You can tell when it’s special and when it’s not.
You can tell when it’s right and when it’s not.
You know more about words than most readers. Use the right ones. They’ll get it. Eaters don’t need to be chefs. Chefs need to be chefs.
You’ve learned about structure from reading and thinking about mysteries. Use that.
But you’ve never actually cared who did it, and you’ve learned more about structure from jokes than from mysteries. Use that more.
You’ve never dreamed of being a financial star. Don’t start now. Be special, be right, be small.
Know what everyone’s doing, and where, and why, including the ones that aren’t in this scene.
Know why everyone says everything, including the narrator.
You found out what you were really getting at in draft 1 when you wrote its climax. Write draft 2 like it’s a joke: If you look at the plot backward, everything should hang from the punchline.
But since it’s a novel, what’s hanging on that nail should be a mobile.
If you’ve seen it before, cut it.