I wrote a lot in university—short stories, poetry, fragments of ideas that eventually coalesced into an experimental, stream-of-consciousness novel. I even did a few poetry readings, but I kept most of my work to myself. Until, that is, I shared my novel with a professor I respected. His feedback was not unkind, but it was blunt: the book wasn’t very good. He was 100% right.

I put the manuscript in a drawer and didn’t write another word for almost a decade.

Somewhere in my mind, I’d decided that if I couldn’t write something at the level of the books I admired, I shouldn’t write at all. My taste—what I valued as a reader—far exceeded my skill as a writer. And rather than work through that gap, I let my inner critic convince me that I would never close it.

This is where most creatives quit.

The Gap Between Taste and Ability

I don’t remember the exact moment I started writing again, but two things reignited my artistic practice. I met new friends who were writers, and was inspired by them and their work. And after a series of losses in my life that shook my identity to the core, I allowed myself to be an artist again. Not a successful artist, not even a competent one — just an artist putting in the work. It took hitting rock bottom in other areas of my life to quiet my inner critic, which shows just how deeply it can entrench itself—often keeping us from creating for years.

Ira Glass has spoken about this gap, particularly in relation to storytelling. His argument is that when we start creating, our taste develops faster than our ability—we recognize that what we’re making doesn’t measure up to what we love. With time and practice, he says, our skills will eventually catch up.

He’s right, but only to a point. Time alone won’t close the gap.

There are plenty of people who spend years writing without getting better, just as there are people who swing a tennis racket their whole lives but never play at a competitive level. The gap doesn’t close simply because we wait—it only closes with focused, deliberate practice.

And that’s where most creatives go wrong. They either quit too early, like I did, or they practice in a way that doesn’t actually help them improve.

The Inner Critic Is the Biggest Barrier

People talk a lot about external barriers to creative success—lack of resources, industry gatekeeping, financial limitations—but none of those are as lethal as the inner critic. If you stop practicing because you’re discouraged, nothing else matters.

Your inner critic sees the gap and tells you it’s permanent. It whispers that you’ll never write like the authors you admire, never paint like the artists you respect, never compose like the musicians who inspire you. The longer you listen, the easier it is to walk away.

But what if, instead of quitting, you turned that gap into a guide? What if you used your frustration as a roadmap for what to focus on next?

How to Practice Deliberately

If your taste exceeds your skill, that’s a good thing—it means you have a sense of what good looks like. But to close the gap, you need to practice in a way that actively builds your ability.

For writers, that means breaking down the tools in your toolbox. Narrative structure, dialogue, pacing—these are common weak points for beginners. Instead of just writing aimlessly, study the techniques that great writers use. Find authors who excel at what you struggle with and deconstruct how they do it.

How does your favorite author handle dialogue? Are they using subtext? Sentence fragments? Minimal attribution?What makes their narrative structure work? Are they following a classic three-act structure, or are they experimenting with something else?How do they control pacing? Do they use short, clipped sentences for tension? Long, flowing paragraphs for immersion?

You don’t need an expensive MFA program or a bestselling book coach to do this. There are inexpensive ways to train: finding a mentor, taking a local course, studying craft books from the library. Writing groups can be useful, but not all feedback is created equal—politics, jealousy, and misguided advice can sometimes make them counterproductive. The key is to move forward deliberately.

The Problem of Tastelessness

What about people who don’t experience this gap? What about those who don’t seem to have strong taste in the first place?

They exist. There are plenty of people who want to be writers but don’t read, plenty of filmmakers who don’t study film, plenty of musicians who don’t listen widely. And their work rarely develops.

That doesn’t mean taste has to be a one-to-one match with the medium. A novelist might be deeply influenced by film, a painter by photography. But successful artists always have a guiding star—an internal compass that tells them what “good” looks like. Without it, they have no sense of where to improve, no way to orient their work. Instead of developing their own artistic voice, they chase trends, imitating whatever seems to be working for others.

The Danger of Chasing Trends

This is the other way creatives go astray. Instead of quitting because they don’t feel good enough, they abandon their instincts in favor of chasing external validation. They study market trends, try to reverse-engineer what’s popular, and mold their work to fit what they think will sell.

The problem? By the time a trend is recognizable, it’s already fading. More importantly, art that’s made purely to fit the zeitgeist often feels hollow—it lacks the authenticity that comes from creating something you yourself would want to consume.

The best artists don’t create for an imagined “ideal customer.” They create the work they wish existed in the world. And because they care about it deeply, others end up caring too. The only reason I wrote This Shall be a House of Peace, a novel

The Way Forward

If you’re struggling because your skills don’t match your taste, good. That means you’re aware. That means you have the capacity to improve.

The only way forward is through deliberate practice. Study the artists you admire. Deconstruct their techniques. Train with purpose. And most of all, don’t let your inner critic talk you out of doing the work.

The gap only closes if you keep moving.

Three Challenges to Help You Close the GapThe Reverse-Engineering Challenge – Choose a passage (500–1000 words) from a writer you admire. Break it down by analyzing:How is dialogue handled? (Attribution, pacing, subtext)What’s the narrative structure? (Linear, nonlinear, classic three-act, etc.)How is tension built and released? Then, apply one of these techniques to your own writing this week.The Self-Awareness Challenge – Write for 15 minutes about your biggest creative frustration. Be brutally honest: Where do you feel your skills fall short? Now, turn this frustration into a learning roadmap—list 2-3 resources or techniques you’ll use to improve that weak area in the next month.The Authenticity Test – Look at your current work-in-progress and ask yourself:If no one ever saw this, would I still love creating it?Am I chasing trends, or am I making something I’d personally want to read/watch/listen to? If the answer isn’t a clear yes, consider adjusting your project to align with what excites you most.

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