A few months ago I realized something uncomfortable:
I don’t have a “no ideas” problem.
I have a workflow disease.
Most days looked like this:
On paper, that’s “being productive”.
In reality, my focus was getting shredded into tiny pieces.
At some point I stopped and asked myself:
“Why does every tiny rewrite require a full ritual with new tabs, new UIs, new distractions?”
That question is basically the origin story of what I’m building now: Rephrazo.
If you zoom in on a single loop — copy → switch tab → paste → wait → paste back — it doesn’t look like a big deal.
But every time you do it, you:
One loop is fine.
Ten loops are annoying.
Fifty loops and the whole writing session feels like “talking to tools about your text” instead of actually working on the text.
When I talked to other people (copywriters, founders, creators), they kept saying some version of:
“I know what I want to say. I just waste too much mental energy polishing it.”
That’s a very different problem from “please write this for me from scratch”.
I tried a bunch of things, including my own early prototypes:
All of them had the same flaw:
they wanted me to move into their world, instead of quietly fitting into mine.
At some point I wrote down a brutally simple requirement:
I don’t want “a new place to write”.
I want one very small action that just rewrites a sentence where it already lives.
No new window.
No prompt box.
No configuration panel.
Just: “this line feels off → fix it → keep going.”
So I stopped thinking in terms of “product” and started thinking in terms of gesture.
What gesture do I actually want as a writer?
That’s it. That gesture is the product.
Everything else is infrastructure and error handling.
This is what Rephrazo does right now:
No tab switch, no chat thread, no “what should I ask the AI this time?”.
I assumed the most common request would be:
“Make this more persuasive / more punchy / more high-converting.”
That definitely shows up, but the strongest pattern is different.
What people actually care about:
So the internal “spec” for the rewrite changed from:
That tiny shift changes how people emotionally relate to the tool.
It’s not a replacement, it’s a helper that’s only allowed to sand the surface, not rebuild the object.
Of course, my first version of Rephrazo was over-engineered:
It felt “pro” to me.
Most users… ignored it.
What they did use:
The more options I removed, the more often they pressed the hotkey.
It’s a bit painful to admit, but it’s true:
“flexibility” is often for the builder’s ego.
Users want one trustworthy move that works 80% of the time.
Based on real usage and conversations, it seems to be most useful for:
It’s not great for:
So I stopped pitching it to myself as “AI for writing” and started framing it more honestly:
“It’s a small, cheap way to rewrite sentences
once you already know what you want to say.”
Nothing more, nothing less.
Right now I have more questions than answers: