The writer/musician/actor/artist lifecycle has nine very distinct stages. They are as follows
  1. Get idea, think it's great or hilarious or whatever.
  2. Write/produce/create idea, still really excited.
  3. Get about 80-90% finished creating/writing/producing idea, begin to loathe all aspects of the idea, doubt the goodness of any idea you’ve ever had.
  4. Stop working on idea altogether, now convinced you are the least-intelligent person ever…person’d…Christ I can’t even think of the right word to replace person’d, so I guess we’re just gonna leave that word in there. Question any and all accomplishments and ideas in your life.
    …Convinced that everything you’ve ever written, produced, performed in, created, suggested, or said in public or private is worthless shit that even Hitler would be embarrassed to claim as his own.
  5. Finish project just so the sheer hours you’ve poured into it won’t feel like a complete and utter waste of time/resources. Contemplate sitting in running car with your garage door closed until sweet monoxide-flavored release takes you to a place away from all pressure of creativity, a place whose only language is high-fives and ice cream.
    Peanut-butter-cup rocky road and a game of checkers with my great aunt, who always had the loving foresight to not waste my time being an artsy type. You win again, Aunt Norma. You always do.
  6. Submit project to boss or internet, lock self in Y2K bunker to avoid the imminent mockery of strangers and the ostracization of your family/loved ones.
  7. Pretend your idea/project/creation never happened in the first place, make all dinner reservations under assumed identity.
  8. Many, many years later, look back on created product/idea/written work/project and get mild enjoyment from it, wonder if you might’ve been overreacting initially.
  9. Come up with new idea, repeat entire process; oblivious to the new, fresh Hell you’re about to willingly subject yourself to.
    Cry early, cry often, welcome to the life of one who creates.