Writers often speak of the need to put your tush in the chair and WRITE. Clearly this is inarguable. No writing can happen if…um…you’re not writing.
I guess the problem is that even if you force yourself to write, you can’t force yourself into inspiration. So the vast majority of what comes out is going to feel pedestrian. It’s gong to skirt the heart of the matter. It’s going to cling to the surface, and you won’t necessarily see the way in or below. And by “you” I mean “me” of course.
I am just going on faith that if I do ENOUGH of this sort of determined WRITING that I will stumble onto a promising vein and then MINE it (BLEED it??) for all its worth. I don’t think I found that today. But I still wrote. So I’m giving myself credit.