How could you tell something was finished? When you worked on a bit, it quickly ceased being funny to you. You had to operate on faith, on a vague memory that the stuff had excited you at some point and was worth pursuing. Tightening a bit could feel right, sharpening it could make you feel smarter, but after a while, what you couldn’t count on was knowing whether it was funny at all. You had to rely on others for that.
