‘The world watched with bated breath that day. The United States was a growing, important nation, and to encourage fighting among itself would have been an opportunity to stop this giant from becoming stronger. Humans are human, after all, and have a tipping point. War is tiring. Life is tiring. 4 years of struggle or 40 years of life can wear a soul down to nothing more than fibers where a strong tapestry once displayed. The day was one of peace, and one of final resolution for Miss Charlotte.’
—excerpt from ‘The Battle of Bull Mountain Creek’
Lost.
It’s both how I feel and it also describes not one, but two of my manuscripts. Feeling especially creative yesterday, I went to find two stories I started over a decade ago, and it seems both stories are now lost to the digital abyss. To say I am sick to my stomach is an understatement. Bear with me as I do a little self-therapy here and get out what I need to on paper.
First, I promise I’ll be fine. I still have the first 4000 words or so to my first story. I did have a big chunk of the next part done, and that was an important act in the play. As I play the scenes over and over in my mind, then I start to get the ideas flowing again. The above sentences I literally just made up as I started typing this entry.
The hardest pill to swallow is the loss of time in my research. When the live shows were happening, I would get off the bus and seek out history. I visited countless museums, walked old streets, rode my bike through lonely mountain passes. I read all the dusty and faded roadside plaques and would be the nerd taking notes at the museum. I gathered all those hours and put elements of it into this story. The story was about one thing, and sort of a culmination of a life on the road in another.
I was afforded a tremendous opportunity by being on the road. I was given access to all the towns, all the places I needed to make this story come alive. I was lucky. Lucky beyond words, really. It was as if I actually had a research budget and could travel all over. Now, sadly, it’s lost.
The other story was born out of a conversation my mother and I had, and luckily, I think that story will still be able to move forward. That one was more amoebic in shape, so the characters and scenes were still developing, and the stories within the story were still working themselves out. The hours of research were not nearly as much as the first. Alas, it will have to be started from scratch.
Is this the first time creative works have been lost mid-stream? Nope. Paul McCartney had the master tapes of his album Band on the Run stolen out of his hands during a mugging in Nigeria. (He was warned not to venture out, especially with his next record under his arm.) The whole record had to be re-recorded. That’s just one example. There are a myriad of lost works by countless creatives: Poems of Anacreon, plays of Shakespeare, books of the Bible. And these are just the biggies lost to sands of time. More modern inconvenience of mistaken trash removal, theft, and, as in my case, hard drive failure, are to blame for symphonies not being heard, and literary masterpieces not being celebrated.
Were these stories masterpieces? No. Were they mine? Yes. Will I get them back? Eventually I will find peace in all of this. I’ll tell you why, but first, I must back up a hair. Not mine, of course.
Recently two decent income streams went away for me. That was a hard pill to swallow, although in the music business it happens all the time. I mourned for a couple of days, listening to Django Reinhardt records and feeling a bit defeated. One strong, certain thought hit me as I watched a spider weave its web on the porch as Django’s gypsy guitar transcended my worry. I still have the capability to create. That has not been taken from me. My ability to make money hasn’t been taken. For these things I am fortunate.
And as for that spider? He gets up and goes to work every single day. He doesn’t get to feel sorry for himself if the web is empty. He just goes to work the next day, knowing his time on this planet is finite, and knowing he has to eat.
Thanks for letting me vent a little. If I’ve helped anyone, then great. If anyone wants to donate to my research fund for the next book, let me know. I think it will be called ‘Italian Lemons’ about a man who takes his family to Italy and ends up buying an old car to restore with his sons. Wait, that’s not bad. Don’t steal that. Or lose it.
Ci vediamo sulla strada!
