Just a week or so ago, my neighbor's daughter died, and I asked my Absolute Write friends what I should do-- I didn't know the girl, and have never really spoken with her parents, but felt awful and wanted to do something. They told me to bring over food, and a couple of them said something like, "They probably won't remember you were there, but they'll appreciate it anyway."
The past couple of days have been a little like that for me. No one died, of course, but Absolute Write is very much my "daughter," and I've put my world on hold to try to get it back together after our hosting company suspended us. It's been a blur, complete with stereotypical stages of grief. It's not something I feel comfortable talking about at this point, and I've struggled with what to say, or whether or not to even say anything yet. (I should note: That's why comments are turned off on this post. I'm not ready for Q&A yet.)
For two days, I was just in panic mode. I canceled my first-ever trip to see my sister in Rhode Island at the last minute, which broke me apart to have to do to her (she's been waiting for me to come to her house for a very long time). Along with my "team," I worked around the clock to try to save our stuff and get us onto a new host. I had to keep a sort of tunnel vision for one thing only: getting the site back. But I knew the mods and I weren't the only ones pulling for the site.
The e-mails I received... the offers of help, the phenomenal support on the blogosphere, the simple, "I'm here for whatever you need and it's all going to be OK" notes... I'm not composed enough to even soak it all in yet.
What I want to say is that you brought food, and I know you were here. Does that make sense? This is day 3, and I'm finally able to feel something other than the crap I've felt for the past 2: I feel extremely moved.
To all the chatters valiantly saving cached pages in the middle of the night, to Jason Tudor for setting up a temporary page for us while we were waiting for the new hosting to kick in, to Martin at vBulletin for trying his darnedest to rescue us, to Miss Snark, to John Scalzi, to all the people offering us web space, to all the people spreading the 20 Worst Agents list, to Kira Connally and Lisa Spangenberg for showing me how much support I have, to Lauri Berkenkamp at Nomad for being a stupendously caring editor and friend, to C. E. Petit, to everyone writing to offer technical help and legal help and financial help and emotional support, to THE MOST DEVOTED MODERATORS ON THE PLANET who should all be sainted for their round-the-clock efforts and concern and generally because they're amazing human beings, to Roger Carlson for setting up a temporary fort for us, to Bob Wagner for helping us move, to the people in chat who said all the right things to help release some of the pressure, to Amy Brozio-Andrews and Charlie Stuart for constantly-- in every situation-- standing right at my side and being willing to lose sleep because Absolute Write is that important to them too, to Victoria Strauss and Ann Crispin and Teresa Nielsen Hayden and Jim Macdonald for leading by example, to those who didn't e-mail me because they know I'm overloaded but nevertheless are good vibing the heck out of me, to those who remind me to take care of my health, to Lori Basiewicz and MacAllister Stone and Frank Baron and Dawno for keeping people informed and being my beautiful friends, to Janet Reid for the goats (*cough* don't ask), to those doing research and sticking their necks out and holding my hand and letting me know that my little slice of cyberspace matters like crazy to you:
I hope to give you a progress report tomorrow night.
P.S. To the people asking about donating: I really appreciate it and may need your help soon, but right now, I don't feel comfortable accepting donations until I know if I can put Humpty Dumpty back together again. I don't want to let you down.
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