I wrote a novel. I had someone read and comment on it. Then, I made the changes and another person critiqued it. I revised to fix the issues and re-read and tweaked the novel some more. At this point, I thought I had a submission. Wrong.
Every time I look at my novel, I find something else to change. I’m coming to realize that ‘completed novel’ is an oxymoron and is an aspiration I may never reach. No, I’m not giving up on the novel; I’m just accepting that I may never like 100% of my word choices or sentence structures. (I still believe in the plot or I wouldn’t have a novel at all). I plan to continue working on it until I’m confident that my submission is sound enough to survive the literary agent search process.
Oh well, the extra weeks (months? years?) spent refining my story gives me time to toughen up for the next step in the process; when I send my paper child out into the world. I hope my child finds success and acceptance, but I need to prepare for likelihood of rejection.