The Arts are a double edged blade. At least to me.
I can look at art for hours and admire the intricacies or simplicities of it, the flow of color, the lights and shadow (Virisimilitude I believe?), and I can doodle till my little heart is content, however at the same time I get so disheartened.
I was painting yesterday - and it's not as impressive as you think - and there were two schools of thought in my mind. The first, (as I stared down at the potential cover for chapter 1 of Tales of Therusia,) was that "Hey, thats not so bad for a hobbyist." I took a fraction of pride in my work, and I even attempted to do that strange and alien concept: 'shading'.
However, the second train of thought rolls it's eyes and crosses it's arms and just lays into my about "if you can SEE it just fine when you start, why can't you get your dumb hands to just copy it down? Is there something wrong with your synapses? THAT doesn't look ANYTHING like you want it to look. Fail."
Or maybe I'm just too hard on myself.
Either way I have to put the project aside and keep telling myself that it's just a hobby, and my delicate little ego can relax and stop twitching. Nothing is going to crack it over the head. This is just for fun. Deep, Soothing Breaths.