The author was never the typist.
We make novels with artificial intelligence, and we say so on the cover. Not because the machine writes well unattended. It doesn’t. Judgment, written down and enforced, is the part that was always the author, and this is a method for exactly that.
The practice, in three moves
Write the standard down
What good means for this specific book, precise enough that two editors reading it land on the same verdict.
Enforce it adversarially
The hand that makes a thing is never the hand that grades it. Critics grade; blind juries rule on contested changes.
Keep the judgment yours
You design the canon, read every verdict, and rule on every tie. Only the execution is delegated.
Taste, written down
From the style rulebook of The Archivist, our first novel. The ban is on naming the feeling; the rule is to render the world that produces it.
✗ before
He felt a profound sense of unease as he realised someone had been in the archive.
✓ after
The chair had been pushed in. I never pushed it in. I stood a while with my coat half off, deciding whether that was the kind of thing I would tell anyone.
Deep cuts failed jury review every time they were tried; ch 20 restored 85/15, ch 28 restored 80/20.
The making left a record: the standard, the audits that failed, the verdicts that overruled the machine. Read the fight behind the book.
Start with one paste
The method’s working parts are free under CC BY 4.0: the Anti-Slop Prose Guard, the Premise Gauntlet, the Story Canon Starter, the Voice Spec, the Adversarial Critic, the Blind Jury Protocol, and the Cold Reader Protocol. Plain text; they work in whatever you already write with.