The appearance of self-doubt is totally predictable at this stage of the process i.e., when the finish line is in sight.
What if it sucks?
What if my self-doubt is justified? What if the book really does stink? What if I’ve just put in two killer years for nothing?
Then I’ll take the long view. I’m not in this for the weekend. This is a lifetime calling.
I’ll take my lumps and learn my lessons. I’ll look to the next book and the one after that. Even Bob Dylan puts out a crappy album once in a while. Derek Jeter himself sometimes goes down swinging. I will too if I have to. But nothing will stop me from giving this book my all. It is my baby, just like the other kids in the family. I’ll get it into Harvard if I can; I’ll bail it out of jail; I’ll pick it up at three AM at the Greyhound bus station. I will take a bullet for it.
Fuck self-doubt. I despise it. I hold it in contempt, along with the hell-spawned ooze-pit of Resistance from which it crawled.
I will NEVER back off. I will NEVER give the work anything less than 100%.
If I go down in flames, so be it. I’ll be back.