I just finished writing the climax of my book. (Complete with manifested fire-beast of repressed character anger!) Still a good deal of falling action and an epilogue to go, but the big hurrah is over.

And now I'm getting the terrible self-doubt.

Parts of the story are great, don't get me wrong. But parts of it simply SUCK. It also needs about 150 pages chopped, judging from the boring bloated middle. I skim through it and think, "OMG, how am I ever going to fix this monstrosity? I'm just a hack!"

(Then my main narrator Dustin says, "No, you're not a hack, so could you please get down to it and put some clothes on me NOW? It's too blooded cold for this, thanks.")

You'd think he'd complain about the dead bodies.