I am in pain. The pain of a writer who just miscarried.
There it was, a brilliant, beautifully crafted post about politics and journalism. Timely, topical and neatly enhanced by my own personal experiences. I hit the “save and continue” editing button, but, whoa, I forgot to put a headline on the post. It’s gone. There’s no draft saved. I scroll back a page to see if it’s still there. Oh sweet relief. It is. I block copy it and save a safety to MS Word. I look at it in horror. It’s an earlier draft, one third complete and missing the carefully delineated, precisely worded argument in the middle. Still thinking I can find the completed draft, I scroll though the WordPress dashboard. Nothing. I make a half-hearted stab at “reconstruction.” I start with the last sentences first, because they are fresher in my mind. Maybe that way I can remember each sentence that led to the next. But it’s gone, faded like the fragments of a dream. I can’t do it. The moment—that early morning freshness and enthusiasm–has passed. The passion is gone. The fervor that drove it killed by helplessness and disappointment.
I learned a lesson: put a headline on the post, first thing. And that’s just what I did.
But I wish this hadn’t been my post for the day.