I am getting much, much closer to finishing up this book. But I am also getting much closer to trichotillomania (look it up.) Revision, by its very nature, requires a writer to listen to themselves talk. Alot. Revision also requires some distance from the project, some distance from the original draft, for one to make any meaningful, helpful changes. So I am constantly reading something that I thought was a fabulous sentence three weeks or six months or two years ago and hating it. Which is, on one hand, a good sign, because it means that I have evolved as a writer since writing that sentence originally. But is, on the other hand, terrible and frustrating in a hair-pulling way because for every sentence to be the exact way I want it in this moment, the exact pinnacle of brilliant verbage I am capable of as a writer in this moment, I would have had to have written the entire 250-page book in my most recent nanosecond of consciousness. That would be my superpower, if I could pick one.