If you’re got a few books under your belt, you might be tempted to go back and reread your early work with a critical eye. After all, those early works might have been written years or even decades ago. You’ve grown as an author. You’ve probably evolved miles beyond the person and the author that you were at the time.
And, reading those early works, you might be horrified at how primitive they seem compared to the work you’re doing now. You might read sentences, paragraphs or whole chapters and realize that you’d never write those things the same way now.
You might even be tempted to revise your early work. You might want to rewrite it altogether.
I’m right there with ya. My first book Subjugation is chock full of things I’d write differently today. Originally an effort I started by myself as a cathartic journey fueled by the negative feelings inspired by my divorce, trusted somebody I thought was a friend to help me with it. She ultimately ditched me during the final draft to go on a play date to watch Buffy with her boy toy rather than work with me, and I was left on my own. Betrayed, angry, and confused, I floundered.
That’s not to say that I’m not proud of Subjugation. I used those negative feelings and rallied. I got it done, and it was published. To this day, it still reaches markets around the world. It still sells a copy every now and then when I least suspect it.
Still, there are those sentences, paragraphs and chapters that I sometimes consider redoing, because that’s not how I’d write it now. And make no mistake, I wouldn’t trust my soul’s work with someone else ever again. Not another author, and not my best friend in the word, who could turn around and stab me squarely in the back when I need her the most. Trust is a tentative, fickle thing. You count on it, and then it’s ripped from you along with your beating heart and thrown down the toilet.
Nope. I’m in it on my own. And while it was a hard lesson to learn, I know that I’m stronger for it. I don’t need anybody else. I’m good enough all on my own. I’m my own worst critic, but I have to realize that my work is just fine.
And so is yours.
No, you’re not the same person that you were when you wrote your early work. None of us are. We’ve all grown and learned, honed our craft and become better writers and more experience people. Of course you’re not. Life is growth. Every day that you live, every book you read, every lesson you learn shapes you into a new, more enlightened person.
And that’s the thing. In five or ten years, you will have grown beyond the person that you are now. What will you do then? Rewrite all the work you’ve done up to now, and all the work that you’re doing now? Because you’ve grown past this point: Will you spend your entire career rewriting work from which you’ve evolved? When would you find time to do more original work?
No, my friend. When you’re tempted to rewrite your early work, DON’T.
Let it be the wonderful, magical creation that you came up with at the time. It meant the world to you when you wrote it, and that means something. It deserves to be what it is. Keep it, cherish it as you do all the rest of your written children. Learn from it.
And consider this. Even Stephen King admits that he cringes when he reads some of his earlier works. But you don’t see him rewriting Carrie or Salem’s lot. He lets them be what they were when they were born.
So should you. Learn from that earlier work and do your level best to improve your future work. And when you evolve past that book, learn from it to improve the next. And the one after that, ad infinitum. Move forward and let the past live where you left it.
You’re welcome.
Peace, Love, and fluffy kittens, y’all.
Lepplady 
Talk about some bullshit. I remember you told me about your old writing partner when she screwed you over in your writing and when she walked away with your company. I’m glad you cut ties so she can’t hurt you anymore.
Well, in all fairness, I’m the one that walked away. But only after she betrayed me for the nth time.
That was MY company. I started it, created it with a New Orleans flair, since I’m down here just up the road from it. I brought her and her friend on board after they promised they’d do the work. Well, that didn’t happen. They didn’t do a single thing they said they would, and intimated that if I wanted it done, to do it myself. I didn’t want my name associated with a company that produced such sloppy work from people that couldn’t be arsed to do their jobs.
So she got the company. With the New Orleans identity even though she lives in the Pacific Northwest.
I regret walking away. It was MY company, with my identity, my dreams, and my hard work. I should have fought for it and canned those two. But it is what it is. I’d rectify it if I could, and maybe someday I will, but for now, I’ll just let it be what it is.
The only thing I don’t like is that she paints me as the bad guy. She betrayed me a dozen different ways from Sunday, but I’m the bad guy? Yeah. Okay. Whatever. I’ll just be over here handling my own affairs.
She can do her. I’ll do me.
But you are right about one thing for sure. She can’t hurt me any more, and I’ll never put myself in the position again where somebody else can affect my work that way. I’m fine on my own, thanks.
Now I just need to back that up by finishing my latest book. Incidentally, it’s one I started with her, but she gave me her blessing to finish it on my own. And I’ll do exactly that.
She can do the same with her own work, and more power to her.