Last night two months work was deleted due to a power failure.
If you’ve ever written something, written something good, you know how it feels. I’ve tried everything, but the document and most of the material is irretrievable.
When you write, it’s like bringing up a child. You nurture it, make sure it can stand on its own two feet, give it encouragement, views and perspectives. When the work is finished, you send it off to face the world.
Sometimes children die.
It’s taken away. The parent stands there, walking aimlessly around, wondering what the hell can I do in sheer frustration of not being able to revive the dead kid. Then you realize it. A pang of sudden chills weaken your knees. You fall to the ground, struggle for breath, as reality makes its way down to your last shred of hope.
No parent should ever have to experience that. I just did.
And if you write, you know that every goddamn word is an emotional investment. If it isn’t, you’re not much of a writer, and you might as well find something else to do. All this work, every single investment, every concentrated thought – lost.
The Greeks had a dramaturgic term called hybris. It means the gods’ envy. No man should try to be like the gods. If he gets too close, the gods will punish him. I don’t even believe in the gods, but this – well, if I had, this would have been their envy.
This post has generated alot of "feel better" messages in my inbox. Thank you.
I will now not kill myself. Among others, The Daily Bloon expressed their concern.