History is broken. Solution: put post-it notes on everything.

History, in all its manifestations, is based loosely on the scraps that the dead have left behind. Many people study history, and enjoy finding out random pieces of information about those great people who have gone before us, but few understand how it is constructed.

I'm presently studying Archival Science at the University of Maryland. “Archival Science” is a deceptive term....because the reality of the discipline is hardly scientific. Even though the scholarly community surrounding this young discipline tries to hammer out a rough rubric for assessing the value of what remains after important people and institutions are gone, I think most archivists would agree that the reality of transitioning what is left behind into a form that researchers can make use of is something left to wide variance from manifestation to manifestation. The entire practice revolves around preserving documents deemed to be of “enduring value.” This is an unsteady term in and of itself, as what is valued changes from period to period and place to place. Two centuries ago it would have been very unusual to save the writings of common people who didn't contribute to political historical narrative. A thousand years ago it would have been inconceivable to save the records of a person who wasn't associated with the government or the clergy (though some obviously survived, largely through the author's personal volition). As flimsy of a term as “enduring value” is, archivists try to do their best to determine what the future will want to be preserved from this time. We're even preserving Tweets now.

What most people don't understand about the construction of historical reference material is how much of it is lost, even today. Granted, much of this material would be seen as having little or no value by most people, but so much which is valuable to a particular audience is forever gone.

We know, roughly, the course of events which comprised the Battle of Stirling Bridge in 1297. We know that the English believed the Scottish rebellion was in its death throes, that the English commander overslept, and that the the Scots were able to defeat a larger, better-trained an better-funded force through patience and effective utilization of the geographic features of the battlefield. What we don't know, are the thoughts of the English commander, John de Warenne, or what he dreamed of as the Scots were able to observe the English and Welsh troops crossing the bridge time and time again, awaiting orders, all the while giving their ragged, half-starved opponents ample opportunity to count their numbers and assess their formations. What we don't know is how many of the men who died there wanted to be there, how many felt patriotic, how many felt parts of themselves slip away when they thrust their weapon into other men. Looking back through the years, historians, both amateur and professional, would love to have some sort of interview with the survivors of the battle. If any were literate, their journals would be invaluable to historians today. We don't have any of those accounts, because at the time no one felt anyone would consider them valuable. We don't know how the widows and orphaned children of the men who fell that day felt carried on with their lives after the men who were responsible for their care-taking were slain. Maybe some of them were relieved. Maybe some of them found hope and escape from what had been a miserable existence at the hands of patriarch. Gender historians would love to have those accounts. I'm not trying to appraise the value of those accounts, merely pointing them out as an illustration of what is lost in history. Even a contemporary figure, such as Ernest Hemingway or Alan Ginsberg, we have their famous works and a few quotes given during interviews or public statements, but do we know anything about what they thought and did on days where they were less concerned with things which affected the broader society? Do we know what Jack Kerouac did when his belly was full, his libido satisfied and his mind sober? These are things historians and journalists would love to know about, and would compose grand works detailing such if only the source material is available, but at the time when they possibly were, who thought to inquire and record?

One day I will die. What I leave behind may be deemed worthy of being put in boxes (or a hard drive, as is more likely) and made available to researchers. Granted, this is only likely if I do in fact accomplish something on a wider scale than being appreciated by a precious few who were able to see value in what I do beyond a personal level. Even this entry may be noted in the Trevor Wylie Collection. They will assume I sat at my desk and hammered out this post in one long night of soul-searching. What they won't get is the numerous (ineffective) revisions this post goes through before reaching the Internet, they won't attach the correspondence that went into revising it, they won't realize I helped edit a friend's thesis chapter immediately beforehand, they won't know the things and people which have occupied my mind even as I absent-mindedly type this. They won't note the ferocity with which I tried to focus on this instead of thinking about persons on the periphery of my life. Every one of those factors is actively shaping this narrative as it spills out of my fingertips. That's what is lost in this entry, even being so textually noted.

If this blog, or anything else I write, somehow survives me, they wont' know the pressures and passions behind each entry. There won't be a BAC measurement for each entry. They won't have that meta-data. But if I ever become something the world appreciates, they'll wish I had detailed such.

How will an archivist describe the notebook next to me? On one page, there are class notes, on the next a diagram of how I would organize a new outreach branch in an organization. As I turn the pages I see things which were all produced within a certain context, but only I know the details of such. A list of emails, are these for personal reasons, or professional? A paper outline. Notes and revisions I suggested for a friend's thesis. Bits of a poem I may never finish. Half a journal entry, placed in this notebook with all these other things because I had no better place to write it down when I felt I wanted to commit those thoughts to memory. An unfinished sketch. Another page just says “-choosing saints” at the top. The next is torn in half—what did I use the half-sheet for? How will anyone decode my shorthand, which requires context of what I was writing about to be even somewhat decipherable? There's a list of phone numbers and addresses of places I looked at when I moved here, complete with an column for assessing what I thought of each (it says “awesome” next to the address where I now reside...how times have changed). What label would you put on this? Miscellaneous Fall 2010? This information is largely worthless to anyone but me, or maybe people close to me, but if Alan Ginsberg had written the same notebook, it would be preserved and read hungrily by many. In this situation, value is derived from association rather than content.

With so much of history lost, can we ever call any accounts complete? How much are we losing? Are we keeping all the things people will want at some point, even if we don't see value in them now? Questions like these make me wonder how little we know about ourselves as a race.

Most people don't think about what they leave behind, but whether it be an archivist or a family member, you should know that one day someone will rifle through your things and try to get a little more of your story from them. Depending on who you are how much you care, you may want to provide a little more context for everything you do.