I recently lost 15 years of data due to a corrupt external hard drive.

• Three and a half degrees’ worth of research and projects. Graphic design. English. Creative Writing. Library Science.

• Fifteen years of photography portfolios and outtakes. Art. Band photos. Portraits. Personal images.

• Notes, journals, and photographs of my travels up and down the West coast, visiting countless National Parks, going abroad to England.

• Four years of photographs of my kid.

Most of my writing I moved from computer to computer and kept on smaller USB drives since the files didn’t take up much space. But the photos I backed up every month, determined to not lose an image. I didn’t want my computer to crash and leave me stranded.

On the plus side, my computer didn’t crash. My 12-year-old iMac is still alive and trucking. I got a new PC just because I couldn’t be without one, due to the nature of my work. So when I found that my drive didn’t work, I tested it on four different computers, tried two different types of software, took it to the professionals.

Nothing. All gone.

I try to feel upset about it but I can’t, really. How often did I look through those files? Not often. I plugged it in a few months ago to find a certain image and some notes, but that was it.

I made prints of most of my kid’s baby pictures, so it’s not like they’re lost. I re-downloaded the digital images from Shutterfly so I still have those. Some of my travel photos are up on Flickr; not even a fraction of all of them, but at least there’s proof.

And isn’t that all these files are? Proof that I went somewhere, saw something, did the work and earned the degree? It’s not that different than losing things in a house fire, except it’s by far the better option. A ruined hard drive compared to a ruined home. Thankfully my shelter is intact, and that’s what I focus on. The things that I lost… I can just recreate them from here. Take new photos, revitalize my portfolio, revisit the National Parks so my kid can appreciate them, too. Make new memories and stop living in the past.

It’s time to move on. Start fresh.

Today I’m thinking of the time a male classmate walked out of workshop with me. He said, “I find that when women write stories like yours, they’re usually true.”

I’m thinking of the editor that rejected my story. He said it seemed like I didn’t understand depression, so I shouldn’t write about it.

I’m thinking of the blurred lines between truth and lie. Why call writing fiction if you think it’s about me anyway?

I’m thinking, how much do we know about an author, just because they’re giving us a glimpse inside their mind?

I’m thinking, why differentiate something as fiction vs. nonfiction if you think you know better, anyway.

I did it. I dedicated three weeks to creative writing.

Of course I still did paid work. I also did housework, parenting, mowing, and managed a few unexpected things that were fairly stressful in their own right. But I did it all. And I produced over 18,000 words of new material.

I started with Jami Attenberg’s #1000wordsofsummer, writing 1,000 words a day for 14 days. I initially thought I would write creative nonfiction essays about my childhood. I had a list a page long of memories and topics. I wrote one. On the second day I hit a stride with a topic that I subdivided into three days’ worth of material. On the fifth day, I remembered that I needed to write flash pieces for a chapbook I’m compiling with a friend. There were nine pieces, so I spent the next nine days writing those. The last day was mostly a free-for-all, but I did it. Over 1,000 words every day.

Then I went right into Nancy Stohlman’s Going Short: Beautiful Flash Fiction workshop. She gave us readings and prompts for five days. Participants wrote flash exercises, up to 800 words, for each day. I pushed myself like I haven’t in so long. Knowing people would be reading and commenting on my writing lit a fire that I haven’t felt since grad school.

I didn’t realize how much I missed the workshop environment. Thankfully a few people from that course seem interested in keeping it going, either as accountability partners or an informal workshop. I’m eager to nurture those relationships, because the quality of writing and feedback in that course was amazing. I can’t remember the last time I felt this inspired.

I’m encouraged to take more courses for my writing. I’ve let that side of me go since college and grad school. I started thinking it wasn’t worth pursuing, but what I got out of this class was worth every penny. I’m hoping to take a more intensive workshop this fall, and hopefully continue taking workshops every “semester” or so. I think it’s worth the investment and I really enjoyed doing this.

Now… should I submit the work I created this week?

I’ve been freelancing and ghostwriting for ten months now. This is what I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid, even if I didn’t know the specifics of how it’d work. I had a vision of me sitting at a desk, writing, and supporting myself that way. I didn’t know what I’d be writing or who for, but it’s come to fruition and I couldn’t be happier.

I spend my days researching interesting topics, many I’ve never given much thought to, so I can write about them. This satisfies my need to learn. I don’t get bored because every day is something different. I’m someone who regularly goes down research and Wikipedia rabbit holes, so doing it for a purpose (and getting paid) hits the spot.

I balance daily work with bigger projects lasting two weeks or longer. I get to really immerse myself in this research and work closely with clients without focusing on the quick turnaround. Basically, I’m getting the best of both worlds.

My creative writing, however, has been pushed to the back burner. I’m writing at least 5,000 words a day for work, so when I stop, I usually just veg out with a book or random thoughts. I make notes about story ideas and things I’d like to write eventually, when I find time.

