First of all, I'm lazy.
To dig deeper than that, I explained:
Imagine you're a kid at school. Now imagine you're one of those lovely sad kids that actually likes school - or rather, you want to. In actuality you struggle to like it, because of one person. A bully. He plagues the playground, and the classrooms. He makes your life living Hell. Infact he makes the experience of school so horrible, because he makes you feel so terrible about yourself, that you hate the idea of going back to school tomorrow. The very thought of returning there puts you on edge, and makes you miserable.
Example 2 - You work somewhere, and your boss is a tyrant. Would you want to carry on going there?
Or you're dating somebody, and the relationship is a bad one. Can you carry it on?
And so on.
My relationship with writing is precisely that. When I write, I read it back and think it's crap. I think all 'artists' (if I can call myself one, for a moment) do that with their work. It's an absolutely horrible and soul destroying feeling. Why would anybody want to put themselves through that day in day out is beyond me...
Why then do I carry on, in the rare windows where my writing is possible, and exists?
Well, once I get over the phase of thinking it's crap, I eventually come around to the way of thinking that it's actually OK, or (rarely) good. That gives me a buzz, and encourages me on. But then I hit a stumbling block again, as after I write the next thing... the feeling that I'm actually crap creeps back in.
I slowly forget, and let myself write again.
The cycle goes on.
"SELF" - 2007