Buttons are nice
Now, when in front of the empty sheet, trying to find the perfect phrase, that's an ordeal...
Now, when one is set before that unforgiving blank space of white paper, scratching one's ear and rocking gently whilst gazing with sightless eyes at the ceiling on which little imps are dancing and the right words are just out of reach and you have made a vow to Art to have them at all costs it is best to snort a time or two, stalk out and go to the pub.
Isn't that better Francis than just- "trying to find the perfect phrase"?
With flannel like that you could soon have a book done. I could easy have done a page or two on the "trying to find the perfect phrase" idea. I didn't even mention throwing the empty wine glass at the parent's wedding portrait.
You conjure the pain and frustration for your readers so that they know you've been there bigtime.
PS. To be fair and balanced it must be stated frankly and forthrightly that Gustave, when he went to Paris looking for a word or wild fact out of Ovid, also looked for, and found, the odd numbered brothels. He would save the even numbered ones for the next time he was stuck for a word.
You can see how it would take 5 years easy.