When I started editing my first novel, I progressed like a hippo in quicksand. Editing lacked the freedom and joy of writing, and though both require discipline, editing, unlike writing, unleashed the mean-spirited critic inside me. One day I would hate every word; the next, I would cling to everything I'd written in awkward self-defense.
I've edited that first novel through three drafts. I've taken the whole thing apart, separated it into "scenes" and "summaries", and pieced it back together. Now I'm letting it rest before one final pass.
Have I learned to like editing? Maybe, a little, now that the critic is under control.