There is a muse, but he’s not going to come fluttering down into your writing room and scatter creative fairy-dust all over your typewriter or computer.

 Oh, Stephen King, now I'm really disappointed.

Well, yes, I do, actually. (Believe in magic)

Stephen King goes on to say:

 "Your muse lives in the ground. He’s a basement kind of guy. You have to descend to his level, and once you get down there you have to furnish an apartment for him to live in. You have to do all the grunt labor, in other words, while the muse sits and smokes cigars and admires his bowling trophies and pretends to ignore you."

Caroline's muse - a scary clown in the basement

  "Do you think it’s fair? I think it’s fair. He may not be much to look at, that muse-guy, and he may not be much of a conversationalist, but he’s got inspiration. It’s right that you should do all the work and burn all the midnight oil, because the guy with the cigar and the little wings has got a bag of magic. There’s stuff in there that can change your life. Believe me, I know.”

Do I think it's fair?

My muse kept his bag of magic to himself yesterday. I worked for 5 hours and I shudder to look at how much I actually managed to write.

A lot of my (not) writing time  was consumed by me ranting inside about Life Being Unfair.

I set aside a *&^%~@" week so I could write and then my *&^%~@" muse chooses to go on *&^%~@" holiday...

It's hard to be creative when you're ranting inside...

Day 14 Update
3 pages, kicking and screaming