Ah the days of bliss, happily pounding out drek with no responsibility to the readers that did not exist. The resulting stories would be so bad that it would be immediately obvious what was wrong and what must be done to fix it.
Then I started getting better and everything went wrong. Now when I read what I write it's not bad, but it's also not great. There is always something missing, something to add, something to take away, but it's a subtle something lurking unknown in the shadows.
So I try to fix it through trial and error hacking away at characters, plots and scenes, till the whole thing is transformed into something brand new, but equally not so great. Lately all my rewrites seem to take me sideways rather than upwards in quality.