Juvenalia

I suppose I should start at the beginning.

Being a writery type, certain stories about other authors have stuck with me through the years, but none so much as the tale of Hemingway’s lost manuscripts.  If you’re not familiar with the tale, the following is a pretty good rundown on it:

Hemingway’s Lost Suitcase

This story has meant different things to me at different times.  It’s been the message of never give up, keep writing, and to accept that sometimes, you need to just clear the slate and start over.

I suppose you heard about the loss of my Juvenalia?

Many of you early readers have.  But for any new readers who might stumble their way down this far into the archives, here’s my story.  In the middle of December, 2012, my home was broken into, and among the items stolen, was my laptop.  My metaphorical suitcase full of all my ideas, current projects, notes and cherished dreck that I just couldn’t bear to delete.  All gone.

There is a silver lining to my story, where Hemingway had none.  They dropped my external drive.  It had backups to most of what I had (including backups of most of the other data on my laptop), but of my current project, only less than half.  Only 30-odd thousand words remain of what had grown to over 80 thousand over the course of November.  You can imagine my reluctance to be faced with that, and see how much distance I have to make up.

But then there’s Hemingway.  A man who, at the beginning of his career, lost all his work, and who had to start all over, and still went on to be one of the greatest names in literature.  So what’s my excuse?

Not a damned thing.  In fact, this blog is part of my process of starting again.  And not just with this one story, no.  I want to go all the way back, back to my very first story, back to that first thrill of knowing that someone likes my story, even if it’s just my mother.  And hopefully, I can build a small fanbase along the way.

So for anyone reading this, either when I wrote it, or well into the future, welcome to Juvenalia!  It’s not quite my terrible teenage love poems, but this is still the journey of my hopes and dreams.  Sometimes rambling, sometimes unstructured, but dreams nonetheless.  I hope you can learn to love my little bastard Muse-children as much as I do. :)

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  1. Ly’s avatar

    One evening, when Brandon was particularly dickish, he deleted my folder from the computer, then deleted any other traces of it. All because I complained that I didn’t have enough time to do all the things I liked to do. At the time, I was working 12 hour days and he was not working at all.

    Contained in this folder, besides scans of pictures and art work from my friends over the years, were all my stories. I did not, at that time, have them on my thumb-drive. My thumb-drive contained only two or three of my more recent works. Everything else was in the folder. Irretrievable. Gone. He made sure I would never be able to access it again. That included a story that was my brainchild. The world I had been working on since fucking elementary school. Gone. Forever. I was devastated. He tried to steal my thumb drive to destroy it, too, but I hid it in my sock and said I must have left it at my mom’s.

    Thanks to him being an asshole, I was able to better concentrate on the stories I did still have. It’s daunted to think of ever re-writing what was lost so I totally understand.

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