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
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.
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:
09:411. 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?
09:41That third answer is the opening. Draft's ready tonight.
09:53Lois checks in. You talk. She writes.
Nobody quits a newsletter in week one. Here is the year, the way it actually goes.
“I should really write about this.” You've been saying it for years.
Domain, name, welcome email. One afternoon, and it felt like the hard part was behind you.
Issue #4 went out. Issue #5 went out late. Issue #6 is still a draft.
You rewrite the first paragraph six times, close the tab, and spend the rest of the evening deciding you're not a writer.
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.
Anyone can generate a newsletter. Lois keeps yours alive. Here's what she takes off your plate.
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
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
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
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
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”
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.
You don't force yourself through a draft. You talk: unfiltered, messy, half sentences, detours. That's the input Lois wants.
She turns the messy version into something people actually enjoy reading, and nothing goes in that you didn't say.
Here is what that looks like, from the Tuesday ping to the sent issue.
I record between two meetings. That is the whole time budget. I always had the material. Typing it up was the part that never happened.”
One issue, start to send-ready.
You talk for three minutes. Messy is fine.
Lois asks what a good editor would ask. You answer in a 0:41 note.
Nobody trusts a number they can't reproduce
The draft is ready. Built only from what you said, written in your voice.
Nobody trusts a number they can't reproduce
You react in one voice note. Lois rewrites, your words stay yours.
Nobody trusts a number they can't reproduce
Send-ready, waiting in Lois. Nothing goes out without your OK.
What you actually know, what you think about it, and the final yes.
Topics, research, structure, headlines, every sentence.
Copy the finished issue into beehiiv, Substack, Kit, or wherever you already send.
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.
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.
Lois asks again. She does not scold you and she does not give up. Keeping the rhythm is her job, not yours.
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.
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.
Record the last thing you explained to someone out loud. That is an issue.
Five to fifteen minutes of talking, no preparation. Answer one question now and the rest later; the draft waits.
All of it. Reorder sections, pick another headline, choose a different angle. Her calls are a starting arrangement, not a verdict.
“Tell me about the last thing you explained to someone twice this week. I'll take it from there.”