Darren Endymion's Blog, page 22

Awed Freedom

After the flurry of e-mails described last week, there were a few more, and ones which put me in a place of tethered freedom, and in awe of what I have been given.

I���m a wordy beast. Whatever. I���ve been better at cutting it back, and part of the reason I have tried to write short stories lately is because I want to learn how to cut the fat out and get to the good stuff while still telling a good story. I don���t know if I���m any good at it, but I try.

The story I just signed a contract for was going to be much longer. I was going to explore the characters in my head a little more, I was going to add another, I was going to elongate a battle scene, and do a little something more at the end. I ran out of room. I had to cut a character, shorten a scene, and cut back on the character development I wanted. This came up in the conversations with the acquisitions manager and the editor I have been assigned to. I expected to have to rearrange some things and edit more to make it what I want.

What I did not expect and am still shocked at, is to be given the opportunity to choose, in accordance with the editor, if I would like to elongate the story into a separate novella and put all the stuff I want in there, or to go a little over the word limit to flesh some stuff out. The editor made the choice for me, and I think she made the right one — let���s keep it as a short story, and use the unexpected gift of leeway to flesh out a little here and there. I don���t want to take advantage of it, but there is at least one person whose character is clear in my head, but not in the story, and I plan to use the time to beef him up. It���s totally new territory for me, and something I didn���t expect.

I was paralyzed at first, yet thankful for the publisher and the people I get to deal with. I���m sure it���s not unheard of, but it���s nice to know that at worst, kindness reigns there, or at best, that the acquisitions manager/owner has enough faith in me to allow me to go over the word limit for a better product. Not to indulge my wordiness (I hope), but rather because the story couldn���t be crunched much more, and could use some fleshing out. I���m thinking positive — that it���s good enough to warrant a little loosening of the tether, and that I can do it while not abusing the offer.

But that nagging part of me says that I should have been able to put it all in there. Twenty-five pages is a lot of space���and yet it isn���t. It depends. I don���t edit to Stephen King���s formula: First Draft ��� 10% = Second Draft. If I have a word limit, I write to that limit. The limit this time was 10,000 words. My story ended up at 9,965 words. Don���t judge me. I initially went over it by about 500 words and edited down to get that number.

So, have I learned something? Will my writing get better with this generously bestowed freedom? Will I at least learn when I���ve bitten off more story than my imposed word limit can handle? Why does this feel like an okay to cheat? (Oh, and it���s an opportunity I will take, don���t you get me wrong.)

No matter what, I���m grateful.

Um…What Just Happened?

Things have been���odd. Some of you may remember that I recently finished a short story for an anthology and submitted it about a month ago. I hadn���t heard anything, which seemed strange to me because every communication I have had with them gets a response within a week at most, and that includes submissions. However, there was a lot of talk on the author���s group about people being excited for this anthology call, so I figured they might have a lot to go through. When you send a submission, you get an automatic response saying that you should get an answer in 3-6 weeks.

I figured I would wait. And wait. And wait some more. I thought about sending an inquiry when it hit a month, but I decided to wait a little more because I didn���t want to seem pushy.

On Monday, I received an e-mail back saying that they were sorry, but the anthology submission was closed. What?! Of COURSE it was; I sent my submission over a month before. Not only that, but on the one other anthology submission I sent in and was rejected for, it was because I was a day late (stupid���like I didn���t own a calendar? Moving on���) I was then invited to flesh the story out and submit it as a standalone story/novelette/whatever. This time, I wasn���t.

Was it terrible? Were they afraid of oversaturating the market? I can accept both (even if my ego won���t agree). But why was the message that the anthology was closed, rather than that polite ���we aren���t interested��� e-mail that all agents and publishers have? I was going to leave it alone, but I decided to ask a few questions. I shamelessly asked I could resubmit it at another time and fleshed out, as I have been offered in the past (most have a policy of not doing this, but my publisher generally doesn���t). This was a calculated risk. The woman I was e-mailing is not only the acquisitions manager, but the new owner of the publisher itself. However, she is always kind, approachable, humble, and shows a good sense of humor, and she has been so in all my previous dealings with her. (This isn���t sucking up; I doubt she or anyone who would report back to her is reading this.) I also mentioned that my e-mail had been hacked in the past and I was wondering if they were getting my e-mails correctly or if I needed to change e-mails or whatever.

