Today I hate my first two books. They sound contrived and sophomoric. The characters are flat and the writing is amateurish. My glass-half-full position of the day is that thankfully only maybe five or six people have had to suffer through them.

In this loudly buzzing crowd of negative thoughts I am trying to listen for the small voice that tells me that I don’t want to leave the series unfinished, that I’m doing something that I love, and that all writing is good writing if it helps me get better. Honestly I don’t actually hear that voice, but I’m going on faith that it is there and that maybe I will hear it tomorrow.