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For novelists revising a draft

Notes like an editor. Words still yours.

Run named craft tools on your pages (show don’t tell, pacing, dialogue, point of view) and learn why each note matters. The fix stays with you.

7-day money-back guarantee on your first subscription.

See real notes on a sample page

Built for novelists revising a finished draft. Our AI promise.

Illustration: Coach notes on a sample page. Each note quotes the line it means; the rewriting stays yours.
  • Every note quotes the line it is about.
  • Nothing goes into your manuscript unless you put it there.
  • We don’t use your writing to train AI models.

i.How it works

Three steps, and the last one is yours.

  1. Bring a page, or a chapter.

    Write in the desk, paste a scene, or import a file. Add a few story notes (genre, point of view, tense, premise) so the coach knows what you are aiming for.

  2. Run a craft tool.

    Pick a tool from the Toolbox. You see the credit cost before you run it. Choose a selection or the whole chapter.

  3. Read the notes, then decide.

    Each note quotes your own words, names the issue, explains why a reader would feel it, and suggests something to try. Strengths are included. The rewriting is yours.

See step three on a sample page.

One chapter page from The Salt Ledger, an original sample, and the notes three coach tools actually returned for it, unedited. Each tool reads for one thing. Click a note to find its line.

See all eight coach tools at work

Show, Don’t Tell

Selection of 770 words · 2 credits in the desk

Real output

The Salt Ledger · Chapter 3: Three Bells

Story notes: Romantasy (adult) · Third person limited, Tamsin · Past tense

The bells of the Tithe House were ringing when Tamsin Harrow reached the top of the stairs, and she felt a wave of dread wash over her. Three bells meant a binding. Three bells meant someone in the lower city was about to sign away something they could not afford to lose. She saw the envoy before he saw her. He was standing at the long table with his back to the windows, and the grey light off the marsh made him look carved rather than born. Corin Vael was arrogant and cold, the kind of man who had never once been told no and would not know what to do with the word if he heard it. “You’re late,” he drawled lazily. “The tide was in,” Tamsin snapped angrily. “Some of us walk.” “Some of you,” he purred, “should learn to read a tide table.” She clenched her fists. She was furious. She made herself unclench them, one finger at a time, the way her mother had taught her to before a binding, because anger made the ink run. The salt ink was already laid out on the table. She noticed that it had been poured into the old pewter well, the one with the crack along its lip, and she realized that someone had wanted her to see it. Salt ink did not forgive. A contract written in it held for exactly as long as both parties kept their word, and the moment one of them broke it, the letters burned white into the breaker’s skin. Tamsin had seen a man lose three fingers to a debt of eleven silver crowns. She had been nine. “Sit,” Corin said. “I’ll stand.” “Then stand,” he chuckled darkly. “It makes no difference to the Court whether the binder’s knees are comfortable.” She heard the scratch of a quill somewhere behind the screen at the far end of the room. A clerk, probably. The Court never sent an envoy without a witness, and never sent a witness it trusted. Tamsin felt nervous as she pulled the tithe roll toward her. It was heavier than it looked, as they always were, the vellum thick with the names of every family in the lower city who owed the Court a year of service. She could see the columns of names blurring together. Brewers. Net-menders. A family of chandlers she had bought candles from all her life. She was sad about the chandlers. “You don’t have to read all of it,” Corin said quietly. “Only the names marked in red.” “I read all of it,” she hissed. “That’s the job.” “The job,” he breathed, “is to bind what the Court asks you to bind.” She looked up at him then. His eyes were the color of the marsh at dusk, and there was something in them she did not like, something that looked almost like pity. She realized he knew something she didn’t, and she felt suspicious. She turned the page. The red names began halfway down. Orrin Fisk. Della Mott. The Pell twins, who could not have been more than fourteen. Tamsin ran her finger down the column, steady, steady, until it stopped of its own accord, because her hand had read the name before her eyes would agree to. Bram Harrow. Her brother. Her brother, who was nineteen and stupid and kind, who still fed the gulls on the seawall with bread they could not spare, who had sworn to her on their mother’s grave that he had paid the Court in full last spring. The room was very quiet. Tamsin felt shocked and betrayed and terrified all at once. “There’s been a mistake,” she said. “There has,” Corin agreed. He set a second sheet of vellum beside the roll, and she saw that it was already written in salt ink, the letters faintly smoking where the light touched them. “Your brother borrowed against his tithe. Twice. The second time, he signed for you.” “He wouldn’t.” “He did.” Corin’s voice was gentler now, and somehow that was worse. “The Court is willing to accept a substitute. It usually is.” Tamsin understood then what the cracked inkwell was for. Her mother’s inkwell. The one she had sold to pay for the burial. Someone had bought it back, and carried it across the marsh, and set it out on this table so that she would know, before anyone said a word, exactly how long they had been planning this. “Who?” she asked. Corin smiled, and it was not a kind smile. “Sit down, Miss Harrow,” he said softly. “This is going to take a while.”

