Writing is motherf–king hard. It seems really simple. You sit down somewhere, anywhere really, pick up a pencil or open your computer, and write words. Those words, because they’re yours, are automatically meaningful and good as they are an extension of you.
In reality, writing is more like an exercise in self-flagellation. It’s like in Monty Python and the Holy Grail when monks alternate between chanting in Latin and smacking themselves on the head with a book. Sometimes words, like faith, just flow. You don’t have to think too hard. They fall out of your fingertips and arrange themselves on the page in a way that makes sense and is pleasing and in that moment you feel very accomplished.
When you write a lot, that experience becomes more and more rare. You find yourself chasing those moments of ease with hours of smacking yourself in the head with a book…
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