I went back to an old novel again. That's the best thing about old novels - you can go back to them any time and they won't complain about your lack of interest or attention.
So I went back to it: it was pretty much complete, and as close to first draft as was possible without being a First Draft itself. I had gone back to it several times in the intervening years, added a touch of colour here or a dash of modification there, and the best part about it was that, I still loved it, and I still believed in it. And there were even parts of that story that I thought had come out very well. (No, I really thought they were brilliant.) Those parts still gives me the goosebumps.
That novel gives me hope. It tells me that however the odds seem stacked against me, I should not lose hope. It is only a matter of time. And unless I persist, all my efforts will be wasted. There are so many things to do - but if the foundation is not robust, nothing can salvage it.
The thing about returning to the novel after a long break is that your vision would have improved, and there would be more clarity in your themes and characters, and most importantly, you would know how to bring it out. Time plays a huge role in making the right decisions, in doing away with unnecessary embellishments, and to compact the text into a better form.
Love.