It is now 11.30a.m. I have been editing novel-in-progress since 08.00a.m. and Microsoft Word has just spectacularly crashed.
I remain calm, I may feel like throwing my Mac out of the window, but it is not Mac’s fault.
The fault lies with those software bugs that lurk, unseen ready to, pounce or in this case obliterate all recorded communication with my muse, which may never come again in such creative proliferation.
So reliant I have become on Word to record my every word, I have now programmed myself to restart and try to recapture that inspiration.