Bleargh.

Well, I've now showered, shopped, breakfasted, washed the pans, cleaned the kitchen, done four loads of washing, hung out the washing, checked LJ and read the latest Molly Ivins column. Nothing for it -- now I'm going to have to write.

Right now I hate almost every word I've written so far. I know, on an intellectual level, that I go through this stage with almost everything I write, and that the story is probably mostly OK, but that doesn't help my mood. I almost always convince myself that this time I've bitten off more than I can chew and why don't I just go and do something else instead?

Better get down to it though. It's not going to write itself.