That time is now. I’ve decided to kick off summer by prioritizing my personal writing. It starts next week with #1000wordsofsummer with Jami Attenberg. It runs for two weeks and a Slack channel is set up for accountability and inspiration.

After that, I’ll take a week-long course with Nancy Stohlman. Her book was one of the first I read with my recent return to writing, specifically flash fiction. I’ve been writing at Lightning Flash every weekday (6 days a week in April) for four months now. I’ve even submitted to five places in the past two months. Not an astonishing feat, but I haven’t submitted since 2011, so it’s definitely something.

I look forward to prioritizing creative writing for the month of June, and then hopefully being able to find a balance between paid work and creative work for the rest of the year. I have some goals I’d like to meet, and marking goals off of my list has always been a great motivator for me.

For as much as I felt “Zoomed out” last Spring, I’ve been loving how connected I’ve felt to the literary community lately. This past week’s SMOL Fair was no exception. SMOL Fair is an online book fair for small presses, created because most indie publishers felt AWP was charging too much for a virtual fair. SMOL Fair was completely free for vendors and participants, publishers had killer deals, and there were tons of giveaways going on.

It felt great to discover small presses I wasn’t familiar with and blow my budget to support them and their authors. I have about fifteen books coming my way, and I’m excited for the bookmail and the chance to read new authors and experimental forms.

There were also dozens of readings being hosted last week and over the weekend, which gave me even more of a chance to find new authors and connect with them. Even though the event was entirely online (specifically Zoom and Twitter), I was able to network with other presses, authors, and even a few librarians who want to help bridge the gap between indie publishers and library systems.

I have to admit, it made me miss my previous ALA Conference experiences; there’s nothing like going from booth to booth and making connections and picking up new books. The antisocial side of me loved that I was able to remain in the comfort of my own home and sign on and off as I pleased. I also can’t deny how nice it was to not have to pay for travel, lodging, and conference admission. Definitely a mixed bag of excitement and nostalgia, but overall the fair was an amazing success and I’m excited to see how it develops in the years to come since it was so accessible.

Is it a cliffhanger if you kind of forget you left it hanging?

Why not.

Ironically, I forgot about sharing my personal writing news because I was busy with professional writing deadlines. But the fact that I couldn’t finish a follow-up post makes all of the other pieces fall into place…

I’ve been writing flash fiction. I’ve always enjoyed having constraints on my writing: timed sessions, word count limits, etc. I’ve enjoyed using those constraints when I taught writing workshops, because students would feel pressured, then be amazed at what they were actually capable.

I need to feel amazed right now. And I need to feel like I still have a creative outlet while not adding something stressful to my plate.

So I’m keeping it lighthearted over at Lightning Flash, aiming to write a short piece every work day, just to flex the muscles. I’m also conducting a more extensive study of the craft of flash, and reading flash written by others, and hope to share inspiration accordingly.

I previously wrote about how I was finally making a living as a writer, but I used it as more of a “Farewell, 2020” post than a substantial update about the state of my own life. But honestly, sometimes all I need to say is: I’m making a living as a writer.

What? I still can’t believe it.

After a long creative dry spell from about May to… December? Mid-January? I figured my priorities had changed. I used to have a dream of being a writer. Like a published writer. And yes, I’ve published a nonfiction book, but my goal has always been to publish a volume of creative work. Or hell, at this point, just to publish creative work in journals and magazines. I used to submit stories from creative writing workshops fairly regularly, but that’s been ten years ago. More, maybe. I’d have to dust off the spreadsheet to double-check.

Anyway, I spent the first month or two of lockdown attending all of the author events I could. I wrote a lot of poetry because I was feeling a lot of emotions. But I never looked at them again. I didn’t edit them or revise them, and I certainly didn’t try to submit them.

I attempted National Novel Writing Month and “won,” technically, but the story is not complete, and it’s not something I want to go back to right now.

Besides that, nothing. I tried to find creative outlets in other paper-centric hobbies, like quilling and book-making, but they didn’t have the same allure as my phone, with news sites constantly being updated and Twitter refreshing every few seconds.

I’m not blaming my lack of progress on the news, though I don’t think it’d be a reach to do so. It was more that I was writing for my “day job,” and while it wasn’t creative writing, it was still words, and it still fulfills me. Add into the mix my new position of becoming an Assistant Managing Editor of Split/Lip Press and I felt pretty damn good. I was writing words and helping promote and publish others. What’s not to love?

So that’s when I figured my priorities had shifted. I didn’t feel the need to publish because I was helping others do the work. And, let’s be honest, all of their stuff blows me away. I’d rather use my skills in a way that will help people, so my jobs right now feel purposeful instead of frivolous.

It’s important for me to be transparent and admit that this revelation about shifting my priorities came, oh… about a week ago? Which is especially interesting, because now… stay tuned.

I know tomorrow is another day, but I’m the type of person who likes the idea of a new year being a fresh start. I think this year we’re all feeling that way, and I also think that by December 31st we’re all sick of people rolling their eyes and wishing 2020 away. Because we’re all living the same thing, even if half (or more?) of the population is in total denial of it. Nothing will change tomorrow, but it feels like a (slightly) brighter start. The light at the end of the tunnel is growing brighter.

