You can write a novel that seems absolutely perfect to you: the dialogue is tight, the characters are richly layered and the plot crackles with energy. But you’ll still get notes, I guarantee it. And that’s a good thing.
Notes, by the way, are the comments you get from decision-makers (mostly literary agents and editors) about things that they want you to change in your writing. They can be about anything. Description (“Where’s Joe standing, exactly, when the frozen turkey falls on him?”). Continuity (“I thought Joe suffered a concussion in the last scene. How can he sing the Star Spangled Banner?”). Characters (“I don’t like Joe as a short-order cook. How about we call him Bob and make him a rodeo clown instead?”)
But after I was done pouting, I sat down and brainstormed a dozen or so new jokes for that part of the story, and guess what? I came up with something better. In the end, I was proud of the job I did, the editor was satisfied, and I’d long forgotten the tiny sting of that note by the time the piece got published.
And then, by golly, you deserve that cake!