Sometimes the work is a matter of blood sweat n tears, a grind, a sprint and a marathon at once, relentless nagging in back of the mind, bad sleeps, just general torment. All the cliches come true. Guilt when you do anything else but write. Rage that you have to get up to pee or eat when finally in flow. Intimidation with the ideas, doubt in the sentences you’re laboring to get out. Sweet relief when you feel like you got enough decent pages done at the end of such a harrowing process. But without so much stress, you may not have gotten as much done.
Sometimes there’s a softer
