Turns out, I’ve been hiding

by VelvetFletcher on January 8, 2014

in Writer Life

A month ago, I was away from home for a week. While I was away, my tablet died.

Pffft. Kaput. Dead. Bricked itself entirely.

I tried not to cry, and succeeded mostly. My tablet is an older one. It’s been around the tracks and around the country with me. It was bound to happen. The timing was shitty at the very best, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

I dragged my tablet everywhere with me, from reading ebooks at midnight, to playing Candy Crush before I had to get out of bed in the morning. It was never far away, especially at 3am when I couldn’t sleep I’d sit up for hours jotting down book outlines and taking notes.

Most of those notes I transcribed to a notebook, but when my tablet died, I still lost some outlines I’d been working on for a while. Turns out, dropbox doesn’t sync Notes the way it syncs photos and videos.

It took a bit of tweaking, but I managed to get my tablet back up and working again, but my notes were gone forever.

I didn’t think much of it, because hey, at least my tablet wasn’t bricked anymore and I could read books in the dark.

But then I was chatting to my friend Calandra the other day and I told her I’d lost at least five decent outlines, as well as some basic ideas, and I was feeling uninspired to start anew. She was sympathetic, patting my arm (figuratively – she’s in the US) and consoling me.

She pointed out how terrible it was and understood in a way only a fellow writer could, just how devastating the loss of ideas was.

I know that those ideas are close to the surface still, and with a little scratching I could pull them out, but as Calandra said sometimes rewriting is harder than starting afresh.

It’s true. I didn’t realise how hard it was to lose that work until someone else pointed out what a sucky situation it was.

I’ve been hiding, licking my wounds and waiting for things to feel a little easier, which I’ve realised is never going to happen. I need to move on, salvage what I can and keep writing. I’ve still got ideas, scattered around the house like a veritable snow of notebooks and post-it notes.

There’s never going to be a magic time to start again. No one is going to give me back the lost hours I spent, and I can’t pull the words out of my arse. So I need to just start.

And I guess that’s what this is – me just starting. Talking about it. Holding myself accountable to someone out there on the intertubes.

Holiday’s over Velvet.

Get back to work.

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