Okay, so today I'm having a pity party for myself. I'm having a catastrophic crisis of self-confidence. Here's the litany that's jangling in my brain: My WIP sucks, I should trash it and start over, or at the very least I need to cut it in half, or better yet someone else should write it. I'm a crappy writer and shouldn't even try.
Plus I found out I won't be getting any grant money for my MFA program because I didn't get my FAFSA in early enough (I was waiting until I had my taxes done so I'd have accurate financials), so my only option is to go into monumental debt to pay for the first year of my master's program.
Between these two problems, I feel physically ill with anxiety. There's a pain in my chest, I feel like I want to barf, and I really just want to jam my head in a pillow and scream at the top of my lungs then cry until I'm dehydrated. If I drank, I would be, but I don't. Thankfully there's no chocolate in the house or my hips would spread another couple of inches.
Instead I'm going to wallow in self-pity the rest of the night and try to sleep it off. I got some advice from another writer to whom I also bemoaned my WIP-loathing and she told me the important thing is to FINISH IT. Don't go back and read it, don't question yourself, just get it on paper then go back and slash it to bits and rewrite it.
I will allow myself the luxury of being a blubbering fool tonight, then tomorrow I will square my shoulders and continue to put words to page, only looking forward, trying to improve as I go, and not worry about perfection until I'm on the thrid or fourth rewrite/edit/revision.
Now all I have to hope for is that I can find a benevolent philanthropic sponsor to pay for my MFA program....