Yesterday I sat down to work on my New Novel (tentatively titled Daughter of Light, the first in a trilogy, fyinformation). I plugged in my little flash drive which I tend to use so I can go from laptop to desktop. I kept getting an error bubble that the USB was malfunctioning.
Before panicking, I searched my hard drive for drafts and found none.
Then I panicked.
Apparently, I did not save the stuff to my desktop. STUPID STUPID STUPID. I thought I did, but I did not.
I’m fairly certain that there is physical damage to the drive. I moved my office around two weeks ago and I believe that during the shift, I didn’t take care of my flash drive as I should have.
Four emails sent to local data recovery companies revealed estimated charges of $60 – $400 dollars. To the $400 guy I wanted to write back and say, “Really? For a little 4GB thumb drive?? For reals??”
If you’ve been paying attention, you know that I’m out of a job right now and paying $100 to get my 40,000 words back…seems like a luxury I should not indulge. Maybe it’s the Catholic in me but I feel like having to rewrite those 40,000 words would be apt punishment for not backing up the drafts on multiple media. And it’s not like I’m working and have to fit writing in with work so…*shrug*.
Right now, I WANT to see if the data recovery people can do something but I don’t think I will. I think I’ll brood about it for a day or two more then get my bottom back in the chair and rewrite it. I do have half an early draft.
In honor of my stupidity, I give you this clip of auto-tuned news in which the star reminds one that she was backin’ up backin’ up. Apparently my daddy didn’t teach me so good.