Today I got an 81%, which would be an A+ by English standards, but I am no longer in England and an A+ on what I consider to be reasonable work (certainly not above average) will not motivate me, sadly. (It would have been great in my schooling years if good marks motivated me to continue getting good marks, rather than being motivated by fear of worse marks...)
So instead today's grade is a B-.
Especially since I still didn't finish the story I have an extension on when the extension deadline is Saturday. I have a few hundred words, but writing a few hundred words at a time shouldn't be too difficult for me, and it is. My last story shook what little confidence I had. I loved the idea, but it was poorly executed and I'm not at all fond of it (whereas I have a secret fondness for my other stories but will deny upon questioning).
This is gruelling. My Writer's Insecurity has never been this bad; I'm fretting over every. single. word. I mean, I've had my bouts with WI before (for every story), but I've always fallen into a writer's trance in the end and then I'm Off Off and Away! It's not even the etceteras (as the sexy-scenes have now been titled by therealsnape) that are getting to me, but everything! Argh. I was really excited to write this story. I am really excited to write this story. Or I would be, if I were just writing it to read to myself and hide away again.
Maybe I should just write it pretending that no-one will read it. Although I've never been good at pretending things when it's an attempt to fool my mind. I wish I could just stay anonymous during this fest, but people will know which story is mine anyway because that's what happens and and and...
I'm getting to the point that I just want to cuss and cry, so I'll go to sleep instead. I will get this done tomorrow, somehow. EEERRRRGGGGHHH. Sod fests. Sod the lot of them! And sex! Sod sex! Fests, sex, writing--out the window with the bath water, you lot, and good riddance!
*Teenage face-flop onto her bed.*