Writing is a bitch. It takes routine, grit, and lots of induced anxiety to show up every day and put pen for paper. There’s a reason few do it: it’s depressing.

But for those who do, like runners, consistency means everything. Putting words together is like jogging the brain; working on prose keeps the artist one step away from lunacy.

Writing, as in life, is a rough draft. Remaining wide-eyed in an uncontrollable universe, we dare to make new mistakes.

The scribe is on a mission of discomfort, but the outpouring of ink is a form of therapy. Each blank piece of paper begins without a plan — well, maybe a hunch — and then, slow and steady, the words fill the page with imperfection and uncertainty. Bird by bird, the continuous present churns the valve of frustration.

Writing is an extension of breathing — an activity for sweating creativity. Surrender to it and get a share of its spoils.

No one is more insane than the person who opts for the struggle. But that’s what a true writer does. They sit in a chair and produce something from nothing, and interruptions are damned if not welcomed to break the deliberate intensity. The most challenging part of the writing process is getting started.

“Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open,” advises Stephen King. Writing is an invention on screen. Stare into the light long enough, and the letters jumble into pixels of starlings. Blink, and the brain momentarily goes into a fog; any words will do. Even in the poorest form, one still has something to play with.

The artists grows tired and unmotivated, of course. The dark clouds hang over the pen with the slightest silver lining. The resistance tries to pickpocket our attention by telling us we suck and that the sentences are worthless. Just buy bitcoin and work at Mcdonald’s, they said. How selfish is it to think other people care about what we have to say, anyway?

The words greet those bold enough to wrestle with them. But when one’s called to their vocation, they’re roped in — to the odd, banal, abstract, empty, and off limits. Invested is an understatement.