Madeleine Plagued by Doubts

I will never finish Story #2.
Story #2 is so difficult--how did I ever think I could write it?
Or write anything at all?
And, anyway, no one will want to read it.
It's too long.
It sounds like the other story I wrote.
Why can't I just write a simple story?
Contests want stories that are 250, 3000, 5000 words long, yet I can't write a story that's 250, 3000, 5000 words long.
I must be a bad writer.
I would love to write a simple story!
I could win a contest if I wrote a simple story.
I should not want to win contests.
I should not even enter contests.
The NYTimes Book Review said today that writers write their best fiction before they are 40, so all my best fiction is behind me already.
He has an agent!?! How did he get an agent?
I'm happy for him.
I am wasting my time.
I should write the novel I want to write, not the stories.
No one reads stories.
No one reads novels.
I always write the wrong things.
Why aren't I one of those people who write the right things?
Why aren't I one of those people who get encouraging notes from editors at literary journals?
A rejection letter would be so much more encouraging if it included an encouraging note.
As soon as I finish my book, publishing will die.
I can't even write an interesting blog post.
I wish my doubts were more interesting.
Joyce Carol Oates has interesting doubts, I bet, if she has any.
She doesn't have any.
I can't manage my time.
I should write a play.
I should write a screenplay.
I don't send out my work enough.
I don't send out my work to the right places.
Story #3 will be even harder to write than Story #2, and Story #4 will be even harder to write than Story #3, and so on and so on and so on...