This past week I made a break through — I wrote my heart out, readers. I dove deep into the mind and emotion of my hero and wrote until I cried. It was exhausting. It was exhilarating.
And then, it was gone.
Today, I opened my manuscript, expecting to pick up right where I left off, excited to reenter the soul of Breslin Black; then realized, the last twenty pages had disappeared. Been deleted. Went bye-bye.
I’ve been staring at the blank space beneath the paragraph I wrote days ago. Hoping, praying, somehow, if I stare hard enough, long enough, those adrenaline rushing words will appear.
But they don’t.
And they won’t.
Because they’re gone.
Since I’m sitting in a coffee house, I’m doing my very best not to yell obscenities at my computer. At my Dropbox folder that I thought I had placed my latest manuscript in. I’m bordering on appearing crazy, mumbling under my breath and literally tugging at my hair in fistfuls.
This is painful, readers. PAINFUL!
I can only assume that the writing gods (God, please?) know for a fact that what I “thought” was brilliant writing, was in deed crap. And that the only way for me to fix it was to delete it straight from my hardrive, forcing me to start again.
I’m in a mood now.
Please, comfort me with your stories of “what the HECK just happened?”; it’s the only way I’ll be able to move on.