1988 Dream

I kept encountering an error message. Sometimes it was written on a printout: [Error 1988: Michael does not exist]. I saw it in emails and text messages. Sometimes it was also spoken in the same voice my Roomba makes an announcement: “Error 1988: Michael does not exist.” As this happened, I was hurrying down hallways, looking over my shoulder, and pushing on doors, trying to find one that opens, hunting for an exit.

But, in one sense, it was understandable. On vacation, a person who needs isolation and solitude, who enjoys writing as their escape and therapy, who is forced to spend almost eighty percent of their time with other people, will end up dreaming about escape.


The question is, why those numbers?

SUCKS, In Caps

Decided to make a change in my novel in progress. This is Book Four, An Undying Quest, in the Incomplete Series. 

I’m not certain but I overwrote the existing file without creating a backup. Worse, I’d decided to make this change without first backing up my work, violating my cardinal rule – backup, backup, backup, and save often.

Realizing my error immediately, I went into recovery mode. The results were depressing. No ASD files, no WKP files, or TMP files were found as a match for the initial version. No previous versions found. The file wasn’t found on One Drive.

Unbelievable. Three hundred fifty pages of the revised novel were lost.

Back to square two. I have the beta draft in its raw form. I’d started revising on October 18th, so it’s only a few weeks of work, and about half the novel.

Now I’ll walk and bash myself for being hasty and thoughtless, and take some deep breaths. It’s not the world’s end, or civilization’s end, or anything like that. It’s just a foolish setback. I’ll just need to reset myself, go back, and begin again, with some bitter lessons learned.

Done editing for today. Cheers



My writing is done through typing, so this might might sound odd. Sometimes, when the words are speeding through me and I’m in the scene, I close my eyes as I type, because I don’t need to see the words. Weirdly, the words are a distraction, and get in my way. With my eyes closed, I jump into a fast rhythm.

A problem only develops when I open my eyes and discover I have one or both hands incorrectly positioned on the keyboard. It’s first funny, but then aggravating, because I was streaming, and I don’t really know what I was typing.

Yeah, just happened a short time ago, when I decided to rewrite several pages. Hoo, boy. Gulp some coffee and begin again. That’s all I can do.

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