There’s a particular kind of guilt that comes from having too many notes. You keep telling yourself you’ll organize them someday, that there’s value buried in there, that past you was doing future you a favor. But the folders grow and the tags multiply and eventually you stop looking. The archive becomes a kind of graveyard.
I’ve been writing notes for years. Not proper notes, mind you. Not the kind with headers and structure and carefully considered paragraphs. Mine are closer to breadcrumbs. A name someone mentioned at dinner. A quote from something I was reading on the train. Two sentences about an idea that felt urgent at 11pm and now sits there, context long evaporated, waiting for a future that never comes.
I kept them anyway. I’m not sure why. Maybe the same reason people keep boxes of old photographs they never look at. It felt wrong to delete them, even if I couldn’t remember what most of them meant.
When I started building Fiche, I didn’t expect much. I figured it would be a slightly better search, a way to surface things by meaning instead of keywords. That would have been enough.
But then I asked it something. A question that didn’t have an answer in any single note. The pieces were scattered across dozens of fragments, written months apart, none of them substantial enough to matter on their own. And Fiche wove them together. It found threads I hadn’t seen. It showed me connections between breadcrumbs I’d dropped without realizing they were part of the same trail.
That was the thing I hadn’t anticipated. The fragments weren’t useless. They were waiting to be assembled. I just couldn’t hold enough of them in my head at once to see the shape they made together.
Try Fiche free.