You read somewhere to walk away from your novel for a week. Come back, do one last pass, and then … you’re done.

That was the plan.

But your brain couldn’t stop thinking about that one little place that needed a tweak. And while you’re there, you might as well look at this other part that has always felt a bit off too. And you just thought of a better word for that sentence that keeps bothering you.

“Just a couple things,” you say. “Only take a minute.”

Now two (wait, has it been three?) hours later, you’ve gone through several chapters, noticed an odd word or two that you really should just fix while you’re here … and that little voice that was whispering in your ear is getting louder. “You don’t need to keep reworking this.” Not dramatic, but slightly annoying since you’re making such good progress.

“Yes, I know, I know,” you whisper back, as you do a double take on a misspelling, and you’re determined to check it all again and make absolutely sure before you decide it’s ready for an editor.

You’ve built what you needed to build.

What’s left are smaller decisions—and trying to resolve them isn’t going to work the way you expect it to. Where you are is down the writer rabbit hole … circling. There isn’t anything new to find. You’re not missing anything, and nothing is wrong.

You’ve just been in it long enough that it all feels like … it still needs something.

It doesn’t.

Your editor is not going to judge you.