Yesterday, the writer's muse granted me three good ideas for short stories. Unfortunately, yesterday was an absurdly busy: I rushed from appointment to appointment with no time to site down and write. All I managed was to scribble a few notes while standing in line.
Today I had more time, so I sat down to flesh out the three story ideas. But the muse is capricious. I failed to cherish her gifts yesterday, so today she took my talent away. (I don't suffer from writer's block, but on bad days I just grind out dreck.)
When my talent returns - tomorrow, I hope - I will get some decent stories out of these ideas. In the meantime, I've been given a warning. I must write, write every day, every damn day until I die. Then I can stop.