I like to think that I'm a fairly optimistic and level-headed guy. I won't deny that there are days when my head seems totally in the clouds, and this generally happens when I'm either about to start a new project, or when I'm just finishing a current one. The desire to see it, and anything I do, soar with all the potential I know it has is strong, and it doesn't take long before I'm overwhelmed with the dreams of seeing the books line shelves in stores they will likely never see, resting on coffee tables they will likely never touch, and be followed by other books, toys, movies and television shows that will honestly never happen. I hate my work when I'm doing it, but when I'm done, it tends to be the best thing in the world to me.
And yet, the last few days, I have felt marred by an undeniable sense of inadequacy; a worry that my work isn't worth sharing, or even completing. It's a strong feeling, and while I can pinpoint what fanned its small spark into a roaring flame, it's much more difficult to pick out what caused the spark in the first place.