The next day I heard nothing. I was worried that I had overstepped and was hoping I hadn���t offended with my ballsy/stupid breach of protocol. The next morning I awoke to three e-mails: an updated W-9 form, a contract, and an e-mail to me and my editor offering me the opportunity to be in the anthology and to go a little over the 10k word limit if I needed to. She said she was getting my e-mails perfectly fine (now?). The e-mail also paid me a compliment and contained a not-so-subtle nudge for me to check out the themed calls for works of a longer sort, which she is ���sure [my] writing would be wonderful for���. See what I mean? This woman is incredibly kind. And I can never get enough flattery. *blushing* Later that night I received another e-mail from her also extending the opportunity to separate from the anthology entirely and flesh out some of my original ideas. I sent her how I would expand it and told her I was 100% fine with either course, and, with her being the acquisitions manager, I would leave the ultimate decision to her. I haven���t heard back yet, but I���m sure I will. Still���

Wait���what? I went from being denied to having two offers with this story, plus a gentle shove toward the other calls. What the hell happened in the first place? Was my e-mail delayed and she just got i���you know what? I don���t care what happened. Do. Not. Care. I���m just grateful, flattered, and ready to work.

Heat, Horror, and Being Lazy

I am so lazy in the heat. While the people in the rest of the country are just digging their way out of snow, cold weather, and praying for spring, I have spent the past four days wishing I could trade places. Here in Southern California where I live, not but a few miles from the beach, we broke records for heat in March. It was at least 90 degrees Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and today. Kids slid home from school in their own sweat. People in office buildings decided to be healthy and take little walks on their breaks…and turned their asses right back around and went inside.

Southern California heat waves aren’t just heat. They are usually Santa Ana winds, where the winds of hell blow brimstone dust directly up the nostrils of any poor soul who goes outside. Our whole office has stuffy noses and has been sneezing, but none of us are actually sick (except that one girl who is always sick and coughs like she has tuberculosis all year around. Every office has one.)

So, I had all sorts of plans this weekend: to write, to do laundry, to go shopping, to read, to watch movies, to not be hot, to maybe hang out with some friends. I did laundry and went shopping, both out of necessity. Other than that, I lazed around on my phone and played a video game. The days were fine because the air conditioning would turn on, but in the nights the heat of all the summer days in the world rise directly into my room. I can leave my room, but that’s where all the good stuff is.

Consequently, nothing got done. Tomorrow, in the schizophrenic way the weather has here, will be a lovely 78 degrees, and this will hold for the rest of the week.

I have heard that people watch the Rose Parade (or whatever) and shortly thereafter is when we have the greatest influx of new people moving to California. Don’t do it, people. It’s expensive, the weather is scorching, there are only two drops of water in the whole state, it rains maybe three times a year, there are crazy people everywhere, and I truly believe that it is the narcissistic capitol of the States (and many places beyond). I’ve lived here all my live.

Everything I know is here, so I might just be jaded and biased. Bored, even. To some people, this is paradise. Don’t believe it. San Diego is wonderful, the weather in the San Francisco area is cool and wonderful (but full of crazy people…my ex included. Bwahahaha!), but those places require high paying jobs or 17 roommates. There are other places. Thea beaches are wonderful, but horribly overcrowded. And you can’t live by them.

Whatever. I always have an excuse. But pain too excruciating to sit up for long, heat, terror of my imminent death, 10 hour work days…wait. That stuff all sucks! Maybe it’s all that life stuff that’s been going on and I’m not just a lazy idiot.

Or both.

Writing About Writing but not Actually Writing

The sad truth is that I write about writing more than I actually do it. Similarly, I think about reading more than I actually do it. The worst part is that I know that in order to be a good writer, you need to read a lot and write a lot.

It���s a problem I���m working on, and not all of it is due to a mental block. With my leg and back hurting as much as they do, sitting for too long hurts and will stiffen me up. I can���t lie on my stomach, because that further tweaks whatever is in my back and turns my spine into an ampersand. So, I try to write in small bursts, but have to lie down or stand up (ouch) or shift or lie on my side to avoid going into rigor mortis. The good part is that when I get lost in writing, I get really lost. That is also the bad, for the reasons mentioned above. I don���t have a desk at the moment because of spatial issues that are difficult to overcome. Difficult, but not insurmountable.

