The thoughts currently living in my head:
* Everyone is going to realize what a phony you are.
* You have no more usable ideas.
* Writing a novel is beyond your ability.
* You may have done it twice, but the third time is either a charm or a strike– and you’re proving that you don’t belong in this game.
* Others write first drafts that are at least readable.
* You’ve bitten off more than you can chew.
* You need to go back to step one.
WHY CAN’T I JUST FREAKIN’ LET GO AND WRITE A CRAPPY FIRST DRAFT?
*off to read Bird by Bird to find some good company*
JACKIE LEA SOMMERS 
Everything on this list is untrue, but I know it feels so real–completely understandable and normal to have these thoughts. Feeling better after rereading Lamott?
Thanks, honey. Yes. And after listening to Rainbow Rowell last week and after talking to my writing group last night. So many lovely encouragers in my life!