The story of your project, told beautifully.
Time Trail turns commits, notes, and photos of your 3am napkin drawings into a timeline of your creation journey.
“Every project has a moment it almost died. That's the part worth keeping.”
Changelogs forget. READMEs are tombstones. The middle — the false starts, the Sunday call that talked you down, the rewrite that finally clicked — is where the story actually lives, and it’s the first thing lost. Time Trail remembers the whole thing.
Three steps, told as the timeline they become.
Point Time Trail at your sources.
Git activity, releases, written notes, images, links, voice memos. It ingests the artifacts of the build — the raw material the story gets composed from.
The narrative engine drafts the arc.
Beats, milestones, the shape of the story — proposed automatically, including the moments you’d never log yourself.
Ship a public page that reads like a magazine.
A private admin timeline to curate, and a shareable public page worth earning — a link worth sending.
Each beat finds its own form.
Updates, releases, milestones, mood boards, code, voice memos — part changelog, part lookbook, part documentary. The same set of editorial shapes the product uses to typeset a build:
It proposes the beats. You decide what’s canon.
Time Trail reads your trail and surfaces the beats you’d forget. They arrive in a different register — cool indigo, a four-pointed sparkle, a soft halo — deliberately distinct from the warm gilt of work you’ve already committed. Nothing becomes canon until you accept it.
For anyone whose process is worth keeping.
Builders who want the howto survive, not just the shipped thing. Build in public, or keep it private until you’re ready — either way the trail is worth keeping.
The build became the launch.
Nine months of nights and weekends, shipped in public — and the trail itself was the launch story everyone shared.
Every dead-end, kