The Problem with Backup

I remember the days when computer files were saved on disc. Diskettes, actually. All my stories were carefully backed up in duplicate. I felt secure.

Technology progressed, as technology will. The floppy disk gave way to higher capacity storage systems—I had a Jaz drive, once upon a time. These cassettes, reminiscent of an 8-track, held an enormous amount of data. But not enough.

Computers came with CD drives then, but you couldn't save onto a CD—like the early PDFs. Then they made CD writers common hardware with your computer. I began saving everything on CDs. Large tubes of them fill a forgotten desk drawer.

Then came the terabyte drive. Holding more storage capacity than a moon-launch computer, this little device, used weekly, safely holds my secrets. Stories are secure at last. My computer wants me to save them to the Cloud. And pay for the privilege.

So I dutifully backup my hard disc onto the terabyte drive. This morning old Terry died. I think my files are still there, but what does one do when one's stories are in jeopardy? I don't trust the Cloud. Rain happens, my friends, and I don't want somebody else keeping my fiction.

Alas, it is time to seek out an expensive expert who will charge me to retrieve what is mine in the first place. Puts a new spin on intellectual property, does it not? These improvements are supposed to make life easier, but instead they mean storage spaces full of outdated media.

I think I'm going back to pen and paper.

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K. Marvin Bruce

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