A big, ugly monster appeared in the last twenty four hours. Existential angst. This particular monster happens to smell bad, too. It stinks in fact. It's also a perennial monster, which takes me by surprise every time it sneaks up behind me and whispers, "Kate, you're not good."
Over the years I've tried to amass as many tools as possible for banishing the monster, but there's always a period of panic. It's a bit like when another sort of monster appeared in Nola's bedroom for the first time and we, her dear parents, put on a substantial farce trying to decide whether to say the monster didn't exist or whether to see it too, and throw it out of the bedroom window.
This is the kind of relationship I have with my angst. It is so ugly that for a while I pretend it isn't there, even though it's chasing me round the room.
My current solution to the 'you are no good' crisis is this: stop trying to get an overview, break everything down into manageable pieces. Accept that things will change as you write, so by the time you get to the end of a chapter, all the signposts telling you which way to go will be pointing backwards. Give yourself time to think.
And, very important, I think: Stop checking your email fifty times a day. It's confusing and you feel sad when no-one writes to you, adding to the sense that you are no good, not just as a writer, but as a human being.
