I am a touch miserable at the moment.

Project H&H is kicking my ass. The drafting process has stretched far longer than I'd hoped.

The story is clear in my head, the characters revealed their full personalities to me about twenty thousand words ago, I have the setting down, I have the jargon of the world down, I've mapped every chapter to the end.

And yet. The words leave my fingertips slowly. I am in the middle of a drought, and each day I get three raindrops. I am losing my mind.

I have reached the point of the process where I question whether I can write at all, actually. I've sunk hundreds of hours into a mass of text that is mediocre at best.

Who did I think I was? How dare I believe that I was good enough to pull off a story as complex as this? My editor is going to kill me. It may be time to change my name and flee the continent.

I tell you all of this to remove a layer of my shiny veneer.