I don't know about you, but sometimes I find that the most difficult person in the room isn't somebody else, it's ME. Especially when I'm in the room alone, because that's often the case when creative resistance appears. Let me explain. Yesterday, I did my fifteen minutes. Actually, closer to thirty. It was a great morning. There was a hint of rain lingering in the air from an early morning downpour. The bricks on the patio were wet and the geraniums were bright red in the cool morning air. My daughter slept late. I finished a revision on a story I am proud of. My little book felt within reach, possibly sooner than I'd been thinking. I considered whether I ought to send the current manuscript in to a contest next week. I made an extra cup of coffee. I felt encouraged by what I'd accomplished and by the loveliness of the day. Then, the voices of resistance started in. They go like this: Who do you think you are with this writing thing? Nobody wants to rea...