Your stomach never stops growling in spite of heretofore-unheard-of (read: confessed) indulgences sanctioned due to state of grievous emergency. (May include but not limited to Chinese takeout, energy drinks, garlic crackers, stale Cadbury mini-eggs.)
Most novels you will think about or pick up are better than your novel in its current state. (Heart-rendingly, soul-crushingly better.) Nevertheless, any momentary self-doubt cannot be given free rein to disrupt your terrified output of what you fervently hope is some reasonable approximation of brilliance.