Those boxes revealed many treasures. There were some stories I had written on the word processor (more paper back-ups). I remember them vaguely, and if I can bear to read them I'm sure they'll end their days in the recycling bin. But it will be good to compare my writing with that of years ago.
 

Many items take me on a trip backwards in time: calendars and organizers, address and appointment books. There are journals dating back more than 30 years, and just who was that kid in 1977? The first journal had held a love note from my 6th grade girlfriend. The note is gone (thrown away after the infamous spin-the-bottle incident) but the journal still smells of the perfume which she had sprayed on the note. Try doing that with a blog.
 

There are postcards, birthday cards, wedding invitations, and many letters. As I wondered why I had kept all that stuff I came across one answer: a letter from a girl in high school who had died our senior year. Messages, marked with ink by a human hand, are more valuable to me than any e-mail.
 

Spiral bound notebooks hold stories, scenes, scraps of ideas, notes scribbled at 3am. Will these be of any use? I am reminded of Ray Bradbury who in his youth wrote down lists of words that brought forth memories that he mined for many years for his stories.
 

None of this paper needs to be decrypted or converted. No software license or terms of service hold sway over my ability to access these writings. This is not to say there aren't some disadvantages.
 

The Panasonic W 1000 Personal Word Processor sat in the basement for many years. Supplanted by the personal computer, it had been close to a decade since I had used it. I had little hope of it working. When I touched the power button, the LCD came on strong.
 

I wrote my first book on this machine, as well as many stories, journal entries, resumes, letters to friends and landlords and insurance companies, grocery lists, etc. Slim hopes turned into eager curiosity as I popped in the floppy disk.
 

Nothing. Zero. Nada. Disk not found. Not even a sickly whirring noise. The floppy drive was dead, taking with it everything stored on the single sided, proprietary formatted disks. Those words are trapped in dead bit technology.
 

There are potential remedies. I could take apart the machine and try to solder in a new floppy drive. I could send the disks away to be converted in exchange for a princely sum of money. While it would have been interesting to dig through those old writings, I had already made peace with letting them go.
 

Besides, I had a hard copy of that first novel (don't worry - it is safely hidden away where it will not harm anyone). A paper backup copy, in fact. This reminded me of boxes tucked away in the attic, full of paper. I dragged the boxes out into the light and started to dig through the treasures.
 

To be continued ...
 

Next weekend I'll be attending Boskone, the largest SF/F convention in New England. I don't have anything fancy like a reading or panel sessions; just hanging about and meeting people.
 

If you happen to be going, send me a message (todd at todd-wheeler dot com), let's get together, I'll buy you a beer (or coffee, or vodka, or water - wait the water's free).