While breezing along with my WIP on Monday midday, it looked to be a productive week. The characters were behaving badly (as they should), the dialogue rang true, and the transitions were as smooth as butter. Everything I wrote sounded goooood. No editing needed. As a writer, you know this is not the norm. The process usually equals angst-ridden, hand-wringing days, when getting a paragraph down feels like you've had to use a quill pen between your teeth to write it. It's painful. But Monday was different. My smugness swelled like a balloon.
And then it popped.
It popped when I plugged in the flash drive yesterday to continue working. I clicked on the WIP folder.
I thought the blank page, the Void of White Nothing, was teasing me for being so smug. I looked everywhere. Then I found that not only was Monday's work missing, but the flash drive seemed to have cannibalized several days of writing. In all, about 6,000 words.
I've remembered bits and pieces of the good parts since yesterday (and saved them on a new flash drive). It will take me days to rewrite instead of jumping into the groove of three days ago. I'm back to feeling the angst and hand-wringing, to writing with a quill between my teeth.
Smugness, thy name is not writer.