Enormous Frustrations and No Such Thing as the Real World

Sometimes writing is just so hard. This morning I would almost say it's too hard. The only hours I have to give to it are the hours I should be sleeping. I force myself to my desk in the 3 AM dark, and nothing works, the rhythms are off, I can't get my footing, I ask myself, Have you not worked this very page at least four dozen times before? Should you not already hear its music? Don't you get it? Can't you? What is it going to take? I read a page or two from a novel I love, the work...