This year has been hard for a lot of people. And it’s been devastating for a lot of people. And some people weren’t really affected by anything. I have to check my privilege here, because this year was not terrible for me. I don’t want to push toxic positivity and sound like everything works out in the end, but… it did? For me? This year? And I’m so grateful.

Again, coming from a place of privilege.

I didn’t lose my job when the pandemic hit. I was able to work from home. Once I realized the situation wasn’t sustainable, I was able to search for another job. I was able to pivot and, thanks to my education and previous experience, I am back doing what I’ve always wanted to do. What I used to do, except now, it’s better. All that hard work I put in years ago, barely getting by, paid off. I’m writing for a living and making good money doing so. It’s… mind-boggling, honestly.

^ That. Completely. I have tough days but even when things seem hard, I recline back (because I am working from home in my cushy desk chair) and realize that I still have it so good. I wouldn’t trade this for the world.

I also keep thinking about something I read regarding “don’t quit your day job,” when someone argued that point by saying if you have a day job, you’re not going to take risks to make it on your own. And that has been true for me for over a decade, since I was just a kid (ha) in college with big dreams. So in some sick way, I’m kind of grateful that this year pushed me to my breaking point so I could start rebuilding it all the way I want it to be.

Another morning feeling like I’m struggling to keep my head above water, another morning of Writing to Transform from UNCW – which thankfully helps me keep my head up.

This morning was “Send Word” with Anna Lena Phillips Bell, and the purpose was to inspire us to send postcards to connect with family and friends.

I started a Postcard Project during the pandemic where I wrote a few lines of a story on a postcard, mailed it to a friend, and had them write the next few lines. An exquisite corpse by mail. It’s still going, even though that Instagram account has tapered off because social media can be a struggle. Maybe the Postcard Project is something I should transfer to this blog…

Anyway, I like my exquisite corpse by mail idea, but I also love Anna Lena Phillips Bell’s idea of sending words of encouragement and connection to others. You don’t have to be on vacation to write a postcard. Since you have limited space, don’t say “I’m sitting on the porch thinking about…” Just jump right into the thoughts, the feelings.

Participants shared a lot of blips of memory that made me think of some writing prompts, almost a continuation of Aimee Nezhukumatahil’s Monday session. But those descriptions also made memories come back to me, experiences I shared with friends that I might not be in regular contact with anymore. And I thought of describing that moment to them on a postcard, and how they might feel reading it. Comparing their memory with what I expressed. How it might make them feel to see the memory, to see themselves, through my eyes.

The session ending with a brainstorming session to list things you’re looking forward to. Most weren’t specific instances or events, of course, but more things to do every day to keep your chin up. Phrases of hope and inspiration. And I can see how these would look on a postcard, and how they might make the reader feel.

The session was inspiring and brought a breath of fresh air to my writing mindset – I can write without it having to be a story or a poem. I can write to share something with just one other person, and it will matter. I’m grateful to have a stack of blank postcards and a coil of stamps. Keep an eye on your mailbox.

I started my “first” poetry notebook earlier this spring. I say “first” because I’ve written poetry before and took a poetry workshop in college, but this was a notebook only for poems. I wrote in it from March 9th to August 17th, and though I still have a few blank pages left, it’s time for a new book.

March 9th was before my job went remote and before I knew what was coming. The notebook takes me through the “novelty” of having an extra week of Spring Break (or so I thought at the time), to trying to navigate how I can hold my life together. It captures the inspiration I felt from having access to so many author Zooms – events I wouldn’t have been able to attend if they were in-person, whether it was due to distance or having to find care for my son. Things seemed, if not bright, then at least “okay” for a time. Then it got harder and there was a lot of turmoil in my life, a lot of anger, and it showed in my writing.

My creativity has been severely stunted for the past few months, and I feel like most days I’m doing just enough to live. And keep my son alive. Most things I think about are what each meal will be and what I need to do to make money. (Writing, people, writing! No OnlyFans links here.) Over the past two months, it’s been harder for me to let my mind wander for creative writing, and sometimes even to enjoy reading. This election (I know, I know, you’ve heard it all from everyone else) has been weighing heavy on me, and it’s showing me people’s true colors in ways I’m sadly not surprised by, but still angered by. And I know that’s on me. I’m letting these people live rent-free in my mind, a saying I read recently and have been fixated on.

And maybe it’s a strange time to feel the tides of change, but I’m feeling it. And I hope it goes beyond me, but even if it doesn’t, I want to harness this feeling. I’m writing for NaNo and I’m on track (yes it’s early, but still!). I was inspired to start a new poetry notebook, perhaps one with less despair than this spring’s, or at least more discipline in anger instead of pure mopey-ness. I don’t know what tonight will bring, or the next day or the next week or the next month or January. But I have hope and I have my thoughts and my words, and I’m determined to use them.