Frustration Overload

Yesterday I was working on a new piece, one that I was loving with each word appearing on the page. It was just one of those moments of writing where the idea, the expression, the character, all of it meshed in a truly satisfying way. I had reached what was almost the end when I thought it'd be a good time to take a short break. I knew how I was going to finish it off, so a stretch of the legs, a breather of the mind would do me good. I clicked on save, clicked on yes when the dialogue box asked if I really wanted to save, and the document disappeared. I thought it had gone into my personal documents file on my laptop. Only it didn't. I have no idea where the document went.

After six hours of searching for it, implementing suggestions from my wonderful, helpful friends, I called off the rescue. Apparently there's no recovery to be made either. The document is gone. Well, I'm sure it's here somewhere, but it's hiding really, really well.

So today I rewrote the piece. It has the same idea. It has the same character. The expression, though, isn't at all the same. The totally zoned in writing moment of yesterday is but a memory.

If there's anything to be positive about right now it is that I do feel like I'm finding my voice. After many, many years of being away from my first love--the short story--I do feel like I'm finding my way back with a totally new perspective, totally new way of offering an idea. That excites me. Though the rewrite of yesterday's story may not meet the level the first version achieved, I know somewhere along the line I'll step back into that zone I found, and when I do, I'll make sure to save my work to a clealy labeled file.

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