I finished my short story today. Well, the truth is that I finished it a long time ago, but I've been going back and revising it over and over again. People aren't wrong about the editing process - it's a pain in the ass. I might have spent at least four hours this week on one sentence alone. But I'm happy with it for now. It's a story I started in junior year of college (2010). I thought it was so revolutionary at the time, but years later, I see the many holes and weak spots ... and I think that's good. That's progress. I don't know if there's a point where you can be completely 100% satisfied with your work, but I'm not touching this one again - at least not for now. The touching process is over. In the immortal words of the prison guard, "NO TOUCHING!"
It's crazy to see how "far" my writing has come in the past few years. You think you're so great when you're small, and then you realize you're nothing at all.