The saying goes "You are your own worst critic." But that's just a saying. What if you're reading your work and you literally feel at the pit of your stomach or like a needle in the loose part of forehead skin and you know...you just know...you are the worst writer in the world. No amount of praise or adulation can band-aid this magnificent void filled with plot holes and one dimensional characters.
You use the word "and" too many times. There are enough "likes" to choke a Clydesdale. If you could only stop using the phrase "it seemed like"...if only there were a button you could press that would erase everything you knew about your book and read it for the very first time as a normal human reader and not an insane moron with a case of the "I hate life!" syndrome.
It has this funny way of creeping up, doesn't it? The hating your writing thing? You get on a role...you're writing like Stephen King, ideas and adjective are flying out of your ass! Invisable confetti is tickling your face because somewhere, someone in Heaven is celebrating your brilliant-ness! You haven't used the word like in over four chapters! The word BESTSELLER is drilling into your skull in a way that hurts so good. You grab a drink to celebrate...THOSE WERE THE BEST CHAPTERS YOU HAVE EVER WRITTEN!
Then....two days later when you're re-reading so that you can transition into the next sub-plot smoothly..it hits you like a Buffalo falling out of a low flying hot air balloon. You are the shittiest writer that the world ever crapped out.
So, what do you do fellow writer? When your worst critic comes out and tells you that your dream of writing is nothing but a dream? That you are the worst writer in the world? Share with me your secret of wonderfulness? I beg of you!