Such was the agonized cry that reverberated throughout my house on Friday evening. More than once.
I got confused and copied the old version of Chapter Two over the revised version when I dutifully went to save my work before calling it a day (well, night -- it was about 8:45 p.m.) and settling down to watch my new DVD of Clarissa.
Oh, the agony! Twenty pages worth of additions and revisions gone.
What did I do? Well, I got my marked up hard copy and did it again. No Clarissa for me.
I was already in the "tossing and turning" stage of the work. I always get in a bit of a panic at this point, which is a sort of comfort, I guess. But I still don't sleep well. I toss and turn and have dreams that feature some sort of disaster that has nothing to do with writing or my story, just life in general.
This is also the time where, if somebody were to say to me in that dreamy way, "Oh, I'd like to be a writer someday," my reaction would be the ol' stink eye.
However, there is some good news in the Land Of Panic. I'd added 18 pages to the Manuscript That Already Ate New York but after cutting the prologue (too melodramatic, gives the heroine way too much baggage and I think she'll be sympathetic without it) and a (boring, unnecessary) scene from Chapter Five, I'm "even."
Here's hoping I don't wake up at the crack of dawn again tomorrow!
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