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.