Pen to paper, write, scratch out, rewrite, toss and start again, at least that is how all the great writers did it. To think their rewrites might have included pages of pages. And reading anything I have written sometimes I am afraid to throw out the trash out of fear of throwing away the good stuff too. Then I tend to get overzealous wanting to make sure I do get rid of the garbage and throw away the whole thing.  Then I get disgusted with myself and say here you wanted to write and the only thing you can do is hit the delete button.

So goes the vicious cycle of the writer … or at least this one. I try to let the writing write itself.  If you put pen to paper as the old saying goes then you understand me when I say that I normally try to let them write themselves. They truly have a more organic feel and normally my pace is good. (I hate it when a story lags and then when there should be lots of detail and things going on the writer spends two or three pages on what should be at the minimum seven to eight.

So that brings me to this point… why am I writing this. Because about a year ago I my laptop was trashed. Everything that was on it was gone. Everything! Every piece of writing I had. (and yes I know how stupid it was not to have a back up.)  I tried everything I know. System restore, friends and family that had some computer experience, hell I even took it to the Geek Squad, (who did nothing more that open it turn it on and say it couldn’t be done) I was devastated. I had no heart to write. I mean there were story ideas but nothing worked out. Then one day I gave the laptop to my mother who was going to clean it up and use some of the parts to rebuild hers and she looked at the directory, know what she found? txt files. Yes everyone had been looking for word files and that is why no one found my writing. But she did.

 I should be ecstatic right? I was and I still am, mostly. But here is the thing. I am sitting here reading work I poured over I knew exactly what I wanted to happen and why, where my characters were going and how everything was going to go. So what is the problem… I almost could live each scene it knew it that well. Now when I reread them.. nothing. I feel no connection to them at all. It is almost as if I am looking at someone else work.