That’s how long I’ve been trying to figure out the problems with my story. It’s infuriating. It’s mind-numbing. It chips away at those feelings of accomplishment I had from completing a first draft. The story is still broken. I’ve given it a go, at least three times, only to scrap it again and start over. I feel as if I’ve finally figured it out. This is it. This was the problem. I’ve fixed it. But no, I haven’t.

What I’ve slowly come to realize in my months of revising and outlining is that...