You're working on final edit, just getting ready to publish, when you realize, "This is some awful stuff." Don't worry, everyone writes a little crap now and then.
Every once in a while, I write some real crap. Excuse my language, but I'm serious. Sometimes, the stuff I create is really, REALLY awful. Even worse, eventually it makes it into print. For that, I truly apologize.
The good news is, or at least I'm told, that no matter how talented or skilled a writer, no matter how many books he or she has published, occasionally the stuff that flows through his or her fingers is truly awful garbage. Some writers even claim that this is an important part of the writing process. If this is true, I have good reason to celebrate.
Every once in a while I'll be reading through something I wrote - it usually turns out to be the short stories that I have the most problems with - and I'll think to myself, "this just does NOT make any sense. What was I drinking when I typed this? Quick, take it away from me, before I hurt myself." Days like this really get me down as a writer. After all, writing is my livelihood. If all I manage to produce is crap, I'll surely starve.
Unfortunately, most writers, myself included, spend way too much time worrying about the bad stuff that they write instead of the good stuff. Never mind that the other day I spit out 8,000 words without batting an eye or stopping for coffee. That last paragraph was downright ugly. Er, does that prove my point?
One day you'll be editing a book, la de dah, just editing away, and you'll stop suddenly and realize, "Oh my gosh, she was right. This is some really shoddy stuff." But now, instead of berating yourself for creating such nonsense, you'll be able to take a deep breath, laugh it off, and remind yourself that for every great novel, there's a bit of junk that leaks out with it.
Don't let it stop you. You may even do what I've done and create a "Crap Album." It's a scrapbook of some of the worst stuff I've ever written, and I keep it neatly tucked away in the darkest corner of my closet where no one could ever find it and use it for blackmail. After all, most of my friends think I'm a pretty good writer. Why interrupt their fantasy now?
