I Hate Editing...is that so bad?

      Working on Threshold to Midnight. I wrote this 500+ page book a few years ago and since going Indie I decided to break this into two books, part one and part two.
      When I look for a book one of the things I look for is length. I read a lot so I love a long book that takes me away. I think longer books take you further into the world the author was building and you get to know the characters better. I loved King's Under the Dome and read it before I got my Kindle. It was a b*tch to lug around but worth the read. Now with Kindles big books get easier.
     Unfortunately, I hear a lot of people don't like to commit to a long book. I really don't understand this at all, but it is what it is. So that's what led me to chop this book in half. As an Indie I also have to wonder if this would be more profitable? Getting the reader to come back for more?
      After cutting the thing up, I suddenly got an idea for book three and a 10 page outline popped out of my head. One problem...I already wrote books 1 & 2 and want to dive into writing 3, but I'm trying to restrain myself to get 1 & 2 edited and up on Amazon.
     I hate editing! I so want to just move forward. I'm all excited about the ideas for number 3 and getting the rest of this story out of my head.

     Then there's the break for playing with book covers.... MaWahhahahahaha! I don't know if I'm any good at it, but I'm having fun.

Any input on covers if greatly appreciated.

 Book One;

     Diana sat down to breakfast with a madman. 

     Eggshells, she thought. This is what they mean when they say walking on eggshells. This edge of your seat fear that the wrong move, the wrong word, will set him off.

     She chanced a glance toward her husband and saw it. Right there in those Robert Redford blue eyes was the mania. That touch of insanity that crawled into their lives a few months ago was shimmering in her husband’s eyes. Like a gleam of another dimension. A place where madness grew like wild flowers. Or maybe weeds. Weeds that set their roots down deep in Luke’s brain and mangled his thoughts. Tightening on his brain cells and twisting them with fear, anger and confusion. She knew if she could get him to some kind of mental hospital they would tell her the fruit loops in his box were doing the jig right now, trying to escape.