when you chisel a little hole in the wall of writer's block but feel maudlin, not accomplished

It's quite poignant to have 100 works uploaded to AO3 (although honestly, some of them are just polished comment- and chatfics that don't really belong there, but it seems even sillier to take them down now they've already been there for a while) and not have written anything in 4 years except Yuletide.

When I was a teenager, I stayed up all night writing RPF more times than I stayed up all night writing essays.

At this point writing 200 words of fiction in a day, like I did yesterday, is an infinite improvement over every day since last Yuletide deadline, but my main reaction is still "This is nothing compared to my high point in 2007-8 when 6000 words a day wasn't unusual."

I think there's a little thread of feeling chuffed under there, but it's hard to feel it.