Writing is a lot like driving a country blacktop highway on a hot summer day. There is a wavery magical spot that shimmers on the horizon. You aim toward it. You speed to get there, and when you do, the “there” vanishes. You look up to see it again, shimmering in the distance. You write toward that. I suppose some people might call this unrequited love or dissatisfaction. I think it’s something better. The act of writing, the aiming at getting it right, is pure thrill, pure process, as exciting as drawing back a bow. Hitting a creative bull’s-eye, a sentence that precisely expresses what you see shimmering on the horizon – those sentences are worth the chase. But the chase itself, the things you catch out of the corner of your eye – that’s worth something too. I love it when I write well, but I love it when I write, period.
Excerpt from The Writer’s Life, Insights from The Right to Write, Julia Cameron