Your muse may hide in music, or in the shape of poetry. Or your muse may dodge and weave, not quite there, then lost between the days. Or maybe it appears in abundance so simply - like drinking from a fountain or standing in the rain.
This is the muse we wish for.
But the muse isn't as temperamental as myth makes it out to be. The muse really responds to only one thing: Doing the Work. Respecting the Craft. Not waiting for the voice but finding it, re-finding it, a lasso to the wind that with a little luck lands at the the feet of something. Anything. Trout fishing and holding nets to the sky.
That's the muse. Dragging it out into the open kicking and screaming. Doing the work.