There is one plaintive refrain common, with scant variation, to all writers, and it goes something like this: committing words to the blank page is painfully difficult, endless, and frustrating. No one is immune. It never gets easier. It never fades. It cannot, cannot be conquered--no matter how diligently or long you practice the craft. This is not that phantom known as "writer's block", which is usually ephemeral. This difficulty is just one of the many threads that are woven into the writing life, though it is particularly tensile. It is omnipresent , like breath: when you are most deeply involved in the life of your words, it fades into the background.
The blank page holds up terror and promise in equal portions. The mystery behind the process is opaque--no one ever really figures out its source, or unravels the magic of its drive. Words and ideas mix, we pick and choose which fit best, we invent our own rhythm. I am convinced that not knowing the root origin of our ability is where the terror comes from. Just because you have done something once, does not mean that you can expect to do it again. Yet, you always, always do. The gift is never sucked dry...though the very thought of that possibility can keep you up nights.
Facing a version of this every time that you sit down to write can, after awhile, be quite tiresome. Writing is a draining craft (fortunately it has an upside full of more intangible rewards than nearly anything else on earth). Sometimes, it is easier or more desirable to do anything other than put words to paper. Walk the dog? Drink a pot of coffee while doing a crossword puzzle (hey, you could learn a new word or fact that way)? Watch a marathon of Judge shows on television? Fold laundry? Daydream about how famous and esteemed you will be one day, after you have finished your next novel or short story collection?
This latter trap is ominous and gaping--to such a degree that, if you are not careful, can turn a temporary break from writing into a permanent one. Writers are, of course, an imaginary lot. We are dreamers. We are exceptionally gifted at crafting fictional worlds, alternate universes, and fantastical events. It can be all too easy to drift into these mind-places, these other states of being. Staying focused when there is no one standing over you demanding that things get done is immensely difficult, even if your level of self-discipline is higher than most. You are your own worst critic and come equipped with an instinct that only you possess. This is not enough: you must also be your own boss. You are the only one with the clout to lay down rules and goals, and make sure that they are followed.
A gift for imagination, words and plot is, of course, an essential part of any writer's tool-kit. However, you must also arm yourself with the grit and wherewithal to stick to it through everything that is thrown across your path: boredom, laziness, confusion and doubt. This is often the only difference between a successful writer and a floundering one.
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