Writing is difficult, which is strange, because writing is easy.
Typing is easy. Putting words on a page or a screen is easy. It’s keeping at it that’s hard.
There are numerous potholes on the road to a complete story, and many psychological Jersey barriers. I write a few hundred words, then feel a strong urge to research, say, map making. Useful, but an obvious detour, so I stare at the page some more. Repeat until I’m Googling overstuffed armchairs.
Still, the point is what you do, not so much what you feel. For me, after ten long hours at work, I got home, cooked up some pasta, and wrote eight hundred words of fiction. Can’t say I’m disappointed in myself.