More Data Obscura – The Weird Accumulation of Stuff in My Messy Mental Filing System

Passwords. Loads of them. None of them mine. Yet there they are. All tucked into the overflowing inbox of my brain. Why? Wish I knew. How? Easy. I have a problem with pattern recognition. Once I’ve sussed a pattern, or even think I have, it’s in my brain to stay. I seem to be wired to look for connections between unlike things. It may have been part of what made me a reasonably good database administrator. The problem is that when I don’t find links between data points, I have the disturbing tendency to make them up. Perhaps this is why fiction writing works so well for me? I have so much practice making things up.

Most of the obscure trivia bits tucked into my brain are there because I did research for a book – it stuff I thought I’d need, so it got marked for long term storage. The other bits, like Iceland sitting atop the Atlantic Rift and being torn asunder by an average of 2.5cm per year isn’t because I lived there. I was too young to appreciate that when we lived there. No, that’s just geek fascination with geology and the power of natural forces. Niagra Falls wears the rock escarpment backward by 1.16 meters (nearly 4 feet) a year. Seven miles of erosion in 12,500 years. That’s superfast. Do I need to know this? No. But those bits are irrevocably in my head.

My husband likes to say that most of the trivia in my head is there because of my morbid fascination with how Mother Nature might one day kill off the human race: plague, catastrophe, what have you. It isn’t entirely true – there is some info about string theory and the extra potential dimensions the theory entails, some useless data on circadian rhythms, caving, how viruses infect human cells, as well as more plant recognition and critter recognition (several by sound alone!) than anyone would ever need.

It comes down to the fact that I’m an absorber, an observer. My brain and I are most comfortable when I’m sponging up data, as opposed to say, streaming it – super fast writers are streamers – very comfy with pouring stuff out of their heads onto virtual paper. I envy them. Absorbers have to work harder to achieve reverse data flow. It isn’t impossible, it just feels like it. And even then, I’d rather find a nice science video out on the internet about some arcane something I never knew. Failing that, I’ll go with videos or books that are sheer speculation bordering on wishful thinking about ‘facts’ that might never have actually been. We’re talking conspiracy theory and conjecture here, but what the heck.

Why? What makes me an absorber with all these useless bits of crap rattling around my head? Probably something my mother ate while she was pregnant with me. Beyond the genetic wiring component, it’s about feeling smart. Somewhere in my past, I got the message that smart equaled good and I wanted to be both. Having my head stuffed full of fun, cool stuff makes me feel like I might actually have an IQ. Granted, brilliance probably has more to do with curing cancer than being able to mention there’s a place in Antarctica called Blood Falls and that I desperately want to go see it with my own eyes. No. Really. Photo and article here. (In fact, Atlas Obscura is one of my favorite places for useless bits of trivia). The National Geographic Society website is good, too. Have you seen the Crystal Cave? Do you know how long you can survive in high heat and high humidity before you begin accumulating organ damage? I do and I’ve used it in a book. Have a look at some of the stunning photos here. You’ll know, too. See if it doesn’t get stuck in your head, too.

The Gist of It

by KAK

I can’t remember crap … or even important stuff. When I announced to the world I wanted to be a writer the world responded with, “which authors do you like?”

Uhm. 

You know the story about the guy and the girl and the dragon that ate shoes? Yeah, that author. It’s not that I don’t care who wrote the story, that I didn’t bother to look. I did. Fifteen minutes into the book I could have told you the author.  By the last page the protags are sharing breakfast in bed and my brain is wondering whether canolies are made with ricotta or mascarpone. I go into the kitchen to look up the answer in a cookbook. By the time my book is in hand I’ve forgotten the question. Why? ‘Cause I’ve passed by my pile of shoes at the door and now my brain is wondering if I washed the dress that goes with the yellow pair because I have a luncheon.  Wait. When was that luncheon again? I better go check the calendar…

Guess how the story ends.

KAK, you need to slow down, you need to focus, you need to make lists. Blah-ba-blah, blah, blah, blah.  

That’s not it.

My brain turns everything into ultra-cliff notes. It is a compactor of data. It is the CEO summary of progress reports. It retains finite information of an event that cannot be retrieved on a whim – and most especially not when somebody asks me to retrieve it. That earns the interrogator a vacant stare and possibly a bit of drool.  

I can tell you the gist.

Jayne Eyre? Frightened young girl with her hair plastered to the sides of her head and pulled back into a bun. Cruel handsome dude controls her life. Nutter in the attic. Big fuckin' fire. Don’t ask me who wrote it. Don’t ask me anybody else’s name.

I Remember Mama? Immigrant story. Swedes. Better have some uppers on hand when you’re done reading.

