I scrapped pages on pages... Here's why I kept going.
I haven't sent a letter in a while. I kept sitting down to write, even though it felt like nothing came from it. I didn’t know if I was going anywhere with it and I scrapped pages on pages. Maybe it was just keeping the door open. Then today, it finally flowed. Pressfield writes about this in The War of Art: the idea that showing up is the work, even when nothing ships. At first, I noticed the pattern. Where I start something strong but the momentum fades over a short time. Something happens...