I am a consistently inconsistent writer. I go through phases where the words come together, I believe I can write and everything sounds authentic and original and magical. Then of course this moment passes and I am left doubting that I can even spell words let alone marry them together. I feel fraudulent that I have ever published anything - like it was some ghastly editor's mistake or something. Of course I am deeply in the second phase right now which is why I am mentioning it. I feel as if I am lacking inspiration , motivation , self-belief. I know this is no excuse - as Jack London once said - "You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club." But sometimes inspiration seems so elusive. I think this is because inspiration is one of hope's many sisters and I wrestle with hope constantly. If I let go of hope I die if I hold onto it I burn.