Have you ever woke up with a story or article idea thinking, “Oh this is going to be awesome!”

Then, as soon as you start, every word seems flatter than the previous, as if suddenly you’re a babe barely able to understand language, let alone write it?

That be me a few days ago. I started writing a blog thinking I had a great idea. I still think the idea is great, but what I wrote isn’t worth the electrons it’s floating on.

I think I’ve been an editor too long. Nothing I write is ever good enough anymore, sometimes to the point I’m paralyzed, staring at that evil, infuriatingly patient, blinking cursor or blank piece of paper.

I often want to go back to the time when I didn’t know anything about writing. Then I wrote to write, not caring so much whether or not it was any good. I just needed to get the story bouncing in my head on paper, as quickly as possible. The first book I ever wrote, over 100k words, took me a mere three months. The sequel took me about nine. I’ve since written three others, but it’s been awhile. Now, the idea of tackling the third of a trilogy fills me with near dread. How can I even think to pull off something like that (ignoring the fact I’ve done it five times already)?

The funny thing is, in case you haven’t noticed, the more angst I have about writing, the more I write…