“People build these communities without really recognizing what they are, then they suddenly realize, we’re out of money, we’ve changed priorities, we’ve been acquired—they decide to jettison their material,” Scott said. “That’s when we step in. We grab a copy of it for posterity, just because the conversation stops when the data is gone. We take a backup so that somebody can make use of it down the line.”
One of the archives promises that, just because a page isn’t displayed, it doesn’t mean it’s gone forever: “It may simply mean that we haven’t gotten around to restoring it.”
“Your page isn’t gone,” Scott said, when I mentioned my search. “It’s just in a quantum state.”
My friend Dan Hon has gotten me hooked on TinyLetter, which another friend of ours called “artisanal penpals”. Dan is using it as a near-daily writing exercise; I’m using it as a something between a blog post and a sort of longer, more themed Twitter. I’m doing it weekly, and I’m enjoying the pace.