The expectations it arouses don't reflect the reality.
I've got a story more than 10,000 words long, but shorter than 15,000. It's a pretty good story, though. I decided this week it was ready to go somewhere, if I could find any place likely to take it. So I spend some time turning up possibilities.
And I go in for the last grooming edit.
And I realize, no, there's this problem that's going to prevent anyone from taking it, and the market for short novellas is so small, I can't afford to waste any shots. It can't go out as is, sorry. And solving that problem is going to suck creative energy off the WIP.
But it's got to be done, because even with that big flaw, it's a pretty good story; and once I fix it, it'll be good.
Which doesn't necessarily mean it's saleable in the current market, but I can't help that. The current market may have changed drastically before I fix this.
And this is why writers can't think about progress. So much of the progress we make feels like running in circles.
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