Marin Townsend's Blog: Mostly Sarcastic Ramblings of a Small-Time Sass Master

I'm finally back to writing semi-consistently. (Let's face it--I never had a regular schedule for writing.) But for a while this winter, I was in a serious slump. Let's blame it on seasonal depression and the fact that it keeps snowing for no good reason. This past week, though, we had a few days of sunshine and as a result I played tennis for like three hours, worked out, skipped around the house, etc. And now I'm feeling better, in spite of the fact that the clouds have moved in once again. Just knowing that the temperature outside is above 30º helps some.

So, I've gotten back to writing. It's immediately evident that N3 is a first draft in the truest sense of the term. (Man, it's been a while since I've worked on a first draft. It's almost alarming how unpolished it is.) I went through a bumpy patch where I almost started over, because if I'm being perfectly honest with myself, I'm a compulsive story-starter and nothing more. Julie March helped me through it though. So now I'm on track. I'm making strides. I'm up to 7,500 words, which seems measly in comparison to what I'm used to staring at in my word-count bar. But it'll get there.

Patience, children.

As I haven't been around in a while, I almost feel the need to reintroduce myself. Since I'm confident you're all sufficiently quick-witted, I'll spare the introductions. You know me. You remember me, I'm sure.

An Announcement

N2 is finished.

You probably surmised that, though, from the status updates you may or may not be receiving in your feed. When I say finished, though, I mean I've finished the revision. If I recall correctly, the last time we spoke--or, rather, I spoke--I'd just deleted my manuscript in a fit of characteristic absentmindedness. But I overcame that. (Amazing, really.) I wrote it. I wrote it again. And now I've got one beta-reader doing their beta-reading. From the sound of it, it's painful.

I also realize N2's Goodreads page is in want of revision, but I'll get to that. Revision took longer than expected--far longer. I'm not even in possession of a printed copy yet, in spite of wanting on by the new year. But, c'est la vie. Seeing as how it's a bit delayed, accept my sincerest and most humble apologies and prepare yourselves.

Soon, my comrades.

Soon...

And now it's back to writing N3.

Did I mention I started N3?

If you don't understand that reference, I'm sorry, I can't explain it to you.

I can, however, tell you why I chose to title this blog post in that manner.

I accidentally deleted the N3 manuscript from my computer.

I'm not even sure how it happened, except I was deleting some inexplicable app update changelist .txt files from my documents and it must have somehow got selected. And, to boot, I compulsively "empty trash" whenever I put anything in it. So by the time I realized what I'd done, and the knot formed in my stomach, the file was probably overwritten in my disk.

I gathered my exhausted body and went over to Dropbox, where I knew I'd saved the file a while ago. And I found that, indeed, I had saved up to chapter four. (Previously, it had been eight chapters long and upwards of 20,000 words.) Alas, it is no longer such a majestic beast of writing prowess. It was hacked mercilessly down to 11,000 words.

And so now, I begin the painful process of rewriting and praying it's as good as it was, by turns.

Moral of the story: backup literally every version of your file. And if you get the cracked idea of deleting useless files on your computer, please be sure not to select useful files along with them.

Between acquiring a new kitten, preparing for my atypically busy summer and generally existing–I've been busy. And yet, you might wonder, why is this blog post titled “Progress”?

I'll tell you why, you nosy rascal.

Because I managed to design my cover, write a description, and format the print layout for the trade hardcover of Infamous. Do I get a round of applause?

No?

Okay, then.

Since you won't applaud me, why not take some more obnoxiously eager Infamous propaganda?

Here's hoping Aidan Turner doesn't sue me.

While I await my lawsuit, I might as well inform you that Infamous should be added to Goodreads shortly. Just as soon as I can finalize my description and cover.

Stay tuned.

Like, fully prepared?

I'm not kidding around here.

Have you sat and pondered the consequences you might face if you continue scrolling?

If you stopped right now?

If you left this blog post and never looked back?

I'm only thinking of you, here.

You're almost ready, I think.

I hear you, groaning in exasperation at your computer screen as your fingers cramp from scrolling and your eyes go unfocused.

I'm trying to make sure you've prepared yourself.

It has a name, now. It has a release date, now. It has a theme, now, which can be listened to by clicking the link.

Now is that enough to tide you over until I've got a print copy? Because if not, it'd better be.

N2 is officially done and edited. Now it's just up to Julie March to read through for copyedits. I've even managed to conjure from my mind—and the sickeningly orange pages of thesaurus.com—a working title. But you don't get that yet.

