This is unavoidable for any author, for any kind creative for that matter.

Maybe I’m speaking for myself, but if you have dedicated yourself—truly—to a project then you understand how the majority of the time there is no flowing, energetic inspiration. Mostly you have to work under the condition: I do not want to do this.

A regime is required, especially treating the regimen as sacred. And though you will likely feel relieved at the end of your time working it will feel tantamount to, say, dieting.

Hemingway killed himself. King was an alcoholic and drug addict. In fact most artists, especially the great ones, go through what King did. That’s because we cope and cope with whatever we can get our hands on. The former—Hemingway—is a possible outcome for the latter—king—so don’t give in to that temptation.

There are so many books that are not interesting to me, but the admiration I have for the author comes by default. To willingly torture yourself for the inclination you were blessed with—no, not cursed with—is admirable, always.

It takes courage to tell the truth, and so it takes courage to write. Don’t give up. Keep going. You can do it. I promise.