My lost manuscript is found over twenty years later.

I wrote my first book in 1998. It was saved on a floppy disk. I got divorced in 2003 and the floppy disk got lost. I thought the manuscript was gone forever.

My mother passed away in 2012. Now, 2020, I decided to go through her old papers and drawings–she was an artist. I found a printed copy of the book I wrote in 1998. I cried. Then, shortly thereafter my stepmother discovered a copy that I made her as well–both slightly different versions.

I felt like I had been reunited with a lost soul mate. I hugged it and cried some more.

The papers were yellowed and tiny tares on each side reminded me that the printer I used was so old that the ream of paper was one long neverending ream completely attached with pages separated by perforations and pulled through for printing by the holes on the side tabs–which needed to be torn off page by page by hand. There was a paper punch in the upper left-hand corner and the entire manuscript was held together by a pink ribbon.

I caressed the frail parchment and sobbed.

Its title: Camp Savior. Its author: Me, a young, love-hungry, emotionally tattered woman not yet becoming. I read the entire book over one weekend. I cried many times. I see now, twenty-two years later, that writing Camp Savior was the beginning of my evolution into who I am today. In its pages, I could feel the pain I had been in every moment up to that point. My stories told in the lives of each fictional character.

My protagonist plus the eight to nine other characters all vivid and unique and reeling in trauma and yet each was me. Different skin colors, upbringing, socioeconomic standing, and sexual orientation and enough trauma to go around for all of them. I have to admit, I’m quite impressed with my previous twenty-something self. I had no idea how to write a book and its presentation from title page to chapter headings all incorrect but the content was and is powerful.

The plot surrounds accurate but fictionalized current events from the ’90s. Violence within various social and familial institutions such as street gangs and marriage–maybe those two institutions are synonymous. As well as friendships, enemies, families, and strangers. The abused, neglected, and addicted among us–all saved.

Marla loses both of her children to street violence in a city overrun with gangs. Her grief births an idea to save our youth. In an attempt to atone for his bad behavior, President Bill Clinton embraces her bold remedy. The United States of America wages war against its people. Our borders close as we quest to save ourselves and the only remedy is love. I even credited Donald Trump, in part, to satisfying the massive financial burdon to build Camp Savior. In the end the mother’s grief morphs to the strength that every lost and saved soul of Camp Savior draws from.

I found Camp Saviour–a paper copy. I didn’t know how to even begin retyping the entire 88,000 words. But wait, there’s an app for that. I purchased an app for scanning a paper document into a word document. That provided me with an editable digital copy. Again, I cried.

I spent one more weekend after I rediscovered Camp Savior adding a few more historically correct events from the years 2000-2002. It was important enough. The tragedies of 9/11 were the most impactful I have yet to experience. By adding a brief recount of the events from the perspective of characters that had already been victims of heartbreaking realities and villains because it was worth it. After all, they’re all me.

I’m currently focused on my manuscript titled: Amirah’s Diamond, but, once it finds a home I’m spending a few years with Camp Savior. I’ve considered other titles for this piece: Safe and Sound, and currently, Steele Freedom.

I’ll keep you posted. Until then, happy writing my fellow inventors.