You’re there when they’re born. You nurture them as they grow, watching them develop a path of their own. You can’t resist the urge to keep correcting them, helping them, hoping that they’ll benefit from your continued input. Finally, there comes the time to let them go out on their own, when there’s nothing more you can do to prepare them and still you don’t want to let go.
You must be a writer.
It’s time. It’s probably past time. I need to let the book go. There are no more “real” changes or improvements I can make to the story. It needs to be allowed to step out into the world and fend for itself.
But it’s so hard.
Even today, I went through another pass on the book. I had changes to 40 pages or so. Maybe five of them were “important”. The rest were nitpicking. Straightening a shirt collar, brushing a lock of hair, reminding about the weather. If my book was a person, it would have been exasperated.
But you must know how it feels. You only want the best; you want to set them up with a chance to succeed. So perhaps you dote a little too much and a little too long. They’re your babies and it’s tough letting go.