Directed writing
Direct the scene. One voice writes it. Your canon holds.
Everyone else built autocomplete for novels. We built the film set: you sit in the director's chair, a single voice drafts to your direction, and a script supervisor checks every beat against your story before a word of prose exists.
Why AI co-writers break your book
Every AI writing tool on the market is a text generator with a chat box. It re-reads your manuscript through a context window and improvises. Working novelists already know the three failure modes:
Slop
The voice drifts toward the model’s median register: competent, forgettable, not yours.
Drift
Eye colors change. The dead walk. Characters know things they were never told.
Custody loss
First it suggests, then it steers, and one day the book is something you approved rather than something you wrote.
The fix isn’t a bigger context window. It’s a different architecture: drafting that answers to your story’s compiled state.
How a scene gets made
1. You direct, in plain language. “@Selma finally shows @Mira the letter. Mira doesn’t cry. She goes cold.” That’s the whole interface: intent in, at the point in the manuscript where the scene belongs.
2. A beat sheet comes back, not prose. The beat sheet is the inspectable contract between your intent and the draft: what happens, in what order, what turns. It is preflighted against story state before you spend a word. If your direction itself contradicts the story, like a revelation she already knows about, you find out here.
3. You approve, one voice renders. Only then does prose exist. A character with a broken hand climbs one-handed without being asked. A character who doesn’t know the secret cannot say it. Not “is prompted not to”: structurally cannot. The draft lands as suggested blocks in your editor, one undo away, and the script supervisor re-checks the page after you accept.
Built for writers who ship
If you publish on a schedule, Director Mode is the speed lever: draft at the pace of direction, then let the continuity checker hold the line on canon, so book four never contradicts book one’s established facts. Your readers get the next book sooner. They never get the version where the timeline broke.
And the meter is honest: drafting a beat is a deliberate AI moment you choose, like a chapter check. Typing, revising, and organizing your manuscript are never metered.
Common questions
Is this an AI that writes my book for me?
No. It writes what you direct, and only that. You say what happens; the machine crafts how it reads; your story's state referees both. Every rendered block lands as a suggestion in your editor, one undo away. You remain the author of every event in your book.
What happens if I direct something that contradicts my story?
The beat sheet tells you before any prose exists. Direct a scene as a shocking revelation and, if the character already knows, you get a chip: 'Directed as a revelation, but she already knows (p.5). Play it as confirmation?' It catches story errors in your instructions, not just in your text.
Can it invent plot twists or decide what happens next?
No, by design, and we regression-test that restraint. Name a character with no event to play and Director Mode stages them and stops. It has no opinion on what should happen in your story. Inventing plot is a wall, not a dial.
Does the prose sound like AI?
One voice writes. Behind the scenes, separate passes plan the beats, check knowledge, and track state, but a single renderer produces the prose, so there are no seams and no committee register. And because every draft is directed and constrained by your story's actual state, it stays your scene, not a model's median guess.
Take the director's seat.
Bunsho is in private beta. Join the waitlist to direct your first scene, and watch the supervisor catch a story error before a word of prose exists.
Join the Waitlist