The first draft of a novel is a glorious, chaotic mess. There’s no other way to describe it. You get the idea, you chase it, you lasso it onto the page while it’s still half-feral and snarling, and for a while, it feels like triumph. Like art. Like the great masterpiece has arrived in the form of a blinking cursor and 90,000 words that you just know are at least 87% brilliant. Then you reread…