You do, however, get this gif of a kitten hugging another kitten in an uncharacteristic display of kitten-affection.

Thank you for your time.

By Fall Out Boy.

Sorry. Once you're in that habit, it's hard to get out of it.

But, in case you somehow missed my absence, I haven't posted in approximately three months. Give or take. Will you ever accept my penitent wailings? All I want is forgiveness. Really. I promise.

To be that guy, however, who asks for forgiveness and then relates all of the possible reasons you should forgive him, I have been very busy. First there was the arrival of springtime, which lead to my frolicking and all but forgetting Goodreads existed. Then there was Camp NaNoWriMo, which I happily participated in. Then there was The Flight. Yes, you heard it here first: I flew in a plane for the first time in my life.

It was exhillirating.

It's now one of my favorite things.

But, you are probably thinking–or maybe you're not, I'm no mind-reader–how does all of this effect the sequel to Notorious? Well, I'm glad you asked. (Or didn't ask. I can never be sure.) I'm quite chuffed to report that as of 4:08 p.m. Eastern Time my total word count is 93,478. And, to boot, I've set aside time tonight to write and–hopefully–knock out those extra 6,000 words. Maybe. Don't get your fragile hopes up, because I may fail to make that count miserably. And you know I can't stand people's disappointment.

So, with that great news happily doled out to you, my humble subjects, I again embark into the Outernet. (Only to set myself up with the Internet and my Word document again a few hours later. Don't judge me.)

No, unfortunately that is not the name of the sequel. However much you may think that is a good title, I'm not listening to you. That is, however, the name of the winter storm whose grip I and those whom I love are currently nestled within. (Julie March not excepted.) That means something like three to four inches of snow, laying comfortably over a thick layer of ice. And lemme tell you, the ice is everywhere.

All in all, things look something like this:

That means that, for the past three days, I've been inside, slowly nibbling away at what I need to accomplish in the aforementioned sequel. Which has been fun. And, I'm happy to report, I have overcome that terrible slump I was in. And it's all thanks to a new character. But I won't be telling you any more than that.

Yes, this is what life is like being a Pantser. He just sort of came into existence. Don't question it.

Those two statements are entirely unrelated. Or are they? Yeah. They are. The weather outside is...weather. Not the type of weather I'd exactly like to see, what with the snow spitting intermittently. But it's weather, nonetheless. And I've been told by numerous people to enjoy weather for what it is. I just find that hard to do when my fingers ache with cold. (See: Downfalls of Having Sinewy Fingers.)

But I digress. (Or do I, really?) I've just begun listening to Serial as of today. Because, prior, I've not found podcasts particularly interesting. And, failing that, I've found they're dismally distracting. But as I figured theorems and postulates today, I found Serial oddly unassuming. The narration is such that it allows you to let your mind wander some, but warns you of important details. Plus, the story—while it is a snail's-pace-burn—is compelling. I want to listen to the next episode.

But, alas, I have to write.

Pitiful, no?

Don't get me wrong, I'm doing this for you. I'm going to write. But I do want to know what comes next...

Oh, but, before I go—and if you're interested in nontraditional electronic background noise that will make you feel like the hipster you know you internally are, please give Chet Faker a listen.

So, I started the first draft over.

Want to know why?

I'll tell you why.

It wasn't working. Simple as that. *dedicated one-draft writers screaming in the distance* Does that frighten you? That I began again? Allow me to tell you a thing.

I have about twenty first-drafts of Notorious in my Dropbox. Two of which have found their way to print format, and one of which I'm actually satisfied enough with to present to people and say, "Yes, look, I wrote this thing. Here, read it." That's a big accomplishment for me. Julie March can vouch for that. I'm a perfectionist freak when it comes to my art. And sometimes that might be a little bit of a good thing. Because it's thanks to those twenty or so 11 point Arabic Typesetting-set drafts that I shudder to look at now that I've finished what I have.

Thanks, ugly little drafts. 100K is nothing to sniff at.

I can only imagine how this would have turned out if I'd charged along with one of the previous drafts...

This leads me to a very appropriate Ira Glass Quote on the subject. Said quote is your reading material this week, children.

So, tonight, I've taken the opportunity to plug my headphones into my computer and let Colin Meloy serenade me into a state of perfect prosaic language. This, as I go boldly into the beginning of the second-first-draft.

Or would that be second draft?

Either way, don't blink. Blink and you're dead.