Have you ever had a splinter, or an ingrown hair? Not something that impedes your daily life, but something you’re aware of, and can’t help but screw around with it. Something no-one else can see or even pays much attention to, but at some point, it’s all you can think about.
One day you notice in the mirror, or while you’re running your finger over it, you notice you might be able to get a purchase on it. You look around for some tweezers, afraid to move your hand from the site in case you lose this microscopic advantage you have on it. Some gentle pulling and teasing, some hot water, and you’ve finally got the bastard! Despite how irritating it’s been for the past week or however long, you find that now the battle has begun, it’s decidedly one-sided. Almost - dare I say - kind of fun.
When it’s out, you’re surprised at how much was in there, and the irritation, now gone, still leaves a physical and sensory hole. It’s pleasant, but you start thinking of other little ailments you might be able to coax out, once you’re sure there’s no more left in this one.
Anyway. that’s what writing feels like.