I think my muse might be a prick-tease. All of Saturday before me and she's off shopping/drinking/tormenting poor misguided souls. Come Sunday and just before I'm due to head off to cricket practise she's back with fiery inspiration.
Write this story now, now, now!
I know her lies. If I cry off practise, she'll be gone again within an hour and it'll be another afternoon lost to the great time-suck that is Civilization. I'm better off getting out in the sunshine and giving the little (cancerous malignant creators of filth) grey cells a good airing.
Looming deadlines are always odd for me. Sometimes they spur me on, other times I grind right down to a halt. Time for a project switch methinks to get the juices going again.
A prick-tease muse, hmm. Given the kind of stories I write, I really shouldn't be that surprised . . . :)