Real writers don’t wait for the muse.
Waiting for inspiration doesn’t make you deep or interesting or cool. And it doesn’t make you a writer.
It makes you a waiter.
And if you’re a waiter, you’re serving someone else or no one at all. You’re certainly not serving yourself.
In any case, the muse is overrated. I’ve never woken up with a complete novel hanging off my fingertips, nor had a story fashioned by fairy dust instead sheer force of will. I have had moments of serendipity and seamlessness and perceived creative mastery. For those, I am grateful, and I look forward to having more of them. But they are shooting stars, not constellations. Constellations belong to real writers. They require careful study. Detail. Dedication. A muse arseing about in the background does little to help nurture and apply these essential qualities.