I once told Taco (or Hugo or Jarred or Noah?) that it’s perfectly normal for a writer (fiction, nonfiction, song writers alike) to dislike his/her own work. I myself can’t bear to hear the mention of Quietness, even though I did like it very much, once. But as I went through my unfinished works tonight, I came across pieces I totally adore and would not want to give them up, and among them, one that I absolutely love, one that I have warm and fuzzy feelings when I read it and wanna read it again and again and again.
So. Your works are your babies; you should at least love some of them. (Even thought right now I’m in a total anti-children mode ever since the baseball incident.)