So unassuming and seemingly old-fashioned, the index card. My father used them all of the time and so I have some lying around. (The thing about going through his papers is that I am helping myself to his unused office supplies. This is not unlike how I treated his office when he was alive.)
I am a disorganized, forgetful lecturer. So while teaching classes, I rediscovered the joy of index cards. I kept my lecture notes on them with examples and quotes. And then I told my students that it was part of [Last Name]’s first law of research writing, which is know thyself. I told them I knew I would forget important details if I did not have them at hand, and thus I use index cards to keep me on track.
I began to write my new outline on plain old paper. But fear set in. This might not be the right order. I don’t want to flip back and forth in my notebook. So I remembered the mighty index card. I have ten chapters on ten cards with ten working titles (really sophisticated, literary titles such as “Childhood” and “Education”).
I have notes on what could go in the chapter. Periodically I pick up the cards and shuffle through them, just to reassure myself that there is an order. I have yet to get that order to the page. But it’s just a matter of time.
The sun is shining. I sent a letter to my senator against confirming David Friedman as an ambassador to Israel. I should have called, but I sent an email instead.
How are things in your neck of the woods?