Tonight this spoke to my weary writer's soul. Maybe it's time to go sweep behind the couch.
"I, too, had a pen rolling about somewhere — the seldom-used, the reluctantly taken-up pen of a sailor ashore, the pen rugged with the dried ink of abandoned attempts, infinite reluctance, and put off suddenly till next day — till next week, as like as not! The neglected, uncared-for pen, flung away at the slightest provocation, and under the stress of dire necessity hunted for without enthusiasm, in a perfunctory, grumpy worry, in the "Where the devil IS the beastly thing gone to?" ungracious spirit. Where, indeed! It might have been reposing behind the sofa for a day or so. Or it might even be resting delicately poised on its point by the side of the table-leg, and when picked up show a gaping, inefficient beak which would have discouraged any man of literary instincts. But not me!"
— Joseph Conrad,
Excerpted from A Personal Record, republished in
The Spirit of Writing: Classic and Contemporary Essays
Celebrating the Writing Life
