A friend and I got new computers about the same time. Within forty-eight hours, she'd transferred everything from her old computer -- files, programs, documents, music, photos -- to her new computer.
I'm still operating with a minimal amount of date on mine. My iTunes library is on four different computers (one at least six years old). I still have photos on an old Gateway laptop with a 3 1/2" floppy drive. I have years worth of emails copied into folders on my third -- or is fourth? -- last laptop.
Writing-wise, on this new computer I have the work-in-progress for Forever Romance, A Man To Hold On To, and the first Tuesday Night Margarita Club book, A Hero to Come Home To. I also have the work-in-progress for Harlequin -- Charlotte's story! -- and a manuscript I'm critiquing for a friend. That's it. None of the ten million words of other manuscripts, notes, research that reside on various other computers.
One day I might surprise everyone, me most of all, and get every single piece of data on the same computer at the same time. In the meantime, though . . . I like to live dangerously.