Writing is always a pleasure. Even when it is an agony, it is a pleasure.
When you are a little rusty, like I am now, the agony often becomes acute. I know what I want to write about, I know it will come out if I just switch off the TV, focus myself and put pen on paper.
Instead, I watch the US election debate, talk to a friend or two, practice my Italian a bit.
All aspiring writers fall prey to it, those who come out the other side actually become writers. I must remember that as I go back to my writing, to the pleasure of writing, to the pleasure-pain of not writing, to the absolutely essential daily exercise of my writing muscles.
Writing, here I come.