A Public Service Announcement from Mei

So, as most authors know, the most terrifying thing that you can experience is losing your work. Most things can be replaced or repeated when they're lost, which is why nobody can really appreciate the devastation you experience when you lose your writing, apart from other writers. Rewriting might sound like a simple enough thing to a non-writer, until you consider that those files were a culmination of years of work, lovingly crafted and sculpted with as much attention as any master stonemason. And that's before you factor in the simple truth that it is impossible to write the same thing twice - no that's not exaggeration. It is literally impossible to write the same thing twice. You can write the same events, but they will never come out the same way and with the same flow that they did the first time, and you will always unfairly judge them against the first long lost draft.

I did this recently with a scene from chapter twenty five of Magic Monsters Dominions and Destiny. It was a lovely scene, that I spent the better part of a day working on, getting the interactions between the two characters just right (not easy when they're both ancient Egyptian spirits having a deep discussion about their place in the world next to noisy London roadworks). And then through the deviance of the copy/paste feature (yes, all right, and my own stupidity) it was gone - vanished in a puff of binary, lost to the forest of cyberspace.

I was distraught, and immediately started redoing it, in the hopes that some of the lingering inspiration would help me reclaim what I had lost. But as the words were pounded into the Word Document, I could feel the smooth syrupy flow becoming sticky, and that magnificent inspiration evaporated. I stared at my new scene, a shadow of something beautiful and great, and I wept.

Dramatic, I know, but surely understandable to a degree? You wouldn't ask a painter to redo a piece of their artwork exactly the same as before if someone knocked their jam jar of water onto it, would you? Because it would never be exactly the same as the last piece - it would have a completely different kind of energy and feeling to it. It is the same for writing. Each piece of creativity that we authors undertake is unique, and cannot be replaced or replicated to the same standard that it was before. And certainly, when most of us have several hundred thousand words under our belts, it would be downright cruel to make us try.

So I was understandably horrified today at lunchtime when I plugged in my memory stick to do a little bit of editing over my sandwich, and found that the computer refused to recognise my USB device, telling me that it would run faster on another USB port. Sensing something amiss with this, I tried the second USB port, which yielded the far more alarming message that my USB device had malfunctioned and could not be fixed. Doing my very best not to panic, I put the memory stick away and went back to my sandwich, hoping that my laptop would be able to assist me when I got home.

I feel it necessary to clarify at this moment, that this wasn't one or two current projects that I was fussing over. Oh no. This memory stick is the primary location for all of my stories written in the last six years. And I mean all of them. It contains research, character sheets, plot summaries and timelines, and so many notes, in addition to proper grown up stuff, like the most up to date version of my CV. Now this may sound like a stupid idea, to keep all of my important things in one easily breakable location, but it's simply the most practical option for me. I write everywhere. I write at home. I write in Costa on Saturdays. I do editing at lunchtimes at my desk. I write in airports while I'm waiting for planes. I write on my laptop, a desktop computer and my netbook. It is simply not convenient for me to keep my writing on one computer.

I make regular back ups of my files to my laptop, netbook, spare memory stick, and even email important chapters to myself, just in case. But suddenly all these seemed insufficient in the face of losing my memory stick. I couldn't remember the last time I'd done a back up - it certainly hadn't been since last weekend when I made that all important progress on chapter twenty one, and I was pretty sure it hadn't been before I'd done that all important connecting scene in draft two of my novel. The prospect of having to start all those wonderful scenes all over again, never quite reaching the same quality as before, sent me into a state of near hysteria. And sure enough, plugging the memory stick into my laptop earlier this evening yielded the same messages. Malfunctioned. Not recognised. Nice job breaking it, dumbass.

I entered full on panic mode as I ripped the memory stick out of the second USB port and plugged it into number three of four. This time, I was rewarded. Access! To my precious precious files! How could I have been so callous as to not back them up sooner? I immediately copy/pasted everything to my laptop, holding my breath as the little green bar crawled slowly across the page, the estimated timer getting higher and higher until I was sure that at least one of my files must be corrupted. Then finally, peace. My heart resumed normal beating pace. Which was just as well, since my hand then accidentally brushed the memory stick as I sank gratefully onto my bed, and the computer suddenly realised what it had done, rejecting the device so hard you'd have thought it were carrying the computer equivalent of the Ebola virus. But it didn't matter - the files were safe on my laptop. I promptly backed everything up again onto my spare memory stick, and emailed the most important documents to myself. Crisis temporarily averted.

If you take anything away from my outpouring of concentrated relief, let it be this. Back ups are your friends. Your very best friends. And you cannot have enough of them. Buy memory sticks. Make sure that they are good quality. And back up everything. Even stuff that you don't think you will use. During NaNoWriMo, you are advised to back up your novel once a week. I'm starting to think that this isn't overcautious at all. In fact, why don't you go do it now. I'm ending this blog post anyway. So off you go. Back it up, and thank me later.