I was lying in bed last night, reading a book by an author I admire. All at once I was suffused by a calm and certain feeling. "I can do better than this," I thought. "I am a better writer." And then I thought, "If I lie here quietly, the feeling will go away." So I did, and it did.
I'm actually feeling pretty good. In the last few days, I have gotten praise from a good editor and a nice-sized check from the same good editor; and I am feeling happy with the current story -- aka the very wet, noir, planetary romance. It still needs work, but I like it.
Praise, money, and the satisfaction of a job well done. Can't beat that trio.