Just an addition to last night:
I will seek out those comments again -- as I did just this morning -- and I will feel devastated when they are less than dazzling -- which they were just this morning. And every time they are, I will indulge myself in thinking I can't write anything and I need to stop embarrassing myself. Just like I am this morning.
Praise, as an ointment for neediness, is its own addiction. And as anyone knows, to stop the addiction, one has to stop indulging in the triggers for it. My focus, my reasons for doing this, have gone cockeyed, and despite my best efforts, I'm writing for the praise and not to tell the characters' story. And when I just tried to wrench that back: no praise and thus plenty of self-doubt on my part.
This is both grueling and stupid, and self-destructive. Enough already.
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