Coping With the Loss of Your Written Content

DSCN4774

As many people don’t know, I have been (finally!) working on a new blog post to announce my return to the digital world and talking about where I’ve been hiding these past months.  I was having a really rough time getting the words out and had only written about two hundred within the past four days.  However, today was the day that nearly a thousand of them flooded my screen.  Part I of my return post was complete.  At least for a few short moments it was.  You see, I had thought that I had saved my work when I went to go preview it.  It hadn’t saved properly.  I was in denial when I couldn’t scroll below the two hundred words… that’s when the anger hit and I screamed, nearly throwing my laptop before running out of the room in disbelief and horror.  This is not a normal response from me and I know there are a lot of people who would not fully understand how much of an impact this moment had.  However, I know that somewhere, there are people who totally get it.

It is amazing how much of a difference one second can make to your day and your life.  I had just been smiling with pride moments before, excited about how the format would look finally published.  Then I lost my mind and went to stand in the shower for a while before coming back to search for an article about coping with the loss of written work.  There is no such article that I could find.

I thought that an article like that was sure to exist.  How could it not?  Google is supposed to have all of the answers in’t it?  Actually no, it doesn’t and for the first time in my little life, Google let me down.  I felt so alone, staring at the screen, realizing that maybe it was just me, alone with a blinking text cursor rubbing my fate in my face.

I would like to note that I am still going to rewrite my return post as though this one had never been written and hopefully it can be anywhere near as good as the original… but until then, here are some steps for coping with the loss of your written (or other creative) work.

I. Walk Away and Get Some Air.

II. Do Something Else for a Few Minutes (Hopefully something that makes you feel good… like sex or eating).

III. There Is More Where That Came From.

IV. It Doesn’t Have to be Exactly the Same to be Great.

V. Forget About It and Start Over Fresh.

VI. Rome Wasn’t Built In a Day (And I’m sure they had struggles too).

VII. You Are Not Alone.

VIII. Try Working on a Different Piece and Then Go Back to It.

IX. It’s Not Your Fault (Accidents happen. That’s what life and learning are all about).

X. This Too, Shall Pass.

Advertisements

When You Weren’t Looking

DSCN3887

It seems like there has been a lot of death around me lately.  Usually it’s not something I feel comfortable talking about but it’s been making me feel so much.  I’ve decided that maybe the best way to deal with these feelings is to write.

You hear about people dying in genocides, terrorist attacks, wars of religion etc. and it has become such a common occurrence that that now it no longer phases us.  Not one of us remembers the faces of the dead who bare no names.  Not one of us remembers the names of the of the dead who bare no connection to our world.  We go on like nothing is happening.  We live in a paradise, with our backs to the shadows.

Sometimes death will hit very close to home.  It’s harder to ignore.  Yet I’ve noticed that somehow we are all still withdrawn, even once death has now made itself very real.  Even once death has touched us.  Is it all the death on the news, in the movies, and in our games?  Or is it normal?  Is it normal that no one seems to ache for the loss of precious lives?  Or is it weird to feel such anguish, when you have no connection to the deceased?

I am sure people do feel something when strangers pass but they have just become so skilled at isolating themselves from it.

I know I am not alone in feeling such pain for the dead.  I know I am not alone in feeling such pain for their families.  I know I am not alone in wishing I could fix what was broken… but I feel so empty.  What is the point?  Why are the least deserving taken the earliest?  Who decides their fate?  I am sure that is not the choice they would have made.

Life is so fleeting, so beautiful, and so full of pain.  It is a light in the darkness that you weren’t sure you saw.  It is that taste in your mouth that you can’t seem to place.  Life is time that passed when you weren’t looking and now you can’t remember where you’ve come from.  And in the end, it doesn’t really matter, because it’ll all be gone once you get where you’re going.

I think it’s really disturbing that at one moment, everything could be fine.  Then in a second later, the world flips, and you’re gone; as fast as sparks flying up from the fire.  There is no goodbye, the end comes too fast.

Now here I am by myself, crying for all the people I don’t know and never will.  I am thinking of all the things they’ll never see, all the things they’ll never do, and always wondering why they weren’t supposed to.

My First Love

Mashing the back of the fork down on top of the eggs  is my favourite part.  I love to watch the yellow yolk as it streams out over the toast like syrup.  I smile at mum as she comes over to cut the toast and eggs into little pieces for me before heading back to bed.  It is the early morning, I am four, and these poached eggs on toast are my favourite meal.  There’s just something about the toast, the gooeyness of the egg, and the flavour of the pepper that just captivates the senses.  I don’t care that no one is sitting here with me, for I am too immersed in the enjoyment of this moment.  The warmth is filling up inside my belly as each tasty bit finds its way into my mouth and I fall in love. Finally the inevitable happens and I have eaten it all. I am saddened once no egg bits remain so I stay seated, staring at my empty plate.  Why couldn’t that moment have just lasted a little bit longer?

20130710_110731

Today, I am nineteen, and these poached eggs on toast are still my favourite meal.  However, my plate need no longer remain empty, for I can reach the stove.

 

All words and pictures are my own. ©

 

A Poem

Summer 2013 012

There are times

When I can’t write a damn thing

Times when my brain gets as dry as dirt

With less to offer

There are times

When all the special words

Cease to leap from my mouth

And my fingers forget

How to run freely across my keyboard

There are times

Where it feels as though I have lost all thought

Nothing is interesting

It seems I forgot

Forgot about the beauty

Of the words

The beauty of description

And it blowing in the breeze

It seems I have forgotten

How to form a simple sentence

And now it just sounds rotten

There are times

Times like right now

Where I can’t find inspiration

Not in anything at all

But at least there is still nothing

Because I have found

That nothing is as inspiring as hell

©