There's an old saying in boxing: don't look for the knockout or it won't come. A boxer should trust his corner, his training, and the process that's been developed over the course of hundreds of years of pugilism. Like a rifleman just barely grazing the trigger with the tip of his finger, he should be surprised by the great moment when it arrives. Great art rarely comes from overthinking. Analysis comes before or after one is in the ring.
Does this old saw speak to some deeper truth that can be applied to all crafts? Hell, I don't know, but having read "A Practical Handbook for the Actor," I can honestly say this principal works just as well for the thespian for the fighter.
"A Practical Handbook for the Actor" is just what it sounds like, a short, straightforward tome that dispels some pernicious myths about acting and instills some bedrock skills and ideas that one can use to become a better actor, no matter how serious they are about the craft. A method actor preparing to amputate his legs to play a paraplegic, or a teenager doing his high-school's production of "Fiddler" are both likely to find it a rewarding read.
My favorite part dealt with not trying to force emotion, but rather letting it occur naturally, in the moment, as a result of doing all of the prosaic preliminary work given in outline here. By interrogating a character's intention and then finding a simile for what this action is like, you can get a much better performance than by recalling how you felt when your cat died in childhood. Likewise, the section on "Keeping the Theater Clean" dispels a lot of myths about conflict and clash of egos resulting in great work. Actors are called "players" for a reason, and not even playing the most agonized and tragic character in history should be an exercise completely devoid of fun or inspiration. The toxic myth about art involving suffering and madness gave the world Jim Carrey's insufferable treatment of cast and crew when "becoming" Andy Kaufmann; contrast that with William H. Macy's mellow and respectful way with cast and crew on "Fargo" and his superlative performance in that picture, and you'll see that you don't have to be an a-hole to get results.
I've never acted, and have no intention of doing so, but the mystery of the craft that director Stanley Kubrick talked about—the ability to cry on cue with the clack of a clapboard—is a little less mysterious now. Highest recommendation for people in all walks of life, as the wisdom distilled here has uses in realms far beyond the playhouse. Hell, on second thought, maybe I will stick a pillow beneath my shirt, pretend to be porcine, and strut like Falstaff, at least in front of the mirror and for my dog's amusement.