I hate feeling like this.
I hate not knowing what to do.
I want to continue my story. I even have the new direction that I was looking for.
But then that little nagging voice in my head says:
Why bother spending all that time writing if no one is ever going to read it? (except for a select few)
Why bother writing it if no one will ever publish it?
Why invest the energy knowing I won't ever make a dime?
Why waste valuable time, I should be spending with my family, on some dumb story?
Then I talk to one of the select few, who I have let read the first 100 pages or so, and he says: Where's the rest?
It's so frustrating?
I'm so tired.
I'm hoping this is just hormonal.