Rewriting is its own circle of hell. There is every possibility I’m making the novel worse. Right now I’m putting a subplot back in that I had taken out. Perhaps I’ve found the magic ingredient and the results will be amazing and excellent and everyone will ask for the recipe. Or I’ve just pitched a whole watermelon into my vegetable stew and splattered myself and the kitchen. Probably I’ve knocked over the pot as well and scalded the dog.
See-even my analogies (or are they metaphors?) make no sense.