I'm drafting, I'm smiling, the world looks so full of hope because this is the one. This is the story that I'll stick with. After giving up on my last project for (insert excuse)
And then I start re-reading what I've written, and that hopeful world I've been living in comes crashing down around me. Don't mess with self doubt. It'll kick you in your lady nards and leave you crying in a huddled ball.
Why can't we just write, and be proud of what we're creating? I think every writer on this planet can understand what I'm talking about. Why is it our first instinct to say everything sucks? Chances are, it's not as bad as you think. I mean, if you spend thirty hours carefully planning out every twist and turn, what are the chances you have un-fixable plot holes? If you've revised three times, it probably doesn't deserve to be burned in the fireplace—no matter how badly you want to. And no matter what you're working on, throwing that computer against the wall is never, never the answer.
And yet, this is me, slipping into that deep dark place, four chapters into yet ANOTHER re-write of The Blood Train.
On the upside, I have the most amazing set of ladies in my critique group to pull me up out of that dark place. I'd be lost and very unproductive without them. So maybe the cure for self doubt is wonderful support...