With the health issues I���m going through, getting a desk seems superfluous and ill advised. I live on the second floor. How would I get a desk up there, anyway, even if it was a very small adjustable one? I almost eat shit going up or down stairs in the best of times; you can imagine how I would schlep it upstairs in my current condition. If I was telekinetic, the entire issue would be resolved and several others besides. I would smite my enemies with great thoughts of mali��� *ahem*

Anyway, I have decided that a proper work space and decent health are needed to really commit to something big, which I want to. (Finally.) But I can work around the edges of it, work on individual scenes or chapters, make the worksheets and charts I need to in order to flesh out the world and the characters. So, since I���m already sitting and in the dreaded position, I think I will work on that, since, like a dependent toddler, my sitting ability is finite���without doping myself up on Tramadol and Advil. And by that point, I don���t care about anything other than watching SpongeBob SquarePants.

As for the health issues, I saw one of the doctors and he thinks there is very little for me to worry about. I got all the X-ray and MRI information so I can give it to the ridiculously attractive chiropractor who can then *ahem* adjust me and *cough, blush* make me feel good.

We shall see.

Purposeful Delays

So, I have been dealing with a lot of stuff, as anyone who has read the last few entries would know. It would have been a good time to dive into my new writing project, to immerse myself in the fictional landscape and planning and to otherwise distract myself. I hope to get to that point someday, where I can put the world aside, even when in the planning stages of writing. Right now I use books, movies, video games, and fantasy (though this last easily turns into obsessing and is therefore not as useful).

Unfortunately, when something is really serious, my mind spazzes out and I���m unable to give things the proper attention and care they deserve. Nothing gets done, and all I do is mope around in my own head.

Or so I thought.

At this stage in my development, I am unable to put aside the cares of my world and focus on a story of my own devising. However, something is working in the background at all times, and I realized this last night. It���s like my mind is a giant ass, clenching so tight that it turns charcoal into a diamond. I can���t get anything else in there, I can���t use it to distract myself, but there are processes going on inside. (Foul analogy, I know. I would apologize if it wasn���t so apt.)

After talking to my ex (who popped me out of my idiocy), I spent the better part of a day on iFunny. The next day I listened to the audio book for The Other Boleyn Girl and played Lunar: Silver Star Harmony on my PS Vita. When I came out of it, I realized several things.

First — and there is a valuable writing lesson here — I do love Philippa Gregory���s historical fiction, but she lacks anything even resembling subtlety. If she doesn���t like a character, you will know it. She clearly thinks Anne Boleyn was a grasping harpy, so we are treated to an unrelenting barrage of scenes where Anne is a bitch for no discernable reason, leaving one to wonder why her sister Mary Boleyn didn���t chop the whore���s head off herself. It was a lesson to not be so heavy handed with my opinions and to give each character, no matter how heinous, time to develop. Little did I know it, but it gave me insight into my current antagonist. I always want to know why when it comes to villains. Ambition, lust for power, greed, just plain lust, those aren���t enough for me. So, it helped in that way.

Second, I came out of it (likely because of Lunar and it���s similarities in main characters to the first Lufia game) wondering what it would be like to have total amnesia, or to be reincarnated but to have this deep-seated knowledge you can���t explain. I love video games, especially JRPGs, but they over use that formula: simple boy/girl with unknown powers sets off to save the world and discovers him/herself. But I wondered what it would be like to have those memories filter back. And a conundrum I found myself in with the new story resolved itself.

Third, when trying to imagine Mary Boleyn���s trip to Hever or the court on progress or getting my Lunar party to the hag���s house or the layout of this forest or that cave or this port town, I started to think of something I read a long time ago about fantasy writing. Draw a map. Somehow, without even being aware of it, I was taking parts of England and the fictional Lunar landscape and combining them with my ideas for my entirely fictitious town. I haven���t drawn it out yet, but it���s there in my brain.

All this (and more) was happening below the surface, so when I finally was able to write a little last night, it all came to me, and I used it all. So, my delays weren���t intended, but they did have purpose, and while I hope that they pan out, I���d like to learn to do this consciously. On purpose. Still, I���m glad for the progress when I thought that I was too in my own head to make any at all.

I’m Turning Into One of THOSE People!

