The Devil in the Details

To the millions of reader that I don't have: 1:40 is a perfect time for 24 oz of Mickey's, a snickers, Anne Dillard and some salad finely prepared by a fine Floridian friend. It's a scientific fact; don't try to refute it. Dillard says "The latest version of a literary work begins somewhere in the work's middle, and hardens toward the end. the earlier version remains lumpishly on the left; the work's beginning greets the reader with the wrong hand"
Mickey's, on the other hand tells me that MMA fighter Forrest Griffin is a 6'3 MMA fighter who's favorite technique is "anything that will work". What is the value of the synthesis? Not much other than Mickeys is fine when you've been drinking and Dillard is great when you've been convincing yourself of that value of being a writer. There's a concept of exchange that ties it all together.
The luck of the salad: the apple vinegar/mayonnaise dressing bleeds well enough between the tepid iceberg lettuce and the late-addition tomato to develop a taste that wouldn't happen without the key ingredients. It's the fun of food; it exists to blend senses without all the horrible mire of intellectual discourse. It tastes fine to me, and I'm starving.
The problem: "if you were good enough to get it done, you wouldn't be struggling with it in the first place." It's a fallacy. If you love something, you laboriously slam your head against the wall trying to define how exactly you'll approach it. You take hits, you trim the fat and eventually you find the point you were aiming for. The point in which the literary middle meets the anything will work approach and finds something worth saying. I'm not sure if I have that working for me so much as I have a manic and sincere need to say that there is some worthwhile in this world. The trick is finding an in and enticing people into believing in it. Bad illusions with good substance, like magic tricks with some sense of purpose. That is all I am really trying to understand: how to fool people with a relevant purpose. I give up for the night. I'll figure out the difference between writing and taking punches to the face tomorrow.