Tonight I will be writing the first words on my new draft of my novel, Thirty Minutes Or Less, that I have written since my hard drive crashed a couple months or so ago and I lost over 80 pages of progress.
It’s been a long, emotional journey back from mourning that loss, and I can’t help but think I was mourning the loss of my mother at the same time, because this is a novel I started writing at around the same time I found out my mother had terminal cancer.
Wounds like that are never fixed with a custom rubber stamp; they stamp themselves on your soul and come out in weird ways. This novel, I have come to realize, is my goodbye letter to my mother, my final thank you.
Maybe that’s why it hurt so much to lose it.
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