desk scrap paper with a conscience
A notebook that ends.
One page, bounded to 48 — the size of a Field Notes memo book. Write until it fills, then shelve it and start a new one — acting on your words as you move through each page. The limit is the feature: a page that can't grow forever can't turn into a bottomless pile you never revisit.
A small private beta — new notebooks are invitation-only right now. Already in? Just open it.
THE BOOK · No.1
ink depth = how full each page is · dashed = unwritten
as you move through a page, four verbs say what became of each note
ROLL ⌘⏎
A scrap rolls up into a task; the scrap itself stays on the page as a scar, so the page keeps the record. The rolled list is light: check it, reorder it, unroll it. No dates, no projects.
FILE ⇧⌘F
Keep a scrap for good in the cabinet — titled, tagged, searchable, sealed. Filing copies it out; the original stays put as a scar. The cabinet is unbounded; the page is not.
GATHER ⌘K #tag
Pull scattered scraps that share a #tag into one block, wherever you're writing now. Each origin stays where it was as a scar, so the page still shows where every piece came from.
SCRATCH ⌫ hold
Some scraps were never meant to be kept. Scratch one out and it stays where it was, struck through — because scratching a scrap out is a decision you made, and the scar keeps the record of it.
Nothing is ever erased, and nothing shrinks — a scar keeps the full space of what was there, so the book fills at the rate you write. A finished one is the whole record of what you wrote and what became of it.
no streaks · no badges · no AI · no tracking · no second notebook — until you archive this one.
Write on the web today. Native Mac, iPad & iOS apps are in active development.
Everything you write is end-to-end encrypted on your device before it syncs. I store ciphertext I can't read — not a promise, an architecture. See how →