The Living Story Company
The Lighthouse
Landfall
Copperheart
Driftwood
My Robot Friend
In VRWhat you assign opens on their phone.
- You send a tool from the client’s record in the Lighthouse. You choose it — the Lighthouse may suggest one from words in a session's transcript, and it goes out the moment you tap it.
- It is first on their week. The calendar offers it — “From your therapist” — and they place it: the day, the part of the day, the hour if they want one.
- A receipt comes home, once your client has chosen what you receive. Started, finished, or still to come. A count — what it means is yours to read together.
Ten things to know before you assign it.
Each one read from Landfall’s own code.
Pairing is one code.Six characters from you, entered once. The client can unpair whenever they choose.
The client chooses what you receive.Everything, chosen tools, or only what they send, with none of it pre-selected.
Words by default, pictures by consent.Photos, voice and drawings come to you only when the client ticks them.
Sealed stays sealed.A future letter or a sealed page reaches you on its day and no sooner.
- Story pages come when shared.
A page of their book reaches you only when the client shares it.
What you can send.A tool, a lock or an unlock, suggested work, a daily plan, a message, a session confirmation, a story prompt.
A receipt carries their word.Opened or completed, with the client’s own outcome word, so you read “I tried” rather than a bare tick.
Done means the data changed.An assigned tool counts as complete only when its saved data changes after it was assigned.
About hourly, and at once when it matters.Sync runs about once an hour. An answer to your plan goes immediately.
A research-ready export.The record as a long-format CSV, with a codebook that tells “skipped” from “not asked”.
A receipt comes home.
Started, finished, or still to come — once your client has chosen what you receive. “Three of the last five” is arithmetic; what it means about a person is yours to say.
Started. Finished. Still to come.
A count against the thing you sent, on the client’s record where you sent it from.
Tool by tool, they choose what you receive.
Their words stay on their phone. The receipt is the arithmetic they agreed to send.
The hour.
What a count means about a person is read together, in the room.
The record stays in your building.
The Lighthouse is the whole workspace, installed on your own computer. Your clients’ worlds run on their own phones. What travels between them is what they chose to send, and it lands in the record you keep.
Up to 97 tools can be sent to a Landfall client — read from the Lighthouse’s own catalogue on 2026-11-08.
One ruler, their own range, and what counts as real.
Landfall scores the way a researcher scores a study of one: each person is their own baseline. There are no population norms and no grades. Blue says what the numbers can support, and says when they are too few to say more.
“I read you the way a scientist reads a sheet, and I tell you what is real.”
Every scale runs 1 to 10, one direction, with words on its ends.
A 6 means the same thing on day one and day thirty-five.
Their own recent average, and the wobble around it.
Inside the band is everyday life. Outside it, Blue notices, and says where and when.
A change counts only when it is bigger than the wobble.
Day two to day thirteen to day thirty-five, on the same forty questions: when the bands no longer touch, it is a real move. Smaller than that, she says “within your usual.”
Eight parts of a life, each read five questions deep.
A place’s number is the mean of its five answers, with its own band. Five answers that agree make a thin band; five that disagree make a wide one, and she says so.
A pattern is a rule with a count and a span.
The same place sliding three of the last five planned days. The same thinking trap three times in two weeks. Below the minimum, she waits for more.
The same rows you read.
Every check-in, every tool, every day, in one book they can bring to the hour, or keep to themselves.
The method under the paint: a composite mean with its standard error, an individuals control chart for daily readings, and reliable change on a person’s own answers. The pictures Blue draws of it are in the app: the ruler, the jar, the band, the four arcs, the trail.
Every day becomes a page of their book.
My Landfall Story opens like a book — a hinged cover with their island, its title and their name on it. Inside: the contents, five acts; a chapter a week; a page a day, written each night from what the day recorded, with every piece that day made on it.
It is theirs to keep, and theirs to bring: to you, to a doctor, or nowhere at all.
Every piece of the day, kept as a page.
Put it on Home ›The nine, for one person: five weeks, each walked on its phases.
One seat for the therapist. One world for the person.
The seat is yours; the world is theirs. A client who pairs their Landfall with your Lighthouse pays down your seat.
$49.99
a month · the therapist. The whole workspace, installed on your own computer. A full refund in the first thirty days.
$19.99
a month · the person. Bought by the person, for the person. It pairs with a therapist's Lighthouse if they run one, and it works just as well on its own.
Three paired clients and the seat is half price. Five, and it is free.
A client who pairs their world with your Lighthouse pays down your seat.
Start when you are ready.
Tell us what you want to start with, and we set you up: the seat, a world, or both.
See the island itself.
The page your clients will read, and the book that writes itself.