It was said of the British writer Hugh Trevor-Roper that "among the tragedies of his life was that he never wrote the big book people expected."
I've never written a book either. Have you?
"The trouble is," Trevor-Roper defended himself, "I am too interested in too many things. And then, there are the delights of idleness: of walking in the country, of scratching the noses of horses, or the backs of pigs; of planting and lifting and cutting trees (I love trees) … or the pleasures of convivial, social life: of slow monosyllabic conversation, over beer and cheese and pickled onions."
I'm not sure that's my problem exactly, but I hope it is.