Man, I am annoyed with myself. I have turned into a bit of a whiny girl in my own head. Thankfully I have spared most people from having to listen to that voice, but I must have left some crumbs on the kitchen floor or she would not still be hanging around getting my attention.
As I sit here at the library writing, I am surrounded by hundreds of books, most of which are telling me that there is a place for my story, yet some are mocking and taunting me trying to convince me that my story isn't that great. I know in my heart that I should just move those books to a different section so they will feel as lost as they are hoping to make me feel.
What is the difference between success and failure?
Perhaps just persevering past all of your own whiny bullshit.