done? or done-done

 With writing, especially fiction writing, I never quite know when I'm done.
"Done." Done-done.
I'm better now at stages, the wild and creative and shaggy rough draft, the first rounds of edits, then letting it all rest for awhile, like a yeasted dough. Something has to ferment in the prose, or my brain, or both. Then the return, another round of edits, and feeling around for threads, that idea or theme that emerges, reveals itself, clarifies everything, making it easy to see what stays, and what is mercilessly (but not unemotionally) excised.
So: rough draft, edits, resting, threads, edits.
And then?
I like to tinker, adding lines, removing them, seeing how they feel and read.
I ask myself questions: did I go deep enough here? Does it all make sense? Have I found something new or meaningful to say or investigate or rage about? Is there a sense of longing, understanding, wanting more?
You know when bread's done, by the baking time and aromas.
With fiction, for me, it's still a guessing game.