Finished the First Draft

See title above. It was a struggle. Took everything I had. Just as I was thinking that I had it about 90% done, my eye started to snag on all sorts of awkward sentences, baffling constructions, etc. And I had to ignore these things and press on to the end, get it into a big document and print it out and hand it off to a writer friend for a first look.

It's all difficult. I wake up in the wee hours thinking about certain points in the novel, tracing the plot backward and forwards, trying to decide if it holds up. My state of mind (burnout, insomnia) is reminiscent of the state I get into when I'm writing code. In both cases, the moment I lay down to sleep my mind turns a sweeping spotlight on the work I've just done and begins a serious but seemingly random inspection. All I can do is lie there and watch as lines of dialog or subroutines leap out and me and are slowly scrolled past my field of vision.

But the novel is away. It's off to the first of several reviewers for comments etc. I can't tell if it's any good. In baseball terms the novel is a home run swing, but I'm still not sure if I'm hearing the solid crack of wood on leather or a whiffing sound (complete w/groaning catcalling crowd).

Last night I had a dream that turned into a perfect short story. It involved a drive in an old sedan, a dirt road, an aged and hated rival, and the interior of a white cinderblock room with no doors or windows. The climax took place in the room. It was great. I woke up and told myself to remember it all. I lay awake and fixed all the details in my mind, then I fell back asleep. In the morning everything but the few details I've salvaged (and related above) was gone, washed away by a mighty river of dream-sewage. Oh well. That's how it is these days.