We’ve been doing some yardwork that has involved digging. My mind wandered as I shovelled dirt and I realised how much this 
dirty, physical, repetitive task was like writing.
You see, in both you have a momentous task ahead when you start. How are you ever going to get to the end?
You chip at the ground, with pick and shovel, working out how to begin, and before you know it you’ve made a start.
Then you get on a roll, an easy repetition, the same movements over and over gradually getting further along, making great progress, until you hit a rock.
Bang.
There goes the momentum, the flow. Now it starts to get more difficult. The sweat starts, and the blisters burst. You trip and stumble and wonder how you got to this point. And more importantly, how are you ever going to finish?
A break and you’re back at it. A new perspective. A change in strategy and things might start flowing again, just with a bit more strain then before.
And this is how it goes, over and over until suddenly, without quite realising how it happened, you’ve finished. You stand back and look at what you’ve done with a sense of pride in the accomplishment.
The blood, sweat and tears all worth it.