My dear . . . what's your name?"

"Suzanne. Suzanne ofтАФ"

"Suzanne's fine." Calliope drifted down to eye level with Suzanne. "If you have to explain to the reader
what you're trying to do, you haven't done it. That's lesson one. Lesson two is that it really helps to write
something interesting."

Suzanne rubbed her forehead. "Well, I try to write about what I know, you see."

"Haven't you ever done anything interesting?" Calliope paused in anticipation of Suzanne's answer, then
hung her head theatrically. "You have to seek Inspiration in your experiences."

"But, if I imagineтАФ"

"Who's the Muse here?"

"You are." Suzanne bit her lip and looked around. "I don't see anything interesting."

"You have to seek it! Come along." Calliope floated off down the street, passing through obstacles
without hindrance, while Suzanne struggled through the crowd to catch up. When she finally did, Suzanne
saw Calliope admiring an armorer's shop display. "This is just the place."

Suzanne peered at the armor and weapons. "For what?"

"If you're going to go adventuring, you need to be outfitted properly." Calliope's shape drifted inside the
shop.

"Adventuring? What? Wait!" Suzanne rushed through the door, finding herself the object of the attention
of several rough-looking men. "Excuse me." She slid sideways until she reached some shelves near
Calliope. "What are you looking at?"

"Armor. Look at this one!" Calliope pointed to a gleaming mail shirt with mesh so fine it flowed like
water.

Suzanne checked the price and yelped, drawing more glances from the men in the store. "I can't afford
that."

"Whatcanyou afford?"

Suzanne scanned the shelves. "That." She lifted a stout leather shirt, stained and scored with damage, a
sheet of scarred metal tacked to the upper chest. "I wonder why it's so cheap." In the center of the
largest stain, her fingers found a thin hole about two inches in height in the armor. "Oh."

"It'll do," Calliope announced. "A writer's real armor is her imagination."

"Does that stop swords?"

"Now that you mention it, you also need a sword."