I hate computers.
I hate them with the passionate splendor of a thousand burning suns.
Remember that bully that used to pick on you in middle school? You hated him, didn’t you? Well, I hate computers more than you hated him.
I am not the most tech-savvy person in the world. I’m not even the most tech-savvy person on the street where I live. I am barely the most tech-savvy person in my home, and, as I write this, I am the only occupant besides a feisty cat and a rambunctious boxer. I find it more and more frustrating that so much of what I need to get done every day relies on computers and technology.
I can’t keep an accurate accounting of what the Cub Scouts in my Arrow of Light den have left for rank completion because the Boy Scouts of America uses a website for tracking. This website is almost always under maintenance. There are nights that I stand around at work, getting paid to do fuck all, because the system has crashed, grinding our entire operation to an abrupt halt. I can’t even do routine maintenance on my own car anymore because every single function of the vehicle is controlled . . . by a computer. If I could record a podcast with a tape recorder, a length of twine, and two empty soup cans, I would. Anything to avoid the frustrations that keep us from releasing a quality podcast on a consistent schedule.
And that, dear friends, is the point here today: these infernal electronic machines– the ones that, in theory, are supposed to make our lives easier– have screwed Rodney and I out of being able to release our discussion of The Radetzky March today as we had planned. We recorded it last Friday night. Later that evening, when I sat down to polish off the edit, I was confronted with an audio file, of approximately one hour and ten minutes long, that had no sound. It played– you could see the little timer thingie ticking away the seconds as the file progressed– but you couldn’t actually hear anything that was playing. I contacted customer service, sat in an awkward live chat with a tech representative for almost two hours, and was then informed that the audio file was “corrupt” and could not be recovered.
I should point out at this time this was not the first anger-inducing contact with the technical support team of Soundtrap that I had been party to recently. This was, in fact, the eighth or ninth consecutive week that I have had to endure hours-long requests for assistance from their team of– and this is as nice as I can put this– fucking goons. Usually, eventually, they are able to help me. This time, they could not.
When we started The Devil’s Archive, we opted to use Soundtrap for our podcast editing software because it was inexpensive. Also, it has functionality on a Chromebook, which is the main system I use for my writing. Most importantly, though, was the editing capabilities that did not require us to learn keystrokes or push-button combinations. It has a very user-friendly editing interface that allows you to make a transcript of the entire recording. You can then just go into the document it creates and excise the words and phrasings that you want removed, similar to how one might have edited a term paper in college. We loved it, and it worked very well for us without a problem for about sixteen episodes.
Starting around episode 17, we began to experience a litany of issues that just kept getting progressively worse from week to week. Attempts to edit would lock up my laptop. A few times we could edit but then were unable to save the changes. There was one instance where the playback had a weird, echoing reverb effect on the audio that we couldn’t turn off no matter what button combination we pushed. Multiple episodes had to be physically downloaded by the support team and then stored onto Google Drive so that I could retrieve it myself for uploading into Buzzsprout. You may recall that we had to make apologies for the quality of our very first discussion episode of Just In Case We Die because we were experiencing technical difficulties that could not be solved by their support crew. Ultimately, what has begun to happen is that what used to take me forty-five minutes to an hour every week is now taking five or six hours spread across multiple days. My patience was already beginning to wear thin before Soundtrap physically lost our audio file.
So . . . this has been long-winded, for sure, but we felt that our circumstances warranted explanation. Rodney and I promised a new episode today, and we just cannot deliver on that vow. We would if we could, but Soundtrap currently has more excuses and assurances that the issues will be fixed “soon” than they have access to our recording. As much as it feels like poor form to be “skipping an episode” this early in the game, we see no other option but to re-record our discussion. To do this, however, we need a different podcast software that will be compatible with my Chromebook.
The episode that we promised today will be recorded again as soon as we find new software. The second attempt will be posted on May 10, which is the date we had slated for what would have been episode 3. We did pick the third book at the end of the “lost” episode, so this delay somewhat works out in our favor because the next book is really obscure. It has also been out of print for years. Don’t get us wrong– it looks FANTASTIC!– but we’re going to need a little extra time anyway to procure copies that don’t cost us a couple hundred dollars on eBay.
We do apologize for not having an episode to present today. The lack of new content was way beyond our control. If you take anything from this post today, let it be two things:
1) We agonized for many days over this decision. Our commitment to presenting a quality program is delayed, but not hindered, by this snafu.
2) Don’t use Soundtrap. It’s a garbage, useless product that will eventually make you wish you were dead.
In the meantime, go to your library and find a copy of The Radetzky March. We’ve inadvertently given you a couple of extra weeks to read a book that we didn’t enjoy very much. Oh, wait. That was a spoiler.
Godspeed,
Aaron
Just In Case We Die 