As a writer, there are two ends in the range of literary concern: when you mainly think about the reader, and when you mainly think about yourself. And, as most things in this life, none of the extremes is good. Those writers who are too concerned in pleasing the reader with their work, in form and/or content, take the risk of devoiding their stories of a true temperament, the necessary strength, an appealing soul. Those, however, who just focus on saying what they want and on expressing themselves, may very soon bore the reader and lose his interest.
When we write, we should have both things into mind and keep a balance: on one hand, it is not the stories (however interesting) that the storyteller tells what make them so fascinating (and him such a parsonage), but the personal spirit he insufflates them; on the other hand, neither the excellence of a literary style nor the the rich innner life of a writer will, by themselves, suffice to make him successful unless he has, besides, something to say that interests the reader, which somehow needs to get involved in the story or, at least, not be utterly excluded from it.