Ugh, d@mmit, confound this accursed piece of silicon Trash excuse for a computer.
When your dubious heroine (that would be moi, Damsel Fair-ly P!ssed OFF!) last posted a missive on writing progress, there was a bit of celebration in the air. I created the pig-of-a-trucker (needed to be missing body numero uno), wrote his trashy pathetic backstory, got him to the strip club, had him thrown out on his somewhat sorry @ss. I had him stomp back, dejectedly and boozily toward his truck, and then get brained with a crow bar - said crow bar being the last thing to pass through his mind, as it were.
Yours truly, distressed and disgusted here, at the orchid house, cannot find the file. It is NOWHERE.
Call me a cautionary tale for talking smack about my muse.
Now I gotta kill the dumb b@st@rd All. Over. Again.