Brushing Away the Pixel Dust

by Eric

When Mary pointed out to me that it was 25 years since the first Orphan Scrivener appeared in February 2000 I went to the newsletter archive on our website to read that issue.

It seems I had recently driven to the post office, finding there the March issue of Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine with the third story about our Mongolian Inspector Dorj, Death on the Trans-Mongolian Railway. I also learned on that day a quarter century ago,a nor'easter was on the way inland and as the snow accumulated my old Chevette barely made it up the long hill outside town, fishtailing all the way.

When the Internet came along I thought it represented the future. The whole planet would be linked in instantaneous communication. Pure science fiction.

While that is partly true, the Internet seems to be mostly about the past. Tom Swift's Amazing Electric Attic.

Used to be the past went away and stayed away. Now you just have to rummage around cyberspace. Brush away the pixel dust and those ancient, discarded television shows and movies are all there, along with every forgotten fad and useless piece of trivia. Trying to recall the name of an obscure sixties band that cut two singles and broke up? Once upon a time they were never to be heard of again. Today they've got a new CD available at their website. Heck, the Internet attic is even crawling with web spiders, thanks to search engines.

And we all keep shoving our own pasts into the attic.(See for example the Orphan Scrivener archive I've just been reading: https://maywrite.blogspot.com/p/list-of-essays-we-started-this-email.html) Even if we make no effort at preservation, websites like the Wayback Machine are making sure nothing is lost. I was born long before the World Wide Web was invented so I can only delve a limited distance into my past but younger people can already review their entire lives.

In the long ago, when I sat reading a Batman comic with a scratchy 45 of The Purple People Eater for a soundtrack, a cool glass of root beer Fizzies in my hand, I sometimes felt a frisson, almost as if I were being watched.

Now I know what it was.

The older me peering back through the Internet at my younger self.