You don't have a writing problem. You have a Tuesday problem.

Setting up a newsletter takes one afternoon. Keeping it alive is ideas, writing, editing, doubting every sentence, finding the time. Every week, forever. That part is now Lois's job.

Loisbot
Today

Got 10 minutes? I want to get a start on this week's edition. Three things from your last notes I want to dig into:

09:41

1. You said you almost dropped the whole project in March. What made you stay?

2. That checklist trick you mentioned: walk me through it once, slowly.

3. What would you tell someone exactly one year behind you?

09:41
2:4709:52

That third answer is the opening. Draft's ready tonight.

09:53

Lois checks in. You talk. She writes.

Sound familiar

It comes apart in the same order every time.

Nobody quits a newsletter in week one. Here is the year, the way it actually goes.

FOR YEARS

“I should really write about this.” You've been saying it for years.

ONE SUNDAY

Domain, name, welcome email. One afternoon, and it felt like the hard part was behind you.

ISSUE #4

Issue #4 went out. Issue #5 went out late. Issue #6 is still a draft.

A TUESDAY, 21:40

You rewrite the first paragraph six times, close the tab, and spend the rest of the evening deciding you're not a writer.

BY NOVEMBER

The list is still there. The topic is still good. What broke was the week.

It was never about talent. A newsletter is a routine, and routines need a second person. That's Lois.

How Lois helps

What the second person actually does.

Anyone can generate a newsletter. Lois keeps yours alive. Here's what she takes off your plate.

01

She starts the week, and she doesn't let go.

Lois pings you on Telegram when it's time for the next issue. Politely persistent, and yes, a little nagging when it's needed. The routine is her job now.

Kills: issue #3 is still a draft

02

She asks what a good editor would ask.

No blank page. Two or three sharp follow-up questions, and your spoken answers become the raw material.

Kills: the six rewrites of the first paragraph

03

She writes from what you recorded.

Lois writes from the moments, notes and answers you record. She never invents a topic or fills in what you did not say.

Keeps: your own point of view

04

She remembers everything you've told her.

Every recording, every note, every answer lands in your own material archive. Issue #14 can draw on the story you told her in week one.

Kills: everything you said once and never wrote down

05

She writes it in your voice, not “AI voice”.

Lois measures how you actually talk and write, keeps your phrasing, and runs every draft through a critic that strips the generic AI gloss.

Kills: “this does not sound like me”

06

She sticks to what you said.

Every claim in a draft traces back to something you actually said or wrote. If Lois doesn't know, she asks you instead of making it up.

Kills: putting your name on something invented

As simple as possible. As helpful as possible.

How it works

Three minutes on a Tuesday.

One issue, start to send-ready.

  1. You talk for three minutes. Messy is fine.

  2. Lois asks what a good editor would ask. You answer in a 0:41 note.

  3. Draft, 11:12

    Nobody trusts a number they can't reproduce

    The draft is ready. Built only from what you said, written in your voice.

  4. Annotated, 11:38

    Nobody trusts a number they can't reproduce

    You react in one voice note. Lois rewrites, your words stay yours.

  5. Nobody trusts a number they can't reproduce

    Send-ready, waiting in Lois. Nothing goes out without your OK.

Who owns what

Her judgement, your facts.

You own

What you actually know, what you think about it, and the final yes.

Lois owns

Topics, research, structure, headlines, every sentence.

Your tool stays yours

Copy the finished issue into beehiiv, Substack, Kit, or wherever you already send.

beehiivpaste ready
Substackpaste ready
Kitpaste ready
She decides what makes the issue. That is what a ghostwriter is for.She researches around your topic and asks until she has enough.She is built not to invent facts. Every claim traces back to you or to a source.
A note from the person who built this

Four newsletters. Four funerals.

Since 2014 I've started four newsletters. I gave up on every single one.

Buying the domain was easy. Setting it up on Substack was easy. Getting myself to write an issue every week was the hard part. I was working a lot. Sometimes life got in the way, sometimes work did, and the energy went first. Then the motivation went, because by then I felt like a failure.

The writing itself never came easy either. I spent absurd hours on the first issues, and on the site around them. At some point I just felt stupid and quietly stopped.

This time I wanted it to be different. So I built Lois.

Mario
Pricing

One issue free. Then ten euros a month.

Free0 €One issue, start to send-ready.
One recorded sessionOne finished issueCopy into any toolNo card required
Record an idea
Solo
10 €/ month
Up to eight issues a month
Unlimited rewritesCopy into any toolYour recordings stay yours
Start writing weekly
Lifetime
149 €once
Founding seat. Pay once, never again.
Everything in SoloFirst 50 seats only, then it's goneLifetime means as long as LoisLetter runs, not your lifetime
Grab a founding seat
Founding pricing: Solo goes to 19 € for new customers after the first 50 lifetime seats are gone.
Questions

What people ask before they sign up.

Why not just use ChatGPT?

You can. You'll be the one picking the topic, writing the prompt, judging the draft, and catching what it made up. That's still writing, with extra steps. Lois asks the questions, makes the structural calls, and is built not to invent facts. You just answer.

What if I miss a week?

Lois asks again. She does not scold you and she does not give up. Keeping the rhythm is her job, not yours.

I'm not a writer.

That's the point. You need experience and a willingness to talk about it. Lois has no opinion on your writing because you're not doing any.

Does it sound like me?

It sounds like you on a good day. She keeps your words and the way you build a sentence, and cuts the filler. It is not a transcript of your voice note, and it is never her opinion.

What if I have no archive?

Record the last thing you explained to someone out loud. That is an issue.

How long does it take?

Five to fifteen minutes of talking, no preparation. Answer one question now and the rest later; the draft waits.

Can I change what she decided?

All of it. Reorder sections, pick another headline, choose a different angle. Her calls are a starting arrangement, not a verdict.