Thought I'd better check in again -- although it's still not happening for me. Most of the anger is gone now, to be replaced by . . . nup, can't think of another 'a' word. Let's just say I'm really busy! Work again, but only temporarily I hope.
All I have at the moment are the spaces between. These are the times spent en route to work (either via car or walking), lying in bed at night after the light is turned out etc. At these times, my characters prise open my mind and call to me. At these times I can hear them, cries faint from neglect. And their stories haul themselves out from behind all the other junk and clutter.
Thank goodness for the spaces between, because otherwise something precious (to me at least) would wither and die.