I’ve been working on my novel for about twelve years. And much of it felt like trying to dig myself out of prison with a plastic spoon. I hated my novel and wanted to destroy it. And though I kept putting it down to work on other things, it just kept calling me back.

Now, it’s done, and I love it. I’m not saying that to brag. Or, maybe I am saying it to brag a little. But mostly, I’m saying it to demonstrate something essential about the process. Writing is often less about craft or inspiration than it is about commitment. And what I’m most proud of is sticking to that commitment.

Writing is hard. WRITING IS HARD! It’s the thing I write on the board in huge letters at the beginning of every semester I teach. Somehow, it’s one of these things that seems self-evident, but we keep forgetting all the same. It’s a little like how money doesn’t lead to happiness. I KNOW that. But I keep accidentally thinking otherwise. And then I need to be reminded. Writing is hard, I remind myself, and that helps me get over my ego stuff, helps me serve the work. Helps relieve the pressure of trying to get it right the first time. Or the fifth. Or the twenty-seventh. It helps me keep that commitment.