I just finished reading White As Snow by Tanith Lee. And it made me miserable. Not in the sense that it was a bad book, it was an excellent book. It had me in tears at the end - her style of dark fantasy has always pulled at me, and it's just so wonderful. That wonderfullness (I know this is not a word) is what makes me so miserable. I'm a horrible writer, will never amount to anything, will never write something as gorgeous as she does. I want people to feel for my characters like I feel for hers, but right now after reading something so good, I feel so worthless and pointless - just not good enough. Ah, I said I would be pessimistic on this blog, but this is quite a bit much of feeling sorry for myself...I wish I had some optimism, I wish there just would be something that would show that my writing isn't total crap, something I can believe.