What I think sometimes it is important to remember is that sometimes writing is hard. It is a billion mile wall in all directions and all you have is a chisel and a hammer. Some days, only a spoon. Tink. Tink. Tink. All you can do is hammer away, hoping, like a prisoner in Alcatraz, that maybe, after ages and hours, you'll see the sun shining through. You keep hoping, keep praying that with each strike, maybe you'll hit the keystone and the whole thing will come tumbling down and you'll be able to go running through a field of prose in full flower.
But mostly, it is hard.
You can't leave, though. If you walk away in the middle, you'll just be going to another wall that is just as thick and strong. You have the same tools as you were attacking that last one with. Tink. Tink. Tink.
It feels like you're reinventing art. The moderns tried to express happiness without painting a smile. Sure, you can say, "She was happy", but that still leaves you with 69,997 words left to go. How do you describe "happy" without the word "happy"? How do you make a stroke which will convey emotion without painting the representation of someone experiencing that feeling? What comes next? What comes next? What comes after that? And next?
But still you chip away, because one day the wall does fall. And when it does, you hear that you get to attack the next wall with a jackhammer instead of a spork. With your luck, though, it will be made of mashed potatoes.