Today's 100 words:
It's sad that writing highs don't seem to last very long, at least for me. That poem I wrote two nights ago? I loved it for about a day, but now I see its many faults. I don't think it's bad to be critical about one's own work--on the contrary, I think it's a good thing--but still it is discouraging when Lady Doubt (as I call her) steps up and whispers in my ear, eager to give her unwanted opinion: You can't write. This is terrible. Why would anyone want to read this? But despite it all, I keep writing.