So, I���m recovering from the train wreck that I have been after reviewing certain issues with my doctors. I owe a lot of that to my ex. Our friendship has been largely schizophrenic, ranging from pleasant to acrimonious to disdainful to apathetic. That being said, he knows me and he reads this blog (which seems like an act of self-torture, but that���s his fuck to give). However, he knows my propensity to see the worst case scenario and make myself sick over it. He was in the area and visiting and allowed me to borrow his brain. He can channel Pollyanna in a second. I try; he succeeds. He helped me out and, no matter what our other issues are, I can���t express the depth of my gratitude.

But that leads me to what I wanted to talk about today. Since he has moved, he has been bereft of some of the fast food restaurants and eateries exclusive to this area. He asked if my roommate and I wanted to eat together last night and he shimmied and chose the king of the yummy-but-terrible-for-you fast food places around here (Del Taco for those who care, like a rival to Taco Bell but less homogenized and with fries. Don���t judge.) He was also very late for his arrival time, so I plowed through a pickle, some cherry tomatoes, some mini bell peppers, and some cucumber as a snack, all with a little bit of low fat ranch dressing. I hard boiled a couple eggs and put them in jalapeno juice so that they can pickle in it and be a good protein snack or added to a salad later.

My ex finally arrived, we all went out to eat. I ordered something small-ish: two chicken soft tacos, some fries, and a drink. I got home and gobbled them up. When thinking about my reaction to this meal, I am reminded of a comedy sketch by Jim Gaffigan talking about Hot Pockets, and the same applies to this meal. ���I don���t feel good. Did I eat it or rub it on my face? My back hurts!��� I ended up taking something for indigestion, which this Del Taco laughed off like someone taking a broken flyswatter and harsh language to Godzilla. *crunch* I felt greasy, my stomach was distended, my throat burned, and I felt like I would ooze oil if someone squeezed me too hard. I was very glad I didn���t get the chili fries (and I wanted those chili fries). I thought I would sleep it off, being careful to not sleep on my stomach.

I woke up, brushed my teeth, and belched. That Del Taco from the night before was right back with me, and I can tell you that I didn���t miss it. I still felt greasy. Then it occurred to me: I have had fries once in the past two months, possibly longer. I have lost 15 pounds just by eating better in that time period and am holding steady now. I have been eating more veggies and fruit than should be legal. I have chicken breast and veggies and/or rice almost every night.

This delightful concoction of grease and sauce and Del Taco goodness was making me sick. My body has gotten used to eating better. My ex was trying to murder me! I���m now one of those awful people who legitimately get sick from eating fast food. I���m horrified! It���s not just pretense, and that���s the most horrible thing I can think of. I���m telling you right now that if you put Del Taco���s chili fries in front of me, I would eat every last bite. And then I would want to die.

I am turning into one of those people, and I���m not happy about it.

The Agony of Waiting

Today I didn’t go to work. Why? I was up all night worrying and obsessing. I debated talking about this on a blog because it’s scary and personal and potentially life-threatening. It’s not a sympathy ploy, but I can’t get it out of my head, and coming here always helps.

So, with all my health and walking issues, I have been to many, many doctor appointments. The most recent trip was to get an MRI. Well, for walking purposes, nothing was wrong. Everything seemed to be okay.

Except for something with my marrow.

The physician’s assistant at the orthopedic doctor called me and said that the abnormal marrow results could be anything from not all that serious to leukemia. Goddamned leukemia. I did what nobody ever should and Googled marrow problems. Lots of pages on leukemia.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

No, that’s not 100% what I have. My primary care physician and specialist want me to see a hematologist so they can do a panel of a billion blood tests (more than I usually get for my physical), and possibly a marrow test. Tests, tests, and more tests. All to find out if I am going to die soon.

I know that’s not how I should think. I know that’s what kept me up all last night. I know that they say positive energy helps fight off everything bad in this world. I know that it’s not certain that I have leukemia. However, (gods forbid) if I do, it’s not certain that I won’t be able to fight it off. And yes, I did look at the survival rates.

And I wonder why I can’t sleep, right?

Now I have to go to a doctor’s appointment to get the authorization, then to the initial hematologist appointment where I get the run down of blood tests I have to do, get the blood tests done, go BACK to the hematologist, and then find out. So, I’m not looking at having an answer to this issue for weeks, or a month, or more. Specialists are notoriously difficult to get an appointment with. So…

I don’t know what to say or do. I’m letting my mind wander to the darkest of places and trying (desperately) to get it out of there. I am trying to sleep but my mind doesn’t cooperate. I am trying to be positive, but the word “leukemia” keeps popping into my head.

