Stories lost in the floppy disk graveyard

I took the old laptop out of its nifty leather case and stared. Was it always that clunky looking? So square? Like an old Volvo. Instead of a mouse, it has a marble-sized trackball. The screen is about the size of my Kindle screen. And what’s with the giant box with a little plug sticking out of it?

This thing doesn’t have a USB port, but it does have a place to plug in a telephone line for the modem. Suddenly the old backup computer has become an historic artifact. But it’s my only hope to find out what happened to Roberta and Frank.

I’ve been reading through short stories I wrote back in the late ‘90s. Some are so awful I’m relieved no one wanted to publish them. But some are still good, especially this one about Roberta and Frank, who run into trouble while traveling in their motorhome. I was thinking I should polish it and send it out. It’s not too out of date. Look, Roberta, even has a cell phone. She doesn’t know how to use it, but I can fix that. I got to the end of page 5. The ambulance is coming and–where’s page 6? Where’s the rest of the story? I have a vague memory that Roberta stops being such a wuss and saves the day, but I don’t know the details anymore.

I have to leave for church in five minutes. I tear through my files. I sent it to literary journals back in the days before we submitted everything online. I have to have more paper copies of “Runaway Dream.”

I find maybe 50 short stories. Lord, I was prolific. But not that one.

Okay, look through the pile of CDs. Nope, too new. Where are those old 3.5-inch floppies? The only computer with a floppy drive that I still have would be that laptop I bought in 1993. There it is back behind the unsold books.

Epson ActionNote 700 CX. I plug it in. The poor thing is beat up, the F7 key coming off, the screen part separating from the keyboard part (unlike a lot of today’s laptops, it’s not supposed to). It turns on. Gray screen, words and numbers. DOS. Oh crap. Does anybody remember the DOS operating systems that preceded Windows?

Press F1. Okay. Setup failed. Press F12 for setup utility. I get a screen full of choices and no idea what button to push. The date shows Jan. 1, 1990. Memories of Y2K. Remember how we thought the world would fall apart because all our computers couldn’t make the leap to a new millennium? Most of them did but maybe not this one.

I decide to take pictures so I can show you all this historic computer. I close the top to shoot the outside. When I reopen it, all the words and numbers are gone. The computer doen’t even hum. When I push the power button, nothing happens. Old ActionNote seems to have passed away while I was trying to take its picture. But how does Roberta get off that deserted road? Does her husband get to the hospital in time?

Wait. Do I have another laptop, an interim between the Volvo and my current HP, a Honda maybe? Can’t find it, but I find some 5.25-inch floppy disks. Short Stories 1 and 2. Great! Oh. I have nothing that can read them. I have always backed up my files, carried copies in my car, and put them in the safe deposit box at the bank. It’s all useless nonrecyclable plastic now.

But wait, the Volvo didn’t die. The plug got super hot and the computer turned itself off. After it cools, I plug it in again. Green light. Must act quickly. Setup. Change the date. OMG. Windows 3.1. Insert disk. Horrible wailing noise. It can’t read the disk, can’t read any of my old disks, but hey, here on the hard drive is the old version of my novel Azorean Dreams. Hello, old friend.

“When the alarm shrilled at 7 a.m., Chelsea groaned and covered her eyes against the light pouring in the bedroom windows.” The whole book is there. Wow.

What else is on this thing? There’s the unfinished novel about a quadriplegic named Daniel. And something called deaderma.wps. Oh, I love that story. Reporter goes to do an interview and finds the subject dead in the rose bushes. Being a reporter, she gets nosy . . .

No Roberta and Frank. I created these people. I need to find out what happened to them, even if I have to retype every blinking word into the new (ish) computer.

I’m still looking. And no, I do not want to write a new ending. The moral of this tale. Print everything out. I still have poems, stories and essays I wrote on manual typewriters 50 years ago, but I can’t read what I entrusted to my computers in 1997. Even 2007 is iffy. Paper lasts longer than modern technology. We’re putting all of our information into machines that will be obsolete before I pay off my Visa bill. Is anybody thinking about that?

Do you have antique computers and antique media hanging around? Ever try to use them? What is going to happen to everything we have entrusted to our computers in five, 10, 20 or 30 years? Are writers the only ones who care?

