A night spent in a truck sleeper birth is hardly still. You are constantly being woke by the tractor auto-starting (for heating, cooling, or just to charge the batteries), someone or something moving outside the truck (truck stops are never fully asleep), or even just the jostle of a strong wind. So, when the weather is more moderate and I am in a place where no traffic is coming and going, I like to take out the keys and just enjoy the quiet.
Tonight, that worked well until about midnight, when I woke in a sweat from the humidity. I resisted starting the truck for a while, first just tossing, then opening the window by my head for a little air, then finally giving in, going to the front, and turning the ignition.
Crawling back into the bunk, I checked my phone. Little-to-no signal. I played a couple Sudoku while the temperature became more tolerable. I think I might have started dozing when the truck decided to take a break, shaking the cab, then coming to an arresting stop. I am now wide awake.
I open my Notes app and start working on a poem that has haunted me nearly three years. A new approach brings major progress as the truck restarts the air. Distant thunder also reminds me to expect some rain, and 1:30 passes without rest.
It’s done! I’ll have to look at it in the morning with a different set of eyes for editing, but I think it works. My Freighty rocks with a strong wind and the rain comes, hard. I start another piece. It is soon finished too, and this one feels like it should be on Moristotle & Company, so I start working on a preamble.
I write my openings directly into an email, ready to send. It is really flowing nicely, so I keep at it while the storm rages, until it also is done. I go to save it as a draft, again to check it for edits later, but accidentally hit send, launching it to the inter-webs with the less than 3G service obtained in a parking lot of Kincaid, Illinois.
I realize it is now 3:30 a.m. and I need to meet the manager for my delivery at 6:00. I force myself to shut down.
The alarm goes off at 5:30 and I am surprisingly not groggy. I feel alive after creating two pieces and a preamble I feel proud of. I decide to take an editing look at it while getting ready. I open my Outgoing folder. It is not there. I check the Sents; again nothing. Maybe I did save it to drafts after all. Nope. It is gone.
I still had both poems, but the preamble that I felt was the best I had ever done was no longer. I hoped against hope that our fearless editor received it in the night. When I checked with him, I learned that I had had no such luck.
Well, sorry to trouble you, reader, and I also apologize for this less than stellar 5th attempt to recreate the preamble. But I have taken enough of your time today. I’ll share the poem next week and just leave with this sage advice:
Take a moment. Save your work! (Press the right button.)
| Copyright © 2021 by Maik Strosahl Michael E. Strosahl has focused on poetry for over twenty years, during which time he served a term as President of the Poetry Society of Indiana. He relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri, in 2018 and currently co-hosts a writers group there. |
Good recovery, Maik, and an inventive use of your column on the highways and byways (and in parking lots)!
ReplyDeleteStop thinking about the preamble for a bit and I bet at 3AM tomorrow morning, it will wake you with a bang!
ReplyDeleteHappened to me a number of times, but with me I was not near paper or pencil and other things got in the way--but then it came to me again, later, most of the time anyway, and I was able to get it written.
Can't wait to see your poem next week.
Oh it hurts. It hurts, doesn't it, like losing a Benjamin? You HAD it, like a fish on the hook, but somehow it jumps right back out of the live well! Which has happened to me, both literally (a king mackerel that had to run 40 pounds) and figuratively: a piece I called "Youth Rodeo" which was the first really good article-length bit I wrote that I thought was good. And, I lost it. Gone. No hard copy, no floppy (this was a LONG time ago). If you know Garrison Keillor, in his bio he wrote that he left the only copy of an entire novel in a suitcase at a train station, never to be found. It cost him a lot, including a marriage.I am a freak about saving. I hope Michael is right; I tried to recreate Youth Rodeo but it was years later. Hope it comes to you. Until we record them, the thoughts we have are ephemeral, immaterial, and can disappear in between heartbeats. Please try! I would love to read it.
ReplyDelete