One of the characters in the novel speaks Spanish for a brief passage, and I believe they had a more colloquial command of the language than my feeble translation skills could handle. Here fate offered an answer. A lunchtime seating assignment — the students have assigned tables as well, it makes more sense in practice than it sounds — paired me with the Spanish instructor. They accepted, quite gracefully.

Enter the point. A novel is form that supports endless tinkering. An adjustment here, a tweak there, it all means a better finished product. Hopefully. But there are refinements that improve a story, and there are those that are busy work. The trick — I believe — is striking a balance. Allow enough time for a consideration of the finer points, and recognize the point of diminishing returns. This is an area I need more practice in. It’s especially hard when much of the work is mental, since the official revisions are closed until the Eight finishes their reading.

A new beginning looms; a meeting with one of The Eight next week. And then eight will be one.