First Book in the Dark Hunters Series? Dude trapped in a book. He’s not a Dark-Hunter. His girl likes to drink.

Poison Study? Butterflies. Spies. Shims. Not really poison. 

I could go on…mostly because you haven’t asked me to. But I’ll spare you. ‘Cause I need to see if the paint in the kitchen is the same color as that Demons-versus-Trolls cover on that book by whatshername.

Data Obscura

by Laura Bickle

I adore exotic facts. I get to explore a lot of them through my writing: spontaneous human combustion, Tarot, astrology, dark matter, elementals, things that glow in the dark. Research is the thing I love most about writing. I have permission to explore all kinds of topics, chase ideas down rabbit holes.

But I also get to do that when I'm not writing. When I'm not writing, I'm working behind the information desk at a library. I get an endless succession of really neat questions:

"I'm traveling to Costa Rica. Can you find me a travel guide?"

"My son is doing a report on backyard birds. What do you have that explains robins to a second-grader?"

"I need to find a way to compare digital camera ratings and prices."

"Do you have any resources about elder care?"

"I'm doing a paper on mythology. What can you tell me about Pele?"

"I need twenty books about Hawaii for my preschool class. Lots of things with pictures."

"I'd like to learn about Chinese painting."

"I'm looking for a map of bike paths in the city."

"Do you know who wrote and illustrated Y: THE LAST MAN?"

"Where can I find instructions about washing machine repair?"

"My mother is learning English. Do you have any classes that would help her?"

"I'm doing a paper on feminism in Europe. Can you tell me who the major figures were?"

"Where are your Justin Bieber books?"

"I need some books on Braille."

"What's the second book in the Redwall series?"

"Where can I take a class on embroidery?"

"I need to find out about network security."

"Can you help me with studying for the MCAT?"

"I want to learn Mandarin."

"I'm trying to locate original films in which Harry Houdini starred."

It's always something different. I learn something new every day through these questions, and I'm grateful for the chance to keep chasing down answers.

In Pursuit of Trivia

by Jeffe Kennedy A friend once told me that I'm a fount of useless information. She meant that in all affection. Plus it was an accurate observation. I have one of those brains that gloms onto details and files it all away with the enthusiasm of a hoarder anticipating the end of civilization. First my brain dutifully recorded every one of my record albums and those of my family. I could recite everything from Free to Be You and Me, Thumbelina, Neal Diamond's Jonathan Livingston Seagull, to this bizarre array of old Western songs. Yes, if you never felt sorry for my mother before, now you do. When I learned to read, I had another avenue for gathering facts of all types. You know how kids tease and say, "what did you read the dictionary?" Um, maybe. At least, I tended to get swept up and keep going from word to word when I looked something up. That set of World Book Encyclopedias? I might have read some chunks of those. Anything I ran across in the library, I would gobble up. I'd go on kicks and read everything I could find on, say, whales, or astronomy or Greek mythology. Really, though, I blame Trivial Pursuit. Do you all remember this game? It came out in the US in 1982, when I was 15. You moved pieces around a board and the square you landed on dictated a category. The other player or players would draw a card and ask you a question from that area. This game drove me freaking nuts. For a kid who thought she knew everything, this game laughed with the evil condescension of the trivia gods. The entertainment questions were all from 20 years before my time. At least. If I didn't know the answer, the default guess would be Clark Gable or Carole Lombard. I swear - half the questions were about them. Literature was about books I'd never heard of, much less read. Science was on topics way past General Chemistry. And if you didn't know the answer? This is the very worst part, children, so gather close and let me tell you about a dark and frightening time in our world: This was BEFORE THE INTERWEBS. That's right. You couldn't just throw a phrase into the search engine and get an answer, you had to look shit up in books. And a lot of this stuff wasn't in the home set of World Book Encyclopedias. Some of it wasn't even to be found at one's local branch of the public library. My high school boyfriend, Kev, and I used to play Trivial Pursuit for hours. Yes, ours was a geek love, and it was pure and true, so shut up. Late one night, he asked me a question to which the answer was "Avery Brundage." No, I'm not going to tell you who he was - go look it up. At least you have Wikipedia. Now, when you're asked a question about the 1936 Olympics and the answer is a name like "Avery Brundage," things get kind of surreal. We got the giggles. It became a running joke. When break ended and Kev returned to college, he availed himself of Northwestern's truly comprehensive library to look up Avery Brundage trivia. He would send me reports. We worked up an extensive conspiracy theory. A girl never forgets her first love. And I can still recite Free to Be You and Me. Alas for those neurons that will never do anything else...