My Second Book Was Stolen (Read: Seven or Eight Years Ago, or Even Earlier)
I know my sentence sounds very dramatic, but what happened was much simpler than that. After my first book was published and I received some good feedback, I started working seriously on my second book. I had a few short stories, one of which I loved dearly (even now, just thinking about it makes me cry).
Then one day, someone stole my laptop from my office at the ACH. The laptop itself meant nothing to me. The most valuable thing on it was the draft of my second book. I would have gladly bought the laptop back from the thief for twice its price, but that wasn't an option.
If you've ever written something you truly cared about, you know that rewriting it is almost impossible. For a long time afterward, I couldn't write stories at all. It was a hard blow.
P.S. 1: I finished one of the hardest chapters. Hip hip hooray?! Or, at the very least, the first draft is now acceptable enough to move on to rewriting, and rewriting, and rewriting all over again!
P.S. 2: I think modern humans have confused having a degree with learning. In my opinion, the purpose of education doesn't have to be earning a particular credential. Every now and then, people should take a course in whatever subject interests them and learn something new. For example, you're an engineer and suddenly become interested in astrophysics. The books you can buy off the shelf at a bookstore and online articles aren't helping, so go to a university and take an astrophysics class, with no goal other than the pleasure of learning. Then keep doing this for the rest of your life, exploring whatever subjects interest you.
And as a thank-you, you can send me some money! Blink! Blink! Or even cha-ching!!! (The sound of a casino slot machine!)
P.S. 3: My right eye is worse than it was yesterday. I don't know whether it's an allergy or an infection. I just hope I don't go blind!
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