I'm going through the manuscript and writing short pieces and making edits. The notes and citations are for another day and another headache, but so far, this is quacking like a book.
Some chapters haven't been touched for a while. This means that, absent a writing group, I get to look at them with a more impartial eye. My reactions are ranging from "I have to fix this" to "hey, I've read worse" to "okay, this is pretty cool."
One time I read about an irritable projectionist who, when the sprockets wouldn't line up or there was a break in the film he was showing, would simply tear out big handfuls of film and splice the rest together. He didn't care if the film made sense. I now get where he was coming from.
Pieces I thought were necessary and left to be written later--well, I'm not so sure I need some of them now. This doesn't have to be the world's last book, or my last book, either. It's like saving leftover pie crust for tarts: there'll be a use for it somewhere.
I took about 6,000 words out of a chapter today. It was on additional works by an author, and I didn't need them, but--. No buts about it. It's all just more pie crust for another time.
There's still at least an hour of work time left if I get at it now.