It is strange that the constant urge to write is sometimes overcome but nondescript distractions that end with a day not clearly defined by any worthy activity of note.
In the process you upbraid yourself having silently resolved at some date in the past to apply yourself diligently and with discipline to that activity.
Over time, a number of stories un-birthed settle into a period of painful introspective gestation having no term from which to have a determinate trimester.
Opportunity in distress
Yet, sometimes event and opportunity coincide to give the story a life never expected, but surer than when it was first conceived.
I have one such story I have wanted to write for three weeks, a number of events of international significance and particular to two personalities came to light and I prevaricated until a few days ago. When a social event I had planned was shifted to another day, giving me the chance to tie a number of tales together, but I gave up that chance.
The interesting thing is I already have a good idea of what I need to do, but I cannot write until something in the celestial orbits of my mind aligns. Then the inspiration flows to produce something better than I ever intended.
That is the power of story.