So, now we have me trying to be Pollyanna and to brave the next month or so…and whatever comes after it. I’ve had a scare like this before (about one year ago, ironically) that I worked myself up over and it turned out to be nothing at all. I know my tendency to freak out when the big C is mentioned. Hopefully, this will be the end of such scares any my reaction to them.

So, thanks for reading. This wasn’t meant to be a pity party, but rather something to help me rationalize and get over it all. Writing is therapeutic. I don’t expect to talk about it a whole lot more, but the future…who knows what it contains? Hope for me.

Seasonal Lists

I read a book a long, long time ago that was babbling on and on about building confidence in yourself and something it called constructive will. Essentially, it gave an exercise where you would make a weekly list of one item per day that you would finish no matter what. It said you should start simple and go from there. Doing that, you would gain confidence in yourself and learn to take more and bigger tasks.

I haven’t stopped doing it since.

The constructive will thing doesn’t matter much to me anymore (though it probably should), and I rarely get everything done on my lists. It does show me where my weaknesses are, though, and through that I have learned to overcome them. For instance, I HATE calling anywhere. I worked in a call center on the phones, and since that time, the idea of calling anyone for anything is repugnant. For the longest time, I would put off calling anywhere for anything, and those were the things which would remain on my weekly lists for weeks and weeks — as long as I could put it off, I would.

I have overcome that by determinedly forcing myself to make those calls. I have forced myself through this process to get more done and to complete more things to spur myself onward.

Another thing I have noticed is that it is difficult for me to get a schedule for anything down. I try to start a writing schedule and realize it’s my next big challenge.

This all progressed to the point where I make seasonal lists and try to wrap the tasks, books, video games, etc. around the theme of that season. The cut offs are a little arbitrary, but my Spring List is being formed and will go from March to the end of May. I always feel a sense of compulsion when I get to the end and a sense of renewal when I start. I make a list with little boxes next to the task and then check them off as I complete the tasks.

Why am I divulging this? Because it motivates me to talk about it, and maybe it will help others. After I knuckle out a synopsis of a writing project, I transfer the big parts to this list and mark them off as I go. it helps me to see the changes, what I planned, and to look forward to writing that next X. It’s a strange motivator.

The other reason I am mentioning this is because of avoidance. There are all sorts of things going on in my life right now, and I have once again found myself hearing something like, “It can be nothing at all…or death” from a doctor. Focusing on the positive and that sense of renewal helps me to not obsess. It also goes toward proving my last entry. Sometimes you are just in the right place for some awful shit to happen — I have good insurance and a network of good friends to help me through what could be everything or nothing. I wouldn’t have any of this if I had moved…and it makes me wonder if it’s all a good move anyway. But now isn’t the time to think about that. The stress is too near to make a clear headed decision.

I may spill it later, but this was my half-assed attempt at distracting myself. Maybe I should put THAT on my list. hahaha.

Knowing Your Place and Hating It

Sometimes life, the Universe, whatever gives you signs that you’re in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. Synchronicity abounds. Things almost seem out of your control — not in a complacent, don’t work and things will come to you on the tides sort of way, but rather in that nothing you do seems to have any effect. It’s not stagnation any more than standing still in the ocean shallows is to be immune from the currents. But it’s that things are forming around you, say a boat to ride those currents.

I am in such a state right now and I hate it.

I wanted to move, to be in another state by the end of last year. That did not happen. I started having trouble with my leg and with walking. Two visits to my primary care physician, four weeks of physical therapy, a muscle relaxer, a controlled substance pain killer, x-rays, an impending MRI, and two visits to an orthopedic doctor, and we are just beginning to find out what is wrong with my leg and what damage it has taken. The results of the MRI will see if there is any permanent damage, but the cause at last is pretty clear. After about 8 months of progressive, excruciating pain, a lack of mobility, fear and pain every time I stand, a stripping away of my limited independence, it all comes down to one agonizingly simple thing: my fucking hip needs to pop.

