Writing, that is.  It has it's opposite emotions, just like most anything.

Getting to the middle of the novel is like driving through a collapsing tunnel.

When starting out, any road is possible.  You're free, you're creative.  You're brilliant.

But then you find there are consequences for every word you've previously written.  The story
narrows and narrows.  It's leading to a climax.  It has to narrow.

But it's suffocating.  Choking. 

It's like stringing up a cast of marionettes.  Each string being a different color.  And then making
sure all of those strings coordinate, they work, they build.  And you remember them all.

So every step into the dark is scarier, it's questioned, it's unsure.  Second guessing
becomes a sadistic wheel.  Round and round.

Do I recognize the story?  Is the character who started the story, the one that's with me now?

I know what to do.  Push on.  Push on.  Put your shoulder to the wheel and push along.

Revision is a much better experience.  Remember that.  Don't forget you can revise.  You can make it better.

Just stay in your chair, even when the push to run is overhwelming.  Write anything, like a post.  Keep the fingers moving, the creation flowing.  It will get better.  It will.  It will.  You don't completely suck.  That voice in your head that says you're a wannabe hack with no real talent is wrong.  It's not just about talent.  It's about work.  And it's lunchpale time.

Get it done.  Get it done so you can start again.  So you can feel the freedom, the beginning of another book.  Cuz you know it's in there.  Just waiting.