I have a number of things that I do which require regular maintenance behavior, try as I might to automate some of the details to stand neglect longer, or simply to give up on certain variations which are just too finicky to bear being ignored for a stretch of time. This is because I tend to swing through different phases, working obsessively on one thing while all the other things get smacked into the closet or wherever for awhile*, and continue to shout at me from behind the door. If I'm digging and hauling in the garden outside, I feel guilty about not writing. If I'm writing, I feel guilty about not cleaning the fish tank or the bathroom or something.**
When I'm a mad typing fiend trapped in the throes of a live fighting story, wrassling with it like I'm trying to pull in a monster Mississippi catfish, the guilt is less. But that's just I don't even have the focus to look at the mess the backyard has become with the wisteria eating the a/c unit on top of the house. (Yes, really.)
The last time I went on one of those horrendous writing jags, I was putting out about a chapter every two days and not sleeping a lot, and ripping through my leave time at work, and scribbling notes on the way to and fro, and generally not communicating with my family. I end up eating all wrong and sitting at my computer for too many hours (both of those have SRS health consequences) and end up blinking out of it days later trying to figure out why I've wrecked myself like that.
I'm not sure you could call that "nagging," on the part of my muse. It's more like the muse is slamming me up against the wall repeatedly. "Get this? And this?"
Yes, thank you, got it, can I fall over now??

*Well, except cleaning up for the cats. That is a chore you must not neglect, ever.
**Sigh.