This morning, I was driving to work and thinking of Patrick Rothfuss and all the great storytellers in the world and thinking of the stories I want to tell. Which led me to thoughts of my maligned, neglected, abandoned novel.
And I decided to publish it.
Here.
A couple of chapters a week.
This intermittently updated blog is, of course, my real writing baby. It's been such good company for me. And while it's true that when I began it, I'd hoped to become Wonkette or Tom and Lorenzo or some such thing. But then I divorced it from bloggy ambition and let it just became a place to dump my thoughts. And it's nice to have a place to dump my thoughts.
This novel, The March, I did have ambition for it. But it's been such a long process. And it's time to end it and set the damn thing free. But before I end it, a quick note about the beginning of it: the book is 63 chapters long. I've spent more time on Chapter 1 than all the other chapters combined. Maybe twice as much. I've never figured out how to start it well. It's hard to start a story.
I just spent about two hours here murdering, with extreme prejudice, all my chapter one darlings. And now I'm sending it out into the world. I'll post a chapter every Monday and Thursday. I'll keep a post for a TOC and link to next chapters as it's published. I'm joining my wordy babies. Read it, share it, it's not terrible. Maybe. I don't even know anymore.
But it's time to put it out there. And I'm putting it out with this.
