In the off-hours, I'm completing a last (truly) pass through the novel, clearing up lapses in the fictional dream (as well as typos). Something's happening: the psychological texture of the book is coming out in higher relief, is more coherent and consistent.
Soon, I will have to stop: there is a point beyond which further editing of this sort risks choking off the reader's flow of association -- which, once established, is guided by the text but separate from it -- so the book becomes dull and controlling.
A delicate operation, this business of knowing when to stop.
