I made my 143rd short story sale last night. It was to a horror-themed anthology, but I can't yet say who bought it. Someone asked me if I'm going to have a party when I make my 150th sale. If the story I write for #150 is as fraught with complications this one was, I may just need a nap rather than champagne.
Sometimes I sit down to write a story, and the thing I've been mulling over in my head comes out nicely story-shaped in one sitting and with a bit of polishing it's off to the editor. Other times I feel like I'm trying to sprint down a mountain path while wrestling an angry octopus into a burlap sack.
I'm still covered in sweat and sucker marks from #143.
And that's okay; even when the writing process is horrible and has me weeping with frustration at 3am, it's still way better than doing tech support.