As a writer, I don’t like looking back on my old writings. Something that seemed like wonders when I wrote it could feel like trash when I go back and read it. It’s almost like a self-hate for my past self even though I know I wasn’t as experienced then.
A part of me believes that after I publish a short story or a novel, all I will think about will be fixing it. Perhaps I could’ve developed the character more or dived into the plot more. There’s always another way.
But I know my audience—my readers—won’t see what I see. They could read my work, love it, and have no critiques. Other writers and editors may think otherwise though.
It’s a battle I know I’ll have to face later. I might actually not mind what I write after I publish it. But right now, I don’t like my old words as much.