What’s the difference between Saturday and Sunday that my muse talked loud and clear on Sunday, and Saturday I couldn’t dig up two brain cells to rub together?

Both days I had various college kids home.
Both days I was running said kids hither and yon.
Both days I felt like I should be spending time with kids rather than trying to write.
Both days I ate about the same things.

Yet Saturday I sat at my computer for hours but couldn’t do anything more complicated than solitaire. And Sunday I wrote almost 5000 words of backstory that explained to me so much about the heroine’s frame of mind when the book begins.

**shaking head** I don’t get it. I’ve been trying to write this piece of backstory for probably months, and I couldn’t. Then yesterday, in between carting kids various places, there it was… fresh and clean and oh so very obvious.

I still have a little more time to cover until I get to the point that the book actually starts, but today I know I can do it.

And I was going to do it this morning, but I really should be working, keeping promises are important, and so is paying the bills. So writing will wait until this afternoon.

But, jeez-oh-petes, I wish I could figure out what switch was pulled to make my muse finally wake up yesterday, so I could begin to do it on purpose. There’s no way I can make a living as I writer if my muse goes on sabbatical for months on end.