Such are the thoughts that streak through your head when you managed to write half a book in a month and then hit a brick wall of a poorly-conceived-yet-integral plot thread and have to spend three motherfucking weeks trying to work it out it. Which resurrects your personal favorite bugaboo of "what if everything else in this book is just as terrible as this part was?" Oh hello there, Obsessive-Compulsive Editing Syndrome! I thought I'd locked you up in the dark corners of my subconscious two months ago.
And then you spend the week after that struggling with insomnia and trying to get your lost momentum back, and decide to write a blog post to break the writer's block and you can't even think of a topic goddammit. Although I guess that part isn't true anymore, at least!
I'm twenty-six, and I am probably going to die before this book is done. No, bad Jake! I'll finish it by the end of next month. Yeah, that's the ticket.