Many, many years ago I accepted a challenge. Call it a dare, call it a bribe, whatever.
I had this thing for paper and notebooks. No, actually I think this was the accordion situation.
I wanted my Dad's accordion, and he said I could have it if I stopped writing for one month.
Simple enough. I put down the pens and paper and walked away.
For about four hours. I started getting antsy after one day, and by two I was reaching for my addiction every time I had a spare moment. But I wanted the accordion! So I endured. I put away the pens and paper, didn't even cheat at school (which was a real uphill battle) and I made it.
One month without writing!
It was literally hell. Writing is an addiction. By the end of the month I was miserable and angry and taking it out on everyone around me. I had the shakes, I couldn't eat or sleep with all these characters running through my head screaming at me to tell their stories.
At the end of the month (to the hour) I sat down and started writing again. I've never again agreed to give it up, no matter what the incentive. I'm an addict. I admit that. But there are worse things to be addicted to.