Yesterday, I got a lot of things done. I did four loads of laundry. I finally finished A Game of Thrones. Most importantly, I wrote a 10-page chapter of Dreaming in Shadow. I was proud of myself because getting back to seriously writing after a few weeks is always hard. But my goodness, I stressed myself out.

After a few weeks of mostly worrying about still far-off things like editors and future books, I ended up worrying about the actual writing again. I had a simple concept of the chapter for so very many years, but things started happening that I hadn't expected. Suddenly, characters were talking about really important things that the main character (and the reader) aren't supposed to understand until the end of the book. I was watching my hand write out dialogue that had me wanting to shout, "Don't give away the big plot twist, [enter character name here]!"

Hopefully, I ended up writing a conversation that doesn't give much away but upon a reread reveals another meaning. But I just keep worrying that I'm not a skilled enough writer to pull that off. Especially, with a scene that I hadn't planned for ages, the way I usually write important scenes. Sometimes, I just don't even feel I deserve to be a writer. I'm a creator, and I love - adore - my ideas, but will I ever be skilled enough to write something that can even begin to compare to writers I admire? Will I ever be someone's favorite writer? Will anyone buy my books at all? Will they be even worth buying?

That's what stresses me, at the moment.