My writing for the past two weeks has been admittedly hard won. I’m still fighting a turn-my-brain-to-slush virus, and am also muddling my way through essays and exams for uni. So every word on the rewrite has been slow, overthought and precious.
At some point last night, while I was happily dreaming of cat-shaped slippers, my laptop undertook an auto update. Of what, I have no idea. All I know is that this morning when I flipped open my laptop, my array of word docs, scrivener files, excel sheets and google searches were all alarmingly absent.
It took another thirty seconds to discover that my past two weeks of work were gone, too.
Did I cry hysterically? Yep.
Did I declare the end of my writing career? Absolutely.
Is there any chocolate, biscuits or ice cream left in the house? Hell no.
So now as the crumbs are dusted off my shirt and the chocolate smudges wiped off the keyboard (and couch, pillows, walls, TV remote and carpet), I’m left to contemplate the thousands of words lost and the little rejigs that made the chapters flow better.
A friend kindly pointed out that this is an opportunity to do better, since I hadn’t been happy with my writing for the past fortnight. I know she’s right, and the manuscript will be enriched because of it.
I just need another packet of biscuits before I get started.