The Sucking Suckathon of Suckiness

Whenever I sit down to write something, I'm always overwhelmed by doubts. Will this be any good? Has my best stuff already been written? Will I even remember how to write? Do these jeans make me look fat?

And then, as I work on the first draft, the doubts stay with me. This sucks. When are people going to realize I'm a hack? Have I lost my mojo? Look at all of this drivel - it'll take actual power tools to mold this prose shit-storm into some kind of shape resembling a story. And no, it's not the jeans, it's the shirt. This shirt makes me look fat.

I'll go through a 2nd, 3rd and 4th draft, and maybe finally the story starts turning into something decent, and I'll send it to some markets, or put it out on my own, and then wonder, wonder, wonder is it really any good? I shouldn't have put it out there. People will realize I'm a fraud. And why bother? Even if it is any good, it will get lost in the miasma of hundreds of thousands of other stories and articles and blogs out there, and even if someone runs across it, they probably won't actually read it, and no, it's not the jeans or the shirt, but it's the fat that makes me look fat. Goddamn fat. 

But then maybe the piece gets bought by a publication, or someone sends a nice email about it, and then I start to think, yeah, maybe it's not so bad after all. This part is okay. And I really do like this paragraph, and this sentence here. And yeah, it is the shirt that makes me look fat after all! Goddamn shirt.