Not to mention a screaming paranoid.
I live in mortal fear of loss of something I’ve written. Novels, short stories, blogposts, just also the assorted bits and pieces I’ve accumulated, maybe not used, but you never know when they’ll come in handy, do you?
Some people are very laissez fair about this. ‘Oh, it’ll be there somewhere.’ I want to know where that where is, thank you.
All like minded people are like me, but there aren’t that many about. They think I’m obsessional, and if I have to I hold me hands up, because I am not going to fuck about with thousands of hours of work going back to my first encounter with Word and Windows all those years ago. I guard it jealously, my immediate keystrokes at the end of a sentence are ‘Ctrl+S’. I’m not running the risk of being one of those people wailing, ‘Oh no! It just deleted it all, man!’
OK, so I save assiduously to my hard drive as I go along. So far I have never lost anything because I was a bit lax about ‘Ctrl+S.’ It might happen, I suppose, but the odds are against.
Then everything I have written for the past enteen years is available somewhere on an interweb. It’s there, but I’m buggered if I want to sod about looking for it.
Enter the USB memory stick. I love these things. I bought a new one today, cos I only had two. This is a real cheapo job, less than eight quid for 16 Gb. That’s a bit lame for the bigboy programmers, but there’s more memory there than on the hard drive of my first laptop., by a factor of 4. I rather like my new toy, and enjoyed copying files.
Toy is now in my pockets, one of which contains another 8 Gb. I could have launched a moon landing here.
There’s another 8 Gb. That’s kept completely separately. That seems wise to me. I like to know where my stuff is.
Anybody remember ZipDrives? The disks weren’t much use, with a storage of 128 slowloading Mb. I had a stack of them. And I sort of mourn the death of the floppy disk. I had mountains of them.