How to Know If Your Writing Is Actually Good (When You Can't Tell Anymore)

I reread an article I published last week. I couldn't tell if it was good or garbage.

I'd thought it was decent when I hit publish. Now, seven days later, I was reading it as if it were written by a stranger, and I genuinely couldn't assess its quality.

Some sentences seemed fine, and others made me cringe. The whole thing felt simultaneously too long and not thorough enough. I couldn't tell if the ideas were insightful or obvious.

It felt like a mess. 

This is the curse of being a writer: the more you write, the less you can objectively evaluate your own work.

You're too close to it, too aware of what you meant to say versus what you actually said and way too conscious of the gap between your vision and your execution.

So how do you know if your writing is actually good when you've completely lost the ability to judge it yourself?

Why You Can't Evaluate Your Writing Anymore

When you first start writing, evaluation is easy. You can clearly see when something is bad because it doesn't match what good writing looks like.

But as you improve, your taste develops faster than your skills. You can identify great writing when you read it. You just can't consistently produce it yet.

This creates a painful gap: you know what good looks like, but you can't tell if what you're making meets that standard.

Add to this the fact that you've read your own piece 15 times during revisions, and you've lost all objectivity. Every sentence is simultaneously familiar and foreign, and you can't see it clearly anymore.

You're stuck in this loop: "Is this good? I can't tell. Maybe it's terrible. Maybe it's fine. I have no idea."

The Signs Your Writing Is Actually Good

Since you can't trust your own judgment, here are external signals that your writing is working:

People finish reading it.

If readers make it to the end, that's a good sign. They didn't bail halfway through because they were bored or confused.

Track your analytics. If your average read time is close to the actual reading time of your piece, people are staying engaged.

People share it without you asking.

If someone shares your work unprompted, they found value in it. They thought, "someone else needs to see this."

"Shares" are a better metric than likes because they require more effort and social risk.

People quote specific lines back to you.

When someone references a particular sentence or idea from your piece, that line resonated. It stuck with them.

If multiple people quote the same line, you nailed something.

People ask follow-up questions or start conversations.

Good writing makes people think. If your piece generates discussion, questions, or debate, it worked.

Silence is worse than criticism. Silence means nobody cared enough to engage.

You get specific feedback, not vague praise.

"Great article!" tells you nothing. "The part about X really helped me understand Y" tells you something landed.

Specific feedback means they actually read it and absorbed it.

The Signs Your Writing Isn't Working

People bail in the first three paragraphs.

If your analytics show most readers dropping off early, your hook isn't working, or your opening is confusing.

Nobody responds or engages.

If you publish and hear crickets - no comments, no shares, no messages - the piece didn't connect.

This doesn't always mean it's bad; it just means it didn't resonate with your audience.

The feedback you get is vague or obligatory.

"Nice work!" from one of your parents doesn't count. Vague encouragement usually means people don't know what else to say.

You keep explaining what you meant.

If you find yourself clarifying your point in comments or DMs, you didn't communicate clearly in the piece itself.

It gets engagement, but the wrong kind.

Sometimes a piece gets attention because people argue with your premise or correct your facts. That's not good writing. That's controversy when you had no intention of creating controversy. 

How To Actually Evaluate Your Own Writing

Since external feedback isn't always immediate (like when you're in the drafting phase or pre-publishing, for example), here's how to self-assess:

Wait 48 hours before evaluating.

Immediately after writing, you either love it (high on completion) or hate it (exhausted from the work). Neither assessment is accurate.

Wait two days, a solid forty-eight hours away from it and reread with fresh eyes. You'll see it more clearly.

Read it out loud.

Clunky sentences, awkward phrasing, and confusing structure become obvious when you speak the words.

If you stumble while reading aloud, your reader will stumble too.

Check if it delivers on the headline.

Does the article actually answer the question or solve the problem your title promised?

If your headline says "Here's how to X" and the piece doesn't clearly explain how to X, it's not working. 

Ask: Would I read this if someone else wrote it?

Be honest. If you'd scroll past this article in your feed, it's not compelling enough.

If you'd save it to read later, it probably has value.

Look for the "so what?" in every paragraph.

