Pecking away at your typewriter or keyboard. Scratching little symbols into wood or wood pulp or maybe just electronically. Little tips and taps. Small little noises, heard from the next room. Tap. Tap. Tap.
The scratches take a form. The lines are drawn. Nothing is solid, though. Nothing has much to it. Just scratches, tiny holes. No depth.
You get by on the barest of bare writing, as the woodpecker needs only to scratch the surface to get what he needs.
Why not go deeper? Why not plunge into the center of the tree of knowledge and pull out something warm, covered in the moist, sticky sap of a thousand new ideas just seeing the sun?
Why not build up a stronger idea, a house for your dreams?
The woodpecker just makes noise. The carpenter and the writer are making noise with purpose.