for those who hate what you write:
(i remember, intimately, what it’s like to hate something 8 seconds after I type it. A word, a phrase, a sentence, or a chapter.)
The thing is all writing and art stems from our imagination. But no matter what, it’s impossible to completely and perfectly relay your imagination through words alone. So you’re left shifting, comparing what you’ve wrought with what you’ve conceived in your mind.
Wondering how it can be better, closer to the ideal.
Good writers, the ones that have readers, are the people that admit that they’ll never fully reach the ideal and are okay with that. That doesn’t mean that they stop trying, though, but rather they don’t let the impossibility of reaching the ideal stop them from writing.
Other writers give up because they can’t reach that acceptance, and don’t have readers because they don’t show their work to people, as they’re too dissatisfied with it.
If you hate what you write: nothing you will ever make will be perfect, and you ultimately have to swallow down your revulsion at your own work and acknowledge that it’s not the ideal but that’s okay. The thing is, only you know what the ideal version of whatever you’ve made is. It dwells in your imagination, not someone else’s. Everyone else that reads your work will only know what you give them; they have no ideal version to compare it to and tear it down as lesser to — hence the dissonance between reader reactions and writer’s feelings.
As writers, we obsessively try to find the perfect way to convey our story. But in the end, that’s impossible, because words aren’t enough to express the whole breadth of the imagination. So rather than searching for the perfect way and getting paralyzed because you can never reach that perfection, do what’s reachable —
Put out your best work, accept that it’s not perfect, and keep writing.