This will be brief because the idea I want to convey isn’t a major one but a lovely thought.
Over the weekend two major moments caused me to think about the idea of rebirth. The first came in the form of closing out business at the house on Durwood Road. I have no particular affinity for the house, having lived there for roughly a year only. Amanda and I were unhappy and are finding our new house much better. Yet, still, as I walked away from it I nonetheless felt a twinge of sadness. There was a sense of what could have been. Sure we’d been in combat with the house for a year but it had its plusses. We had to walk on, especially since we were hardly on the nicest terms with the realtor. Still, a nice neighborhood that could’ve been home.
Then there was the death of Scripped. I have vented on Twitter enough but the facts are simple: every single piece of screenwriting I have done over three years is gone. Wiped out. The script about dead malls I poured my all into. The scraps of drafts of the unwritten Unworthy. My fairy project. My b-movie tribute. Several hundred pages gone never to be recovered. Tens of hours of work for nothing.
This one, the feelings are very different. I’m furious of course. I’m outraged that something I trusted and in fact used expressly because I trusted it. The callous alerts that I should’ve backed up my work were insulting, especially as I counted on a cloud being more reliable than my hard drive. I’m incredibly sad too. I loved the work I put in. It makes me upset I’ll never get the work back. Were they more than scraps? Some were just discarded ideas but others still had a shot.
On the surface, the situations are completely different. A situation I willfully exited versus one that was thrust on me that destroyed so much I put into it. But they’re not. In both cases, I walk away from, what I must concede are, failures. The house on Durwood was never home. In fact I lived there during my darkest depression in years. The scripts I wrote were unfinished. I liked having them but they were an epic stack of failures that daunted me.
So where do I go now. I start with a new writing site. I start writing again. I keep building the new house up. I do all I can. Like the phoenix I burn but I rise.