Does each paragraph advance the argument or provide value? Or are you just filling space?

Cut everything that doesn't earn its place.

Test if you can summarise it in two sentences.

If you can't clearly state what the piece is about and why it matters, your reader won't be able to either.

Clarity is a good proxy for quality.

The Question That Reveals The Truth About Your Writing

Here's the question that cuts through all the self-doubt:

"Did I say something true?"

Not clever. Not impressive. Not perfectly polished. Just true.

If you wrote something honest - something you genuinely believe based on your experience - then it's good enough.

You might not have said it in the most elegant way. You might not have structured it perfectly. But if the core insight is true and you communicated it clearly enough that someone could understand and use it, the piece works.

Most writing fails not because it's poorly written but because it's not saying anything real. It's just words arranged nicely with no substance underneath.

If there's substance in your piece - if there's a real insight, a genuine observation, an honest struggle - then it's good writing, even if the execution isn't perfect.

When "Good" Writing Doesn't Matter

Sometimes you're agonising over whether a piece is good when that's not actually the question you should be asking. You aren't writing the next "War and Peace" after all. 

Try asking yourself: 

Is it useful? If it helps someone solve a problem or understand something, it's good enough.

Is it honest? If you wrote the truth as you see it, it's good enough.

Is it clear? If a reader can understand what you meant, it's good enough.

Is it complete? If you said what you needed to say, it's good enough.

"Good" is subjective. Useful, honest, clear, and complete are measurable qualities you can evaluate objectively.

Most writers are paralysed by the quest for "good" when they should be focused on making their writing useful.

What to Do When You Genuinely Can't Tell

If you've reread your piece multiple times and genuinely cannot assess whether it's good:

Publish it anyway.

You've lost objectivity. More staring won't help. You need external feedback to know if it works.

The only way to find out is to put it in front of readers.

Set a standard for "good enough."

Mine is: Does this say something true? Is it clear? Would it help someone?

If yes to all three, I publish. I stop trying to make it perfect and just make it done.

Trust your past self's judgment.

If you thought it was ready to publish when you finished editing it, trust that version of you. Present you is too deep in self-doubt to judge fairly.

Remember that you'll never think it's perfect.

Waiting for certainty that your piece is good means never publishing. You'll always find flaws. Always see ways it could be better.

Good enough is the goal. Not perfection.

The Real Writing Test

Want to know if your writing is good? Publish ten pieces and see which ones people respond to.

Not every piece will land and that's normal. Even great writers have pieces that flop.

But if you publish consistently, patterns emerge, and you'll quickly see which topics resonate, which style works and which structures get engagement.

And if you're still not convinced by publishing, remember, you can't evaluate quality from inside your own head. You need data, and you only get data by publishing.

Every piece you publish is both a contribution and a test. Some will work. Some won't. That's how you learn.

When Self-Doubt Is Actually Useful

Not being able to judge your own work isn't always a problem. Sometimes it's a feature.

If you could perfectly assess quality before publishing, you'd only publish the pieces you're certain are great, which means you'd publish rarely and play it safe.

Not being able to tell forces you to publish more. It pushes you to take risks and to put work out there that might be good or might not.

And that's how you get better, by publishing the uncertain pieces and learning from what happens.

The writers who succeed aren't the ones who only publish when they're certain it's good. They're the ones who publish despite not being sure, and let the audience tell them.

How I Decide Now

I've published over 450 articles. And believe it or not, I still can't reliably tell if a piece is good before I publish it.

So I've stopped trying to figure it out. Instead, I ask:

• Did I say something true?
• Is it clear enough that someone could understand it?
• Would this help someone who's struggling with the same thing I struggled with?

If yes to all three, I publish.

Some pieces land. Some don't. I've stopped being able to predict which is which.

But I've learned that not knowing is fine. 

It's part of being a writer. You write. You publish. You learn. You write again.

And you stop waiting for certainty that will never come.

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I write about the emotional and practical reality of being a writer - drafting, doubt, discipline, and publishing while still figuring it out.

Mostly for people who write because they have to, need to, want to | https://linktr.ee/ellenfranceswrites