The Beast wants you to stop writing.
The Beast lusts for failure, self-defeat, and destructive self-talk.
It is always hungry.
It tells you each rejection isn't just a rejection of your story, it's a rejection of you, the person.
The Beast lies.
The Beast will always be hungry.
It smells exhaustion and frustration and resentment and jealousy like a shark noses blood in the water.
But you can defeat the beast.
You win each time you submit a story, each time you have the courage to sit down in front of a blank screen, each time your pencil or pen touches paper. You spank the beast on the nose each time you write despite the odds, despite the reward, despite what anyone--including yourself--might say.
It's weak, really, this Beast. Weak and small and alone, and it wants you to feel that way, too.
It will always be hungry because it is a nothing, a hollow thing. Empty.
Read my post on Shimmer's blog about fighting the Beast with persistence.