By JANET HART LEONARD
From the Hart
This week I found myself at a loss for words. Seriously … at a loss for words.
You see, I had poured my heart and soul into five more chapters of my book. I was on a writing roll.
The words felt good.
We were having a new window installed in our house and I got up from my writing space (aka kitchen table) and must have hit something that sent those columns to an outer galaxy or beyond.
I went from writer mode to panic in seconds. I searched every file that I knew to look in. I begged Word to let me have my words back. I searched my cloud. I prayed to heaven.
Nothing.
I called Microsoft 365. Eli, the invisible guy inside my computer gave me the news. My words were eternally erased.
Gloom, despair and agony on me. Deep, dark depression, excessive misery. (Only those my age or older will understand those words from a song on Hee Haw, a TV show from the 70s.) I was singing the country blues.
I hadn’t had a “come apart” in a long time.
I had to recreate five new chapters. It was so painful.
I finally finished rewriting them a couple of days later. I decided to take a walk and clear my thoughts. I was about two blocks from home when I didn’t see the uneven place in the sidewalk.
As many times as I have fallen I had never attempted a torpedo fall. You know, one that propels you forward and as you are doing your best to catch yourself, you know that you are going to eventually hit the concrete and it’s going to hurt. The time it took to fall seemed forever.
Yes, it hurt. I didn’t hit my head or my face. The sidewalk did a pretty mean job on lots of other parts. I left quite a bit of blood, sweat and tears there along North 10th Street.
Strangely, I did not see one car go by as I fell. There were no witnesses that I know of.
I never knew writing a book could be hazardous to my health or be oh, so painful.
That’s this week’s story and I’m sticking to it. I’m sending it to my editor before I, again, am at a loss for words.