I don't allow myself to write on a Sunday. Even if I've been punched on the nose by my muse.
The thing is, I've got to have one day a week when I'm free from guilt. Because you know how it works normally, don't you. When I'm writing I feel I should be working (ie my day job). And when I'm working I feel I should be writing.
Oh, and just to really fuck me up, when I'm doing anything else at all I feel I should be writing.
So, I can't really win. Apart from a Sunday. Unless, that is, I break my self-imposed embargo and sneak up to my room and switch on the computer to add a few more words to my magnum opus. Whereupon of course my wife immediately looks suspicious. "What are you doing up there?"
"You're not writing that book again, are you?"
"You're up to something."
"I'm just looking at some pornography."
"Hm. Okay. That's all right then."