Ah, rewriting... Aren't you cute? You seem so small and easy next to the pull-your-guts-out effort of writing a book. So simple and harmless and fun. Like a gremlin.
And then I feed you after midnight....
Now you're a monster. I've lost all my motivation and have spent the last three days re-arranging the living room, partly because it needed to be done, but also mostly because then I don't have to think about you. My mind is a constant swarm of self-pity and excuses. I'm too tired, my head hurts, my laptop blew up, the desktop computer chair is uncomfortable, I have to do laundry, I have to do dishes, I have to build a rocket ship and fly to Mars, etc.
No. I refuse to be defeated! Who needs comfortable chairs or clean clothes? I will sit down, start typing, and get this done if it's the last thing I do.