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For the past few weeks, my computer was broken.That's why I couldn't continue writing my story. But before it was completely eaten by the bloody virus, I saved my files on my disk. And when the computer was fixed, the files were not infected, but they inaccessible. It was more than three hundred pages, and they were all wasted.
Man was I sad. All those pages,perfetly written to my likeness, stuck in a diskette and never to be read by anyone again.
After a few days of sulking, I got and started to rewrite the whole thing. Man, was I so happy. I was happy beause now I can smooth out the rough edges of my story, because some of it were quickly changed because of a sudden thought.
But now, as I'm writing it all over again, I begin to feel bored.All of those I'm writing down now is already written before, with just a few addition of words.I lost interest, like all of those were just crap, and noone is ever going to read them. But as I'm writing in this boring journalof mine, I suddenly felt like continuing my story. Man, it really feels good to write.
That happened to a friend oaf mine. Between 4 of us, we managed to enter his hand-written manuscript of about 400 pages. It took us about a year and change to finish this monunental task. Part of it required using OCR on pages that I had typed on an electric typewriter.
That whole fiasco of me transcribing the manuscript is another story entirely, but suffice to say, those 3 months were very stressful.
So my friend is released from prison. He came over to CT to pick-up the computer I was giving him. On the hard drive was a copy. On floppy he got a copy. On CD he got a copy. He got a print-out of the "finished version" (which now had to be edited for content, etc.). And I saved a copy on my drive.
Well, how many of those back-ups do you think are accessable? NONE! That's how many. The computer, somehow (my friend is a technological menace) got cooked. The floppy, as they tend to, became inaccessable. And, of course, he lost the CD.
He manages to screw-up again, and goes back to jail. He then starts pestering me about the manuscript. I tell him, sorry, but it your copies aren't accessible, there's nothing I can do.
"My hard drive had to be reformatted." I lost all the data that was on it. About 75% of all my computer shit is backed-up. I didn't lose much, but his story was one.
It sucks to have to recreate a story. My friend wouldn't talk to me for months cause he thought I did it intentionally.
Once Fred Neitszche declared God is Dead, f*ck became the most important word in the English languag
This might help. Look at the first time as a practice run.
Every good writer will tell you that they write everyday, and that when they write a rough draft there is alot of re-writing that takes place.
A smoothing out of rough edges.
If nothing else it's great practice for honing your skills even though right now it's locked up on a disk.
Just a thought