Last night my IKEA bed collapsed. As I put it back together, I realized the issue wasn't any fault of my assembly, but rather the fact that IKEA had neglected to put an extra quarter-inch of sheet metal along the sides of the frame to - y'know - hold the fucking bed in place.
Enough swearing. Here comes the writing analogy.
Sometimes, a story looks really good when viewed in all its parts. It's got a nice coat of paint. Girlfriend? Loves it. Frame holds the bed. Read it, and it speaks to your soul.
But then you get in and it just breaks on you, because you forgot to add a quarter-inch of sheet metal.
I'm still re-writing a story for a market that, should it sell, will pay for a few extra lengths of sheet metal so I can "mod" by bed (which is something that makes me so enthusiastic I'm unable to properly convey my excitement in writing). But unlike IKEA customer service, the editor considering my story is a great help; she's shown me what to do to make sure that bed don't collapse no more. That's totally awesome for multiple reasons, but mostly because I'm learning. There's really good feelings to be had when you improve your writing.
Maybe that will make up for the fact that sleeping on my bed right now is as enervating as sleeping beside an IED. And, hey, maybe my writing is just giving me a handyman analogy; something like, cut the unnecessary scenes and add a stupid quarter-inch of sheet metal where the story doesn't hold up.