I spent hours writing. Then I pressed the right buttons and–it disappeared!
Where, I wonder, does our writing go when it is inexplicably swallowed by the technology that made it possible? I tried everything I knew (and few things I didn’t, while thrashing at my disappointment) and can’t find the piece anywhere.
Perhaps a specialist adept at computerized sorcery can enter the digital graveyard and resurrect my missing blog post, as well as the true stories, false starts, spiteful grumbles, passionate revelations and revisions of those revelations. Would one of those dusty scraps connect with the many, many readers who have so far not given this page their kind attention? Would my life be any different?
Or is this an Act of God that, one day in the future, I will acccept with gratitude. It will be another cool autumn day with a brightly blue sky and fluffy clouds parading grandly in a breeze that blows the leaves this way, and that. I’ll be walking the dog, or sitting down to savor the scene, and I’ll remember some prolix profundity I was hurl into the world of people who have nothing better to do than read blog posts. I’ll recall what I had said, or, perhaps, the spirit that made saying possible, and I’ll smile.
Or I’ll grumble when, having joined temporarily the tribe of those who have nothing better to do than read blog posts, I’ll find that this person said the very same thing, perhaps not as elegantly as myself, but close enough. Or that these other writers wouldn’t have written they did if they had encountered my post first.
Or I’ll just sit down and enjoy the day. Not every arrow we shoot into the air, lands I know not where, but enough of them do to make some of us put down our bow, hang up the quiver and find something different to do.
Which makes room for those like me, who know that the best thing to do is pull out another arrow.