8 notes, 1 strength

The tool’s summary

The worldbuilding lands through concrete, embodied stakes—“the letters burned white into the breaker’s skin” makes the magic feel real. The passage’s main drag is a pattern of named emotions and asserted judgments at crucial beats, especially at the bell-ringing opening and the reveal of Bram’s name. If you let those moments play through Tamsin’s physical responses, perceptions, and choices, the tension and intimacy of her POV will sharpen without losing clarity.

Note 1 of 8

1Major

Named emotion and stock phrasing at a key opening beat. This tells the reaction instead of letting the bells and Tamsin’s body or choice carry it.

Why it matters
Readers are primed for the scene’s mood by the first lines; being told what to feel flattens the impact of the three-bell alarm.
Try this
Let the bells and Tamsin’s immediate physical response or micro-action do the work. What changes in her breath, balance, or behavior when three bells sound on these stairs?

The notes this tool returned on an original sample passage, unedited. AI feedback can be wrong, and in the desk you can dismiss any note. Your own pages get notes of their own.

Stuck? The Generate tab is next door.

When you want brainstorming, an outline or a rough scene to react to, the Generate tab sits beside the Coach tab. It is labelled, and it never puts text into your manuscript unless your project is in Co-writer mode.

Brainstorm

Generate tab · 1 credit in the desk

Real output

The writer selected Clean Letter, Chapter 7 (685 words) and asked

Nell is about to go through the stairwell door with three people behind her. I don't want the obvious chase. What could happen next?

  1. Idea 1: Alarmed stairwell

    Nell hits the push bar and a deafening alarm howls across P3, forcing the three men to hesitate and making Ruiz flinch, buying her a public moment and raising the risk they’ll have to explain themselves to building security.

  2. Idea 2: Maintenance shield

    The stairwell door swings open and two maintenance workers with a dolly step out; Nell wedges herself between them and keeps talking like she belongs there, forcing the grey jacket and Ruiz to either back off or make a scene in front of witnesses.

  3. Idea 3: On-mic deterrent

    Nell thumbs her phone’s camera, holds it high, and narrates—time, place, Ruiz at the fourteenth pillar, grey jacket thirty yards back—so anyone watching later will know who was here, pushing the trio into negotiation instead of a grab.

The ideas this tool returned, unedited. Generated text stays in the panel. It goes into a manuscript only if the project is in Co-writer mode and the writer inserts it, and then it is marked and recorded.

And every run is on the record.

The Process Record lists each tool you ran, what it cost and whether any text went into your manuscript. Here are the three runs above, as it would list them.

Process Record · AI activity

The Salt Ledger · Chapter 3: Three Bells

Example
Tool runs recorded for this sample chapter
ToolCreditsInserted
Show, Don’t TellSelection, 770 words2None
Dialogue CoachSelection, 770 words2None
Line CritiqueSelection, 770 words2None
Total6
The record also counts, chapter by chapter, how many words were typed here, imported, pasted or inserted from the generator. It records what happened in CreativeWriters.ai; it is not a certificate.

ii.The Toolbox

Eight craft coaches. One job each.

An editor does not read a chapter for everything at once. Neither does the Toolbox. Each tool does one named job, and tells you what it found in the language of craft.

  • Show, Don’t Tell

    Finds moments where the page names an emotion instead of letting the reader feel it, and explains the effect on the reader.

    2–5 creditsSee it in action

  • Pacing & Tension

    Looks at where momentum sags or rushes, and at the scene’s goal, conflict and outcome.

    2–5 creditsSee it in action

  • Dialogue Coach

    Looks at tags, distinct voices, on-the-nose lines and said-bookisms.

    2–5 creditsSee it in action

  • Sensory Detail

    Looks at what the reader can see, hear, smell, touch and taste, and whether the detail is specific or generic.

    2–5 creditsSee it in action

  • POV & Tense Check

    Finds head-hopping, point-of-view distance slips and tense drift.

    2–5 creditsSee it in action

  • Line Critique

    Picks the line-level notes most worth your time: clarity, rhythm, filter words, clichés.

    2–5 creditsSee it in action

  • Opening Pages

    Reads your first pages the way an agent might: hook, voice, stakes, where a reader would stop.

    3 creditsSee it in action

  • Chapter Read

    A developmental read: purpose, stakes, what the character wants and what is in the way, hooks in and out, and what to cut.

    5 creditsSee it in action

Every note has the same shape: the exact quote, the issue, why it matters, something to try, and how serious it is. Some notes are strengths, because knowing what to keep is half of revising.

AI feedback. It can be wrong, and you can dismiss any note. It is not a substitute for human readers.

  1. Quote
  2. Issue
  3. Why it matters
  4. Try this
  5. Major · minor · strength

The workshop

A separate place for when you’re stuck.

Some days the page is blank, or the middle of the book is a fog. The Generate tab has six tools for those days. It is kept apart from the Coach on purpose. Generated text appears in the panel, not in your manuscript. You can copy it or save it to your notes. If your project is in Co-writer mode you can insert it, and inserted text is marked and recorded. In Coach mode, which is the default, nothing can be inserted at all.

We don’t offer “write in the style of” a named living author, and we are not building whole-book ghostwriting.

  • Brainstorm1 credit

    Ten what-ifs for a stuck spot, from the safest to the boldest.

  • Outline Builder2 credits

    A beat outline for a scene or chapter from a short description.

  • Character Builder2 credits

    Want, need, wound, voice notes and contradictions.

  • Scene Drafter3 credits

    A rough scene from your beats to react to, in your manuscript’s voice.

  • Continue2 credits

    A few hundred words onward from the cursor, to see one way the page could go.

  • Rewrite Passage2 credits

    Two alternative versions of a selection in a direction you choose, never swapped in for you.

iii.The Process Record

Your words, on the record.

A plain account of how your manuscript came together.

For each chapter and for the whole book, the Process Record shows how many words were typed here, imported from a file, pasted in, or inserted from the generator. It also lists every AI tool you ran: when, which tool, how many credits, and whether any text was inserted. You can print it.

What it is
A dated record of what happened inside CreativeWriters.ai, written for you.
What it is not
A certification, an AI-detector result, or proof of what you did elsewhere. We can’t see work you did in other programs, and no publisher or agent currently reviews records like this.
Read the Process Record explainer
An example record for a sample manuscript. Yours counts your own words.

iv.Our AI promise

You should know exactly what happens to your pages.

We don’t use your writing to train AI models. The AI providers we use process your text to return results and, under their API terms, don’t use it to train their models.

Read our AI promise
  1. The coach explains your pages. It does not write your book.

  2. We don’t use your writing to train AI models.

  3. You can export your work and delete it whenever you like.

  4. The Process Record is a record of what happened here, not a certificate.

v.Pricing

Pay for the notes you use.

Two plans, with credits explained in writing terms. You see the cost before every run, and a run that fails is refunded.

See plans and tool costs

7-day money-back guarantee on your first subscription.

  • Writer

    $15 /month

    400 credits · about 200 passage runs

  • Author

    $29 /month

    1,200 credits · about 600 passage runs

vi.Questions

Before you bring your draft.

Is this an AI that writes my book?

No. The Coach tools give notes on your pages and never rewrite them. A separate Generate tab can brainstorm, outline or draft a rough scene for you to react to, and it never puts text into your manuscript unless your project is in Co-writer mode. In Coach mode, the default, nothing can be inserted at all.

Does it replace a human editor?

No. It is a way to prepare pages for human readers, and to practise noticing craft issues yourself. AI feedback can be wrong, and you can dismiss any note.

What does the AI see?

Only what the tool needs: the passage or chapter you run it on (with a little of the text just before a selection, for context), your story notes and the chapter title. The detail is in our AI promise.

Will my writing be used to train AI?

We don’t use your writing to train AI models. The AI providers we use process your text to return results and, under their API terms, don’t use it to train their models.

Who is it for?

Novelists revising a finished or nearly finished draft, especially genre fiction: fantasy and romantasy, romance, thriller and mystery, YA and upmarket. The tools respect the genre, point of view and tense you set in your story notes.

Can I try it before I pay?

You can see every coach tool’s real notes on sample pages, above and on the tools page. And every first subscription comes with a 7-day money-back guarantee: if it isn’t for you, email us within 7 days of your first payment for a full refund.

Can I use it now?

Yes. Create an account and choose Writer or Author, monthly or yearly. Your first subscription comes with a 7-day money-back guarantee.

What does it cost?

Writer is $15 a month for 400 credits, and Author is $29 a month for 1,200 credits. A coach tool on a passage costs 2 credits. Subscribers can add credits for any amount from $10 to $500. See pricing.

Can I take my work with me?

Yes. Export your manuscript whenever you like; exporting never costs credits. You can delete a project, and everything in it, at any time.

Bring the draft you already have.

The notes are ours to give. The book stays yours to write.

7-day money-back guarantee on your first subscription.