The other night I was having a bit of a rough time. A stack of filled pages waited patiently on my desk to be edited. A fresh blank one stared back at me from my computer screen, that little cursor blinking none-stop like a ticking watch. This is how it goes sometimes. The fire will not light, so you just keep starting at that wood, tossing matches. You might have some very romantic ideas about writing, art or whatever, but let me say that this sort of scene is not uncommon. Listening for the muse can be a bit like waiting at the bus stop. Some days you catch it right at the moment you show up with your lunch box. Other times, it…