Yep. That’s all. It’s out of alignment. There’s a clear, visible line, indicating that it’s not in the place it needs to be. At the beginning of this, I remember (now) feeling that my hip needs to pop, but I couldn’t get it to. That all being out of whack has caused my back to twist, my hip to rotate, and for me to essentially be Igor. “Maaaaaaaster! My hiiiiiip!” I don’t have early onset arthritis, I’m not that old, I have no idea how it happened, but I imagine it was probably progressive. The answer? A chiropractor and possible physical therapy to reteach me how to not walk like a hunchbacked troglodyte.

This issue has stopped me from traveling or other nonsense. It has kept me in this place. It has stripped me of so much.

But it has given me stuff, too. Those proverbial blessings in disguise. I have been able to save huge amounts of money. I have increased certain friendships. I have been unable to work out, and started to gain weight. I cannot eat a burrito the size of east Texas and pretend that one session of working out and a walk will work it off. To counteract that, I have started eating healthy. I have lost so much weight that my belt no longer holds up my pants. My stomach is flatter than it has been in years.

I ditched the ex and his unstoppable lies, and though he looks a hell of a lot better than he has any right to (that Wookie picture was either taken a long time ago or he cleans up well), I wasn’t tempted to touch him. His tact, sense of what’s appropriate, and integrity are not in tune with reality. He has changed, and though I miss who he was, I don’t like who he is. I would have not done that or reached that stage had I spirited away to another state.

Then there’s Prince Scientist. That has been the single most aggravating, elating, Jane Austen bullshit I have experienced in some time. It’s like the Universe enjoys seeing us squirm. We look, we smile, we chat a little, we pretend to ignore each other, and we have yet to make any sort of connection which would allow us to take it further. One of us is usually around a group of people. The times we are not is when we talk the most, and you can see the difference in our conversations. It’s annoying. We are both shy and stubborn and surrounded. I caught him alone. We said hi, smiled, waved, passed each other, and then stopped in the hallway, both took out our phones, and gave each other side eye. I’m not fucking kidding. I believe there is something wrong with us.

But when I try to search him out, he happens to be doing overtime and I miss him, only to catch him another time with his friend (another gay scientist). Or, I see him as he’s rushing to log in or be late. Or, he comes into the break room when I’m getting ice or washing my cup. It’s like the Universe is setting us up to keep us on the periphery of each other’s attention.

The writing has flourished, and I know it wouldn’t if I had moved. I would be focused on getting acclimated, on making friends, on enjoying the weather, on whatever new job I was looking at.

The Universe has me here, and is working me at its own pace. I can’t budge out of it…and I don’t know that I should. I want it to go faster in some places, slow in others, and stop for yet another place. But sometimes we aren’t in control. And no matter how much we hate it, there is good to be found in even the darkest of situations. I hope I don’t screw it up.

The Ballad of Sleepytime Stupidity

So, I was writing and updating one of the new sheets for my new writing project. I have been reading a book I got on the creation of monsters (for writers) and was putting this to good use by brainstorming ideas and filling out one of my self-made worksheets on creature creation. I was changing a character in the story a bit. I was updating some stuff, and making notes to insert in the actual text later.

It was getting late, and since my alarm goes off at 3:45 in the morning, I figured I would wrap things up after the next segment. Well, I got a huge burst of inspiration and wrote a page of intense notes into the Word document. I cross referenced something I stated earlier, drew ties between them, referenced a good passage in the book, updated another document, and was making good progress. Finally, I looked at the clock and it was after 11 at night.

Bleary-eyed and deranged from the need to sleep, I saved the document. (We begin to see where this is going, right?) I decided that with so much work being done, I would back this document up on my tiny little 16 GB external hard drive which I keep with me at all times. I was going to e-mail it to myself and store it online, but I had already closed my web browser to minimize distractions. Plus, it takes a while to load, and I was really very tired, so I didn���t want to bother.

I plugged in my hard drive, looked at the files, and thought that it was good I was backing it up because I hadn���t done so for about a week. I had done a lot of work on my laptop in the meantime. I went to drag it over, thought something looked a little odd, but checked the dates and saved over the file. I looked at it again, and the file on my hard drive had not changed. It took me a few minutes to figure out why.

Because I had replaced the new file with the old, outdated one. I lost all my work.

Yes, I remember some of what I put down, but I was so discouraged that I just went to bed. Hopefully, I will be able to remember the good stuff and not be so mired in my stupidity and loss. *sigh*