Three minutes ago, I just managed to — from some freak accident — delete a piece of fiction I’ve been working on for months. For months, I’ve tweaked it. Literally, sentence by sentence, word by word, and comma by comma. Some days, I’d spend a good hour just staring at a single phrase, making it perfect.

And now it’s all gone.

I’m heartbroken. Seriously.

I have to start over, I know. But how, I have no idea.