Where is Chaper Fourteen?

Yesterday, after the family left about noon, I hit the computer and was pretty much there until 9:30, with time out for a short nap, feeding the dogs, and a quick supper--which I ate at the computer. I was doing a final run through the work-in-progress and sailed along through chapters four through thirteen. Then, about 9:30 I hit chapter fourteen. As it should, it started on a new page, with "Chapter Fourten" properly dropped down and centered.
And then it was one pagraph, and there, centered in the next block of text was "Chapter Fifteen." I searched frantically--the files on the computer, backup files on jump drives. Chapter fourteen just flat doesn't exist, and I am left wondering if it ever did and trying to reconstruct what should be in it. And in Chapter Fifteen, everything is gallywumpas--passages out of order, repetitions. Whatever I did, I must have done it over time, because you simply couldn't do that much damage at one sitting.
Today was one of those days, and I really didn't get back to revisions until suppertime, so I haven't made a lot of progress. I'm sure I can put all the pieces together again, unlike Humpty Dumpty, but it sure will need at least one and probably two more readings.
One thing that tickles me--I have a tendency to take some passages from the reality of my life. The heroine in this one takes her niece and nephew to look at a dog at the humane society. The niece has been studying available dogs online and found a Labradoodle she really wants--that, of course, reflects my interest in those "doodle" breeds. They ask if they can see the dog on a leash, outside the cage.  But when the attendant goes to put the leash on the dog, he begins to jump all over her in enthusiasm, and Kate, the heroine, has second thoughts about his rambunctiousness. The attendant says over her shoulder, "I"m telling him he's not making a good impression." That really happened eight years ago when I got my Aussie, Scooby. He was three and a half and full of it. He's turned out to be a good dog, so loving, but he never did calm down till he was about ten. Now eleven and a half, his age is showing and he's docile. So I have the wild Indian Bordoodle puppy to deal with.
There's another incident that comes from reality, but I realize telling it would be a spoiler, so I can't share that one--only after you've read it.
Meantime, wish me luck. I think reconstructing a novel is harder than writing it in the first place.

Two days as a grandmother--and trying to be an author

After a Christmas holiday full of grandchildren, I've had a two-day Jacob experience. His parents went out of town--which really burned him, because he thought they should have taken him with them. We didn't tell him they'd gone to the Alamo Bowl to see Baylor play--and win--because he's an avid Baylor fan. But he was here from six Wed. night until seven tonight. I was never a mom who played with her kids much--they were four of them and they kept themselves busy together. So entertaining one grandchild is a challenge--yesterday we ran errands all morning, which didn't please him except when we picked out special desserts for New Year's Eve at Central Market. Never mind that he was so sad tonight he ate his and I promised to share mine tomorrow--I don't need all those calories anyway. Last night we went to a German restaurant with his Aunt Betty--and he talked incessantly and acted up, but ate chicken strips and fries. The food at Greenwoods, by the by, was delicious. Betty and I shared schnitzel, fried potataoes and salad.
Today Jacob and I had a battle over the Baylor shirt he'd been wearing for three days--it's filthy, but he refused to take it off. So I took this ragamuffin urchin to Origins and Staples and then back home where he decided it didn't matter if he played with the dogs in a dirty shirt. His folks expected to be back about four but didn't arrive until seven--awful traffic on I-35. So we fiddled away the afternoon--I worked and napped, Jacob played and watched TV--and napped. We were both soooo glad to see the parents arrive:-)
My good friend Subie came by this afternoon--haven't seen her in a couple of years (Jacob finally put on a clean shirt for the occasion). We had a glass of wine and a good visit, albeit around a talkative five-year-old. Her visit was a bright spot in a sort of uncertain day.
In my work periods today, I'm checking edits on the second Kelly O'Connell mystery--accepting or declining insertions and deletions on the Track Changes program is always problematic--and frustrating--to me, but I'm learning some things as I go along. My editor is in Wales, and sometimes I wonder if that doesn't lead to a difference in idioms, etc. And I have always followed the Chicago Manual of Style--which she doesn't. She thinks I include too much description about houses and foods, but my feeling is the Kelly books are cozies and people want to have this sense of being immersed in Kelly's world. (Any opinions are welcome!) So I'm battling with these differences and trying to be accommodating. I have miles to go on this manuscript and then on the next one, though I'm lunching with Fred on Tuesday and will get his comments on that one. 2012 promises to be busy.

Memoirs, edits, and a puny cat

My daytime memoir class met today. Those ladies have the most interesting stories, usually told with a nice bit of humor so that we end up laughing a lot. Today we got sidetracked by long discussions of people who are cat lovers and those who are not. Then of course it veered into dog stories, and I finally brought the discussion back to memoirs. But I think that talking and sharing is as important to the class members as the writing of the memoir, though once again I can see memoirs taking shape in a few people's work. This class doesn't have the repeat rate the evening class does, and I don't really expect many to get very far on a memoir in seven weeks. We'll see what happens.
Tonight I finished the edits on my mystery, Skeleton in a Dead Space, and sent it back to the editor. Sign of the changing internet world--she lives in Wales. I think a couple of language differences cropped up between us. Made me laugh. One has to do with plural vs. plural possessive, and the other is the colloquial, "I were you, I wouldn't . . . ." She kept wanting to make it "If I were you," but I told her in conversation, lots of us say, "It were me," etc. It is a good feeling to have that off my desk. I planned to devote all day tomorrow to it, and now it's done. I can read that new issue of Bon Appetit that arrived today!
But tomorrow has a project. My cat is not acting right--not eating much, not pooping much, throwing up a bit tonight The vet said it's time for them to look at him. Another bill I don't need, but I am a tad worried. Wywy will be 19 this spring and seems healthy, but these recent symptoms concern me.