It's all these years later, and looking back, I've finally come around. I like all my stories. Warts and all. Fuck it, I was always too goddamned a hard on myself. Enough of that shit.
...oh yeah, everyone who gave a shit left, or died. ....beating depression takes too fucking long. ...too...fucking...long.
Seriously, good on you. I’ve done work that I hated at the time but then came around on later, and I’ve done stuff that I loved right after it was completed but can’t stand to look at now.
Sometimes I enjoy going back over my stuff and just soaking it up, reveling in all my favorite bits, and sometimes I can barely stand to remember it exists. No consistent pattern I've found, other than once I've gotten a big or intense project combed over to death and published I don't want to look at it for a while.
