Fact of life: It is hard to create.

It’s tough to keep moving through the blockages, to challenge yourself to be innovative, to act when subsisting is easier. I think that for many of us, the lulls between booming essays and satisfying works snatches our focus. We are weighed down during the in-between time, discouraged by all the goodness we aren’t producing. We’re even discouraged when our creations are duller than we think they ought to be. We’re seeking perfection in every little thing we think of, put our hands to, talk of. We expect to resemble the numerous Instagram-worthy, faultless images that we scroll through daily.

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This pie is close to my heart. It's my favorite in all the earth, literally.

I perfected this recipe about a year ago, while I was in Italy, strangely. They don't really eat apple pie over there, but there were countless times throughout the autumn season when my dearest friends and I would long for home and its comforting normalcies. We wanted pumpkin and apple and cinnamon everything, to the degree that we had friends and family cram cans and jars into their suitcases when they came to visit. It wasn't just a missing feeling; there were some deep cravings going on, probably more so for a familiar coziness than anything else.

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