After writing and writing and nearly finishing my 50,000 words I have suddenly remembered why I have a blog.
There are moments when I stare at my novel and contemplate what an idiot I must be to word sentences the way I do. Or I just think how stupid this is that I cannot get my book to say what I want it to say. Sometimes it's all wrong and I am infuriated over the fact that I seem incapable of getting my points across. The characters are not as strong as I want them to be. The setting itself makes little sense. The suspense is not suspenseful. I just want to wrinkle pages and toss them in the trash can. You get the picture.
I went back over some of my older blog entries yesterday and then I remembered why I keep this thing around. When I read my better entries I think to myself, "A poor writer and an idiot could never have come up with that." So, in essence, this blog makes me feel good about myself. It's a roundabout form of self-encouragement. That's why I have it.