Slow But Not So Sure

I've been piecing at my book over the last few weeks and have finally gotten up to the whopping page of 11. I'd be ashamed if I wasn't so disgusted with myself. And it's not like I haven't had time to write. Oh sure, there were lots of blog posts to read, Alchemy scores to beat, and Lindsay Lohan headlines to sneer at, but other than that plenty of time to really get into the rhythm of my book. Except I haven't. I've been concentrating on everything (and by that I mean nothing important) but my story. And it's not because I'm not excited about it. I'm excited right up until the point I actually sit down to write. Then suddenly all the wonderful words that sounded so great in my head scatter to the four winds (okay, I don't actually know that there are four winds, but it sounds poetic). What am I doing wrong? Wait. Don't answer that. I'm not sure I want to know. Let me just wallow in a blanket of self-pity and doubt for a few minutes. ::indefinite amount of time goes by with much wailing and pulling of hair:: Well. That was certainly fun. Okay, I can get over this. Writing is 50% perseverance (this statistic brought to you courtesy of the voices in my head) after all, so technically I'm halfway there, right? Just nod your head comfortingly and back away slowly from the blog. It ain't pretty to watch an author cry.