My Muse is a Bitch

It's been 32 days since I last managed to produce a reasonable phrase...I am way behind with my work on the fantasy novel and I feel very frustrated. That's all I've managed to blurt so far :"There was something very particular about that tiny peninsula swallowed in an almost eternal darkness...."
That is all. And because I want to blame somebody, other than myself, I figured I should conclude that my muse is a lazy, insufferable bitch who should be sued for unpardonable neglect of her mortal's inspiration. What do great authors do when they get stuck? Any thoughts?