When my wife doesn’t like something I’ve written, she tilts her head, squints her eyes and rereads, as if doing so will make it look better.

I fear that look. I despise that look.

But it also forces me to do things like rewrite the last two chapters of my current manuscript, thus changing the ending completely.

For the better.

The book is done. The first draft, at least. And a good draft, too. It needs work, but it’s complete.

My fifth novel. The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs.