My writer brain is weird.
Reading some god awful yet somehow published drivel: FUCK THIS, I could do so much better.
Actually writing: OH MY GOD THIS IS THE WORST. WHY DOES THIS SOUND SO BAD? I AM TERRIBLE. THE WORDS ARE NOT DOING THE THING ON PAPER THAT THE WORDS IN MY HEAD DOES. WHY? SET IT ALL ON FIRE.
Except, sometimes, on those rare occasions where you’re like FUCK YES I CRAFTED AWESOMENESS. BEHOLD MY BRILLIANCE.
In other words, I hate my novel and will keep preening over my Kelpie story for awhile to try to compensate.