I haven’t lost my taste when it comes to the work of others, but I’ve lost all ability to judge my own.

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Dear Hera,

I’ve almost completely lost confidence in my own ability to tell if something I’ve made is “good”, or not. At my job, I’m constantly presenting my work to others for feedback and revisions. At home, I’m nagging my partner, or friends, for their thoughts on whatever project I’m currently working on. 

I haven’t lost my taste when it comes to the work of others. I’m keenly aware of how I respond to other works of art, and I can cleanly identify how and why something does (or doesn’t) affect me. It’s just that when I apply those skills to my own work, suddenly my internal compass starts spinning out and I’m wracked with creative indecision – stuck in the valley of a local maxima, wondering if a better draft is just over this hill. 

It’s impacting the speed at which I can work. I often spend more time on a project than it deserves, because I’m wanting to make sure that it’s “good enough”, and that extra expenditure of time feels like a safety blanket. I don’t know at which point it is “good”, and I don’t know if the extra time has actually improved the work, but I do know, abstractly, that putting more time in does give some return on overall quality. Even when I know I’m on a tight deadline, I’ll spend time polishing. 

(I’ve been writing this question for roughly 45 minutes.)

I know that my own taste can misfire. I might be incredibly proud of something I’ve made, only for it to utterly fail to resonate with those around me. I’ve poured time and effort into things that, now, I’m hideously embarrassed by. 

So Hera, how can I train the ability to know when my work is good? How can I pull the trigger on things earlier? How do I decide when I’m satisfied?

Slow Unsteady 

Dear Slow Unsteady,

It’s hard to have your hobby as a job. If you spend all day painting elaborate frescoes for silk merchants, it’s difficult to summon the enthusiasm to go home at night, and work on your cherubs. 

It’s not impossible. Plenty of creative people, being otherwise totally unemployable, have found ways to use their talents to pay the bills. But there’s definitely something to be said for having a day job that bears no meaningful resemblance to your most beloved pastime.  

Writing for work and writing for eternal glory require two different mental states. It’s easy to get so used to writing for your career, that when you sit down to work on your magnum opus, your work brain takes over and your writing starts to develop an unmistakable “NZ’s most beloved rolled oats. Milled with care for over 150 years” flavour to it. I’m sure it’s the same in other professions. If you’re a chef who works at Cobb & Co, you probably never want to see another chicken schnitzel in your life. You can get desensitised to the pleasure of anything, if you do it often enough.

I wonder if this oversaturation is part of your problem. I think your innate sense of taste is still there, but you probably need a little distance from your work. It’s also possible that your editorial brain is taking charge when you’re trying to produce your own work, and is making you less free to experiment. 

I’m not suggesting you quit your job. We all need to make a living. But I do think you have to be intentional about work-life balance, or you risk making all forms of writing into a chore, rather than a pleasure. 

When it comes to your paid employment, I think a collaborative approach is a decent way to handle uncertainty. Unless your colleagues are getting annoyed by your frequent requests for feedback, getting other people’s input is a good way to make quick decisions on a tight deadline. I would also try putting the work aside for a day, and looking at it again with fresh eyes. Often a day’s distance is worth more than several hours of solid revision. 

If your job is just a job, and not a lifelong passion, sometimes “good enough” is an acceptable standard. You don’t need to lie awake torturing yourself over the quality of your prose, unless you are Don Draper, and hoping to make partner.  

When it comes to your own writing, you have the luxury of time. 

Some writers are able to meticulously edit as they go, if their inner ear is exquisitely tuned. But because you’re having trouble, I think the best approach is to try to liberate your writing brain from your editing brain. 

To write well, you need both brains. But in order to have something you’re excited to edit, you need to be able to let yourself go before reining yourself in, which means creating a little cognitive dissonance, and not constantly looking over your own shoulder while writing.

if you’re not sure whether something is good, it can sometimes be a lack of confidence, but it can also be a kind of disenchantment or boredom with the work you are producing, and a sign that you need to fall back in love with your craft. 

The best way to achieve this is by giving yourself time and patience. Try to separate your writing process from your editing. This could mean writing in an unfamiliar place or time, a little drunk in your notes app on the bus, or early in the morning before you’re able to form coherent sentences. If you’ve become overly accustomed to writing carefully and methodically, go fast and don’t look back. Write on subjects that are personal to you, and which you have strong feelings about.

Then, when you’re done, put it straight in a drawer and don’t look at it for at least a month. This will give you time to forget what you’ve written, and approach it with fresh eyes, instead of haggling over word choice. When the draft has settled, you can sift through the rubble for the occasional gem. 

If, for whatever reason, you don’t have that sort of time, here are some ways to get a fresh perspective on a recent piece: 

• Always read your work aloud, and notice the parts you feel reluctant to read or stumble over
• Trick your brain by changing the font and the size of the work between important edits
• Print your work out, and edit a physical copy
• Cast the draft aside and try to rewrite it from memory/scratch
• Getting one of those robot voices on Microsoft Edge to read your work aloud to you

If you’re trying to write The Lord of the Rings, you need to put in the hours. But it’s normal to have fallow periods, and sometimes taking a holiday from your own work can be a good artistic decision. Instead, use the time to read. Revisit your favourite writers and remind yourself what it’s all about. Read  outside your comfort zone. Read for pleasure, and don’t think about the craft at all. Try to re-enchant yourself.

Having period where you’re feeling unconfident or uncertain about your work is about the most normal creative experience it’s possible to have, and it doesn’t mean you’ve lost the ability to make good things or trust your judgement. Sometimes it means you’re on the threshold of something new, and haven’t figured out what that is yet. Sometimes it means you’re exhausted and need a break. Sometimes it means a new approach is required, to get different results, especially if you’ve been dutifully knuckling under and consistently producing work you don’t have strong feelings about. Sometimes it means you need to stop and live a little, in order to have something worth writing about.

I can tell you are a good writer. Your question is beautifully worded, and there’s nothing wrong with being a perfectionist. It’s a requirement of the job. But it sounds like what you’re actually missing is that sense of enthusiasm and passion, and that’s a harder thing to force.

Every writer has periods of frustration, despair and indecision. That’s 90% of the job. Your job is to try and rediscover the 10% of joy that makes it all worth it. Be patient and don’t panic. Have a holiday, read The Da Vinci Code, and have faith that when something is truly great, you’ll know it when you see it.