The voices in my head say:

"This manuscript sucks."

"Why can’t you write a book like xxx that really sells?"

"No one is going to like this character."

"This genre is so overdone. Why am I bothering?"

"No one has ever published something like this. It will never sell."

"Why will I really make it?"

"No one knows who I am. I am completely invisible in the publishing world."

"People don’t want to read hard books. They don’t want to know the truth."

"What’s the point of trying? It’s all based on luck."

"I’m tired of banging my head against the wall."

"I’ve revised this book a hundred times and it’s still not any closer to being good."

"I should get a real job."

What I say back to them:

"This is what I do. This is who I am. I am a writer. I write."