There's something so rewarding when you realise what you're really writing about. You might be writing an epic story about starships and planetary destruction, yet hidden amongst the detritus there will be the true human content of a piece, whether it's the value of friendship, discrimination and the value of equality, or the importance of being earnest (yes, that's a terrible joke, I'll readily admit it). It doesn't matter what you're writing; I'd like to think that every piece of writing has some way of reflecting on the human race, even if the author doesn't realise it.
I've been working on a piece for a month or so now, and it's been bugging me to death. It's a dark, dystopian piece that hardly reflects accurately on my normally-cheery personality, and I'd been struggling to get to grips with it. What if this isn't realistic? What if it's far too overblown and unlikely? My mind was proving more a hindrance than a help, until I realised I wasn't writing about a dystopian world. Not really.
I was writing about a human trait we all have in some form or other. Through the protagonist I was projecting a particular view on humanity, even if this was completely subconscious on my part. As a result, I expect the remainder of the writing I have to do on this particular novelette to be far easier. Well, until I have to start writing it again, of course.