Tengo was aware that as he went on writing his novel, a new well-spring was forming inside him. Not that its water was gushing forth, it was more like a tiny spring among the rocks. The flow may have been limited, but it was continuous, welling up drop by drop. He was in no hurry. He felt no pressure. All he had to do was wait patiently for the water to collect in the rocky basin until he could scoop it up. Then he would sit at his desk, turning what he had scooped into words, and the story would advance quite naturally.
Extract from 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami
I’m waiting for a well-spring.