I could tell you a whole other story about the days I spent last week sticking slides into the old slide projector. I thought I would get them digitized, but then I thought, why? Even my own slides bore me now. It’s been a dusty time in the Lick household lately as I try to sort things down to manageable levels. Within reason. Marie Kondo, queen of throwing away everything that doesn’t give you joy, can’t take my stories away. She’s not even getting the old laptop. Not yet.

Here are some interesting links to read about the history of laptops and the history of data storage.

Laptop history in photos

Another history that is better if you mute the music

Check out this video on how to prevent “data rot” No music, cute guy, but skip the ad after he gets to the stone tablets

You might also want to mute the music on this history of data storage

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GwJfERnF30g
Fascinating, but the music is a bit much


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The Trifecta of Technology Failure

IMG_20160425_124252092_HDR[1]Sometimes I really miss the days of typewriters and saving our words on paper. Yes, I’m old, so old that when I had to use an electric typewriter in my college typing class, I walked up to the teacher and said, “Ma’am, I can’t do that. I’m used to a manual typewriter. These keys move too fast. I’m going to flunk this class.” Her response was something along the lines of “get over it.” And I did.

At my early newspaper jobs, I typed on manual typewriters, using leftover sheets of newsprint and carbon paper to make copies. We edited with pencils, and typesetters retyped our words into long strips of heavy paper that we pasted on cardboard and marked up with blue pencils that didn’t show when the pages were photographed. I also took pictures on film and developed them in a darkroom, but that’s a whole other story.

Over the years, I’ve gotten used to electric typewriters, word processors, my first Radio Shack computer (a $1500 box with no connection to the Internet), Apples and IBMs, DOS and Windows, disks as big as dinner plates, disks down-sized to cake plates, and floppy disks that could double as coasters, CDs, DVDs and flash drives, portable phones, cell phones, smart phones, Kindles, iPads, iPods, Etc. None of which lasts more than two years.

On Friday night, when I turned on my computer, the screen was blank. The power light was on, and the computer seemed to be on. The computer is relatively new, sold to me by Staples, which just happens to have closed their local store last month. I didn’t do anything different to it. I had simply turned it off before I went to my weekly jam in Waldport. Of course you know where the user’s manual is these days? Right. Online. You can’t read it if you’re staring at a blank screen. Note to computer makers: Bring back printed manuals. Your online help is not that helpful. 

Luckily, I have a laptop as well as a desktop computer, and I managed to find some suggestions for my dilemma. Lots of unplugging and restarting. Ultimately, I unplugged the monitor and went searching in the garage for the ancient 50-pound monitor that I had never gotten around to taking somewhere to recycle. It had been there for years. It just about killed me lugging it from the garage to my office and muscling it into place. But guess what? It worked. I’m using it now. The print is too small and kind of fuzzy. My new monitor, ordered online from Staples, should arrive today. None of the coupons they keep sending me in the mail applied to this purchase. They charged me extra for insurance I did not buy. The Staples guy insists I did. I give up.

But that wasn’t the end of the weekend’s technical difficulties. Nope. I went to Corvallis yesterday for a Timberline Review reading at Grass Roots Books and Music, to be followed by a meeting to decide which poems to publish in the next issue. At a rest stop on Highway 20, I glanced at my phone and read DEVICE LOCKED. I had recently installed McAfee antivirus protection on the phone, and they had decided that it had fallen into the hands of a criminal. I could only unlock it with my pin number. My pin number was at home. I could not use my phone for five hours. At home last night, I found the pin, got into the phone and uninstalled that SOB program. I can’t believe an outside force could keep me from my own phone.

That’s still not the end of it. Our poetry meeting had to be aborted because the WiFi didn’t work in the café where we planned to have our discussion and the folks at the bookstore next door didn’t know the password to their WiFi. Our only copies of the poems were online, so we gave up and went home. If we’d brought them on paper, our meeting would have happened and we’d have our final list of poems today. Grumble.

Today, at this moment, everything is working, but I have no confidence that when I go into the kitchen to make my lunch, the microwave will work. I miss the good old days. How about you? Feel free to comment on your frustrations or joys with technology.

PS. Lunch went fine, but I just got an email from Staples. They no longer have the monitor I ordered, and it will not be coming. Is that smoke coming out of my ears?