I sat at my computer to jot down a quick note I had for my story, and...
I couldn't find it. I looked in documents...I looked in One Drive...I looked in the 'Search' function... nothing.
I did this for about a half hour. At some point, somehow, I seem to have deleted all the notes I had on my story. All...six hundred and fifty pages...of ten-font notes...gone...in an instant.
At first I was numb. Then I had this weird moment (that I'm retrospectively thinking about) where I'm trying to make myself more angrier than I am. I feel like I should be really angry or depressed or something. I do feel like an emptiness had been opened up, but at the same time I felt a little lighter. I was trying to convince myself that this was probably for the good. My ambitions far outmatched my apparent talents and dropping this would free me up for something else. But on the way to work I kept thinking about my story- more so than I had in a week. It was like if a tree was cut down in the middle of the night, the next day you wake to find shoots sprouting from a tiny seed. Sprouting rapidly. I was rebuilding the story in my mind, piece by piece. I felt daunted about having to go through all of that. I felt daunted by some of the details I lost and probably would never remember again. I kind of really wanted to quit, but my mind was white-hot at this moment, quickly recalling things and, a little to my surprise, even thinking of ways of making some things better. As if this misfortune were a good thing- like burning a field seeming counter-intuitive to making land more productive.
I did go through this twice a long time ago. I was smaller, of course. I had lost pages and pages of notes. Once my father made me tear it up in front of him because I wasn't paying attention in class because of it. The other time I lost because my laptop died on me (and took everything with it, the greedy bastard). Both times I felt like poo and thought I'd never write again. And each time I...just started writing. It's something that should have made me feel terrible- especially happening on Thanksgiving- but I'm actually a little pleased with myself because at least I know writing is that natural for me that I can't stop even if I tried. And it's not so bad because even though the details are lost, the general things are still there in my head. This time...I think I'll follow through on my own advice and make a back-up.
650 pages... Fudge it all.