I think every writer has a Muse.
I had one.
When my Muse was with me she would whisper the most delightful stories for me to tell, encourage me, egg me on to be honorable or dishonorable, truthful or an outright liar. Whatever, she inspired me.
Then, she abandoned me. Twice. Once in 2012, I think it was in November and again two years later. I can pinpoint the exact dates but it doesn't matter. What matters is that she left me and I found my inspiration had dried up, my excitement in writing had expired and I was facing a massive wall of writer's block. Nothing interested me. Nothing inspired me. I was dead, expired, finished and done for.
Maybe not done for.
I think my Muse didn't leave me as in leave me, rather she's hiding. Waiting for me to discover her again.
I am reinvigorated. Well, a little. We'll see.
One thing is for sure. If I find her I'll never let her go. Famous last words, right?