The Muses are fickle. The gods are capricious. Inspiration is untrustworthy, and our own feelings are even more mercurial. The real miracle isn't a lightning strike. Neither transcendence nor divine intervention. It happens in the monotony of showing up. In the drudgery of doing the work. Regardless of the muses. Regardless of the gods. Regardless of inspiration. Regardless of how we feel.
