If I’m asked my least favorite chore, the answer is immediate: ironing. I will do any other chore and do it with gladness and lightness of heart before I will turn to ironing. I can’t explain the antipathy. Perhaps it’s the tedium found in ironing out a wrinkle in a sleeve or dress when I could be writing or drawing or taking out the trash.
If one is the loneliest number, the first draft is the ugliest draft. The end. There’s no way around it. If you can accept that reality, carry on. If you can’t, writing will be an ever-frustrating task. You will struggle to find joy in doing the work.