Ed Catmull spent twenty years building the technology for a movie nobody believed could exist. That movie became Toy Story. And for most of those twenty years, whenever he and his team showed people what they were working on, they got the same reaction: this isn’t good enough.
In a recent interview, he said something about that time that keeps echoing in my mind:
The funny thing to me is that I remember throughout this, whether in audio or video or computer graphics or animation, I get the list of reasons why this isn’t good. Well, that list, which was their reason for not accepting something, was actually our list of things to improve. And that’s where we are today. People say: I don’t like this because of… Okay. What is it? What is it you don’t like about it? That’s where I’m going to work on.
The critics and Catmull were looking at the exact same list. For them, it was a verdict. For him, it was a to-do list.
I have a list like that too
Mine doesn’t come from Hollywood executives. It comes from inside my own head, and it’s been running for as long as I can remember.
Your writing is clumsy. English isn’t even your first language. You have no talent — if a Murakami considers himself lacking talent, who the fuck are you? Nobody reads this. And lately a new item: you’re “producing” more text with LLMs than you’re actually writing, so why even keep trying?
I wrote about my relationship with this inner critic before, about how it evolved over the years. First I wasn’t even aware of it. Then I believed every word it said. Then I treated it like an enemy, something to push aside and tune out. And eventually, I got to a place where I could see it as a protector part, one that’s trying to safe me from failure and humiliation, and is just doing the best job it can.
But Catmull made me realize there’s maybe another stage after that. Not just understanding the critic, but actually putting it to work.
Because that voice is, if I’m honest, the most thorough quality tester I’ll ever have. It never gets tired. It notices everything. It’s just a real asshole.
What is it you don’t like about it?
The key is in Catmull’s question. Not “is this good?”, but “what is it you don’t like about it?”
“This is shit” is not something you can work on. It’s a feeling, and arguing with it gets you nowhere. (Believe me, I’ve tried and it’s very energy-expensive.)
But “the second paragraph says the same thing as the first one” is something you can work on. “You use the same three adjectives in every post” is something you can work on. “The ending just kind of… stops” is something I can actually do something about.
So when the critic speaks up, keep asking until the complaint gets specific. What exactly? Where? Show me.
And here’s the interesting part: some complaints get more specific when you push on them, and some don’t. “Who are you to write about this?” doesn’t turn into a to-do item no matter how much you keep pushing and squeezing. There’s nothing to fix there. That’s not a note on the work — that’s fear wearing the costume of a note. Those you don’t put on the list. Those you give a big hug (or punch it on the nose like a shark), and move on.
One problem at a time
Catmull also told a story about his first teacher in grad school, Ivan Sutherland, the pioneer of computer graphics. Back then nobody even knew how to make a decent image on a computer.
Sutherland’s advice? “No matter what your big vision is, you take a step at a time. You solve the problem in front of you.”
Twenty years of that. One problem, then the next one, then the next one. Until one day the reviews for Toy Story came out, and almost none of them talked about the computer. They just talked about the movie.
If you want to try this yourself, it’s simple:
- Write down everything your inner critic says about your work. Don’t argue, just take notes like a secretary.
- Go through each item and ask: What exactly? Where? Push until it’s specific.
- Cross out everything that isn’t specific. That’s outside of the scope of this exercise.
- From what’s left, pick one. Only one. Work on that.
Catmull also talked about how people look at early AI work, see a lot of slop, and conclude that this will never work. They judge the whole field by where it is right now. “No,” he said, “we’re at the beginning.”
I think the same is true for every one of us who makes things. You judge yourself by today’s draft, and today’s draft is never good enough. That’s fine. It’s the beginning. It’s always the beginning.
So, dear inner critic: What is it you don’t like about it?
Okay. That’s where I’m going to work on.