I don't know who said it, I think Carson McCullers, but a little talent is a terrible thing. Minor successes can set you up for humiliating pratfalls into the gloom.
That's how I feel about writing fiction today. I've been slogging through some old material and, man, I am suffering through the self-doubt blues.
Yeah, yeah...I know what you're thinking...every writer gets it, big deal, pull up a stool and suck it up, Kieran, you big wuss. But, man, I am just venting here so give me about five or six feet of wiggle room and turn a deaf ear, OK? Just pretend you're listening and let me vent. Or I will knock you on your ass and end you with the flat side of a shovel. Sorry. I didn't mean that. Really. I'd blame it on the medication if I were taking any. (SIGH). This sucks.
For me it's like a glaze sets in over my eyes. I mean, WHAT AM I THINKING? I can't do this.
One of the more embarrassing things is when you go back over material and errors you just never caught start mushrooming everywhere. And why? Because you've reread something a hundred times and the glaze set in. Because (let's face it) finding friendly proofreaders is a little like finding someone willing to inspect your masturbation technique. Nice form there, chief.
But maybe tomorrow will be a better day. I hope so.