I have been in a funk. I can sit down and read a crappy book and tell you everything that's wrong with it. I can read the editing book I have and absorb all the good bits in it, even thinking as I go how to check for things in my book. But when I think about picking mine up and reading it again, I want to cry. And actually have.

Even knowing that I have all these people supporting me. It has really been getting to me. There's stress with hubby working out of town and trying to juggle everything else by myself. Like lots of stress, like the kind that has been making me break out in hives and reaquaint myself with my friend Mr. Toilet. Yeah.

Then I start thinking about my story and about what crap it is. And about how I might have ruined the feeling of the main character in my sad ass attempts to improve it. And now don't know if it's anywhere close to being decent. And how I have no idea how to fix it.

And then I read a crappy book that DID get published. And cry some more.