I'm struggling with writing. I've been chipping away at it here and there, but I feel as if there are far too many strands tangled in a Gordian knot that's taking a painstaking time to unravel. But I need to think about it like everything else in life, and for me, particularly life in the kitchen. Tonight I made an experimental cake, tried it, and promptly threw it out. Two days ago another experiment turned out to be tasty. Some days are days where the flow is there, where it all makes sense and other days it's a wrestling match. Often I think about what my friends and colleagues would think if they were to read my writing. That's paralyzing in music and it should be common sense to me that it would show up in other creative endeavors as well.

Sometimes it's slow going, but I suppose it's like my bathroom. As much as I dread the process, in the moment I find it surprising how satisfying it is to take a rough wall and make it smooth by methodically sanding away the rough patches. It's slow going, but eventually, with perseverance, it will get there. So too with writing. Sometimes I think of that cliched quote of Michelangelo about sculpting a rough piece of stone: he said he chipped away the unnecessary parts to reveal what was hidden in the stone.

I feel like I'm chipping away at Mt. McKinley with a sledge hammer.