Sit down with someone in your family and record the conversation. We turn that one afternoon into a book of their life — in their own words, with their voice kept beside every page.
Every other way of doing this asks an 84-year-old to do a year of homework. A question arrives each week. They're meant to sit alone and write.
Most of them never finish, and the family ends up with nothing. It isn't a discipline problem. Nobody remembers their life on a schedule, and nobody tells the truth to a form.
People remember out loud, to someone they love, when a question lands at the right moment and the next one follows from the answer. That takes one good conversation — not fifty-two prompts and a year of guilt.
Drawn from the interview methods researchers actually use to open up a life, and built around the person you're recording. Print it, bring it, ignore half of it.
An hour, or three. At the kitchen table, on the phone in your pocket. No app to fight with — just the two of you talking.
Their life story in their own voice, and every moment of the recording kept for as long as your family wants it.
“There were nine of us in three rooms. I didn't know we were poor until somebody told me, and I've never quite believed them since.”heard at 47:12
An illustration of the format. Every line in the finished book carries the moment it was said, and you can play it.
We never invent a word. Every sentence traces back to a moment in the recording. You can press play and hear them say it.
The recording is the part that can't be replaced. We treat it that way.
Thank you — we'll be in touch when it opens.
One email when it opens. Nothing else, ever.