As a writer and a runner -- and someone who struggles mightily with both endeavors -- I eagerly picked up a copy of Haruki Murakami's latest work: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. Murakami is one of my favorites. And this quick, breezy book -- a meditation/diary/training journal on the solitary act of long-distance running -- didn't disappoint. 

I was particularly taken with this paragraph, which applies Bunko Lesson 4 to the craft of writing (emphasis added): 

“Writers who are blessed with inborn talent can freely write novels no matter what they do--or don’t do. Like water from a natural spring, the sentences just well up, and with little or no effort these writers can complete a work. Occasionally you’ll find someone like that, but, unfortunately, that category won’t include me. I have to pound the rock with a chisel and dig out of a deep hole before I can locate the source of creativity. To write a novel I have to drive myself hard physically and use a lot of time and effort. Every time I begin a new novel, I have to dredge out another new, deep hole. But as I’ve sustained this kind of life over many years, I’ve become quite efficient, both technically and physically, at opening a hole in the hard rock and locating a new water vein. So as soon as I notice one water source drying up, I can move on right away to another. If people who rely on a natural spring of talent suddenly find they’ve exhausted their only source, they’re in trouble.”