Susan had a post today about her inner critic, although she refers to said critic as "bitch." I had a visit from the critic last night. I call him by the name in my title of the day.
I'd worked over two hours with a particular scene and while at it I was generally pretty happy with what was happening. The words seemed to be right, the sentences hung together, the paragraphs flowed. I finally reached a stopping point and I should have turned the computer off right then. But, oh no, I had to give the scene a quick last look over. At which point a big, booming voice (my inner critic isn't a "little" anything) said: "Well that was a major waste of time. There's not even anything worth cannibalizing here so please don't make me read it again."
I would have beat the shit out of him but he's wearing my face. And getting it wrinkled to boot. I told him I was going to embarass his ass today with this very post. He only smirked, and, as always of course, he got in the last word.
"It's your writing," he said. "Who do you think it's really going to embarass?"
The fucker! I'm afraid he's going to be right.