After more interruptions that resulted in a couple of weeks away from my suspense book, I sat down yesterday to get back to work on what, I hoped, was going to be the near-final draft. I decided I'd better back up what I had on my flash drive–just in case– since I hadn't done that for quite a while.
When I clicked on the folder to open it, the cursor highlighted the folder above it. Not thinking too much about it, I moved the cursor back to my book folder, clicked on it again, and. . .voila! it vanished. I thought, this can't be. It has to be here somewhere. It can't have just disappeared into cyberspace. But I searched and searched and couldn't find it. Trying not to panic, I assured myself that I at least had a hard copy from months earlier, but I got momentarily ill thinking of the job it would be to re-type those 400 pages and remember all the changes I'd made.
Trying not to panic, I called my critique partner and managed to sound calm. "Guess what? I think I just deleted my entire book."
"Oh my God, no." I could hear the utter shock in her voice, echoing my panic.
Only another writer could relate to this and what it meant. Luckily, she was thinking more clearly than I was. She immediately set to work, walking me through the steps to search for the file. We both breathed a sigh of relief when it finally popped up on my screen. I clicked on it to make sure it was indeed there. I hurried and saved it to my flash drive. Then I realized what had happened. During all the highlighting and clicking, it had accidentally been moved into the folder above it.
Technology. You gotta love it.