Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Stop Eating Your Hair Or Shut Up, O Muse...

Doctors Remove 10 lb. Hairball From Woman’s Stomach!

There was an issue of The Sandman in which this sort of thing is mentioned.
In the story, the author of an extremely successful novel is suffering from severe writer’s block and is seriously overdue on providing his editor with a second novel.
He strikes a deal with an older writer who, it turns out, had been a successful writer because he had captured and imprisoned a Muse. The elder writer is willing to give the Muse to the younger writer in exchange for a Bezoar, a kind of stone found in the intestines of certain animals, and, somewhat more rarely, the intestines of humans. Bezoars were once thought to be a powerful antidote against any poison.
The type of Bezoar that the younger author provides in exchange for the Muse is a Trichobezoar, which is a Bezoar formed from hair, that had been removed from a girl’s stomach, the result of trichophagia, or the compulsive consumption of hair, sometimes also known as Rapunzel Syndrome.
(This is the problem that the woman in the article linked to suffered from.)
As the story unfolds, the young author, thanks to his muse, becomes tremendously successful, but it turns out that the muse in question – Calliope – was once the wife of the titular Sandman, Morpheus, who was the anthropomorphic representation of dreams, and was, in fact, the mother of Morpheus' son.
Despite the bitter way their relationship had ended, Calliope calls upon Morpheus to free her from her captivity. Perhaps owing to the fact that he himself had only recently earned his freedom after being held captive for the past 70 years, Morpheus agrees to help and approaches the author, requesting that he set Calliope free.
The author refuses, insisting that he needs the ideas that she provides. Morpheus, whose realm is the repository of ideas, lays a curse upon the author. If it’s ideas that he needs, then it’s ideas that he’ll get. Non-stop ideas. So many ideas that the author is overcome and unable to do anything except come up with new ideas.
Eventually, fingers rubbed raw to the bone from his constant efforts to write his ideas down, resorting to scratching them into the walls when pen and paper aren’t available, the author gives in and grants Calliope her freedom, and soon finds himself back where he started: totally out of ideas.
At the time I read it, the story really resonated with me because I was myself something of an idea factory, having so many ideas that I couldn’t pick one to focus on any one idea and becoming, essentially, paralyzed by my own creativity.
I still have the problem to a certain extent, in that I find it difficult to grab one idea and really run with it, but the sheer volume of ideas that I have has dramatically decreased.
At the time, I also had long hair and a tendency, when bored, to chew on it.
Reading that story wasn’t the cause of my decrease in ideas – years of drinking and basically abandoning my creativity did that – but it did get me to stop chewing on my hair.