Ok, the event I am about to purge my soul about can not really be labelled 'techno-failure'. Let's be honest with ourselves, Carla. It is, indeed, 'person-failure'. More specifically, 'Carla-failure'.
How many times have I read blogs, books, notes, been told, been reminded, been exasperatedly fist-shaken at to back up my work. EVERY TIME I WORK ON ANYTHING. BACK IT UP!
The Mighty G has told me, repeatedly. Magic K has told me umpteen times. I know it. It should be carved into my soul by now. But no. No, my soul seems to have one of those magic magnetic swipey doodle pads in it where you can wipe it with a flick.
Where is this going? You have probably guessed by now.
About two weeks ago I had to do a bit of a move around of files from my laptop to my Mac and then save into a new folder, blah, blah, blah. I was doing it, in typical Carla-style, quickly, hurriedly, non-thinkingly, and when my clever Mac asked me if the file I wanted to save had a buddy with the same name from another mem stick was the one I wanted to replace (or some such wording that had me completely thinking I was doing the right thing, yet in reality had me doing the most horrible WRONG thing ever) I said, yeah, go on, save over it. I don't need that old file. It's, like, four months old and I've done so much editing and paring down and awesome fix ups since then, so be off with you old version of The Nereid!
Gulp. Horror. The big, fat, stupid reveal. I SAVED OVER THE NEW WITH THE OLD! I saved over the new version of my 100,000 plus word completed, edited, happy-with novel with a four month older version that is missing EVERY SINGLE MOMENT OF UTTER GENUIS I HAD in the editing process!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Yes!!!!! At this point let's take a moment for you to fully understand the inimitable tragedy of this particularly DUMB-ASS move on my part.
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It's gone. Truly, totally gone. Yes, I tried everything to undo what I did. Yes, I had The Mighty G try everything superhumanly possible to get it back for me, and believe me, The Mighty G knows his stuff!
But to no avail. All that work, all that thinking hard about every damn word, is gone. I had fine-tuned the prologue down from 2 pages to 8 lines and it had more intensity, more action and more intrigue thatn before! Can I repeat that? Can I find the right words again? God knows!
I have not even looked at the novel since then. Two weeks. When I was just about ready to have it go live on Amazon, when it was so close to being ready for the next step on the road to the finished, tangible book in print, it was gone.
I'm not ashamed to admit I cried in the shower, like, really cried, howled, bawled my eyes out, sobbed pathetically on the cold shower floor, tears competing with the flow of the water, and bloody-near winning. I was a mess. A wreak. A total, gibbering, blubbering fool. I grieved. I raged. I angerfied myself into hating all technology. Then I admitted to myself that the only fault in the technology was my own, careless, foolhardy self.
I lost the file. I was too busy to stop and really read the prompt. I had not backed up my novel in over four months! What kind of moron doesn't do the back up!? Well, obviously, this kind of moron.
So where am I at with this now? Trying to will myself to delve back in. To open the old file and get to work on the editing again. The final edit. The last stand at the OK Corale before it goes to the professionals. And I have to tell you all, there's a part of me, a really negative, bitchy little part of me, that keeps sniffling in my head to just flag the whole thing. Why bother. It was crap anyway.
We all have that snivelly little bitch in us that tells us to give up. Tells us the myriad of reasons we are losers over and over again. What makes my snivelly bitch wrong? Why shouldn't I just listen to her for once and give up on the stupid notion of being a writer. Why don't I just focus on what I'm really good at. Home-making. Hahahaha. I can hear The Mighty G from over a hundred miles away kicking my ass for that last self-deprecating remark. Yeah, I'm a great cook, baker, cleaner, maker of nice things for my family, mother etc. But I'm also a damn good writer. A determined, crazy idea'd, fanatical believer in doing what you love and I love to create stunning stories. And I want to get them out there. I want to share my stories and other amazing stories I fall in love with. That's why Black Robin came about. That's why I bust my ass and finger tips on the keyboard every day - well, not for the last two weeks!
I want to finish The Nereid. I need to. I have to get in there. Go back, repeat the process, the hard work, the almighty thinking.
I have to stop complaining about what happened in a blog and just OPEN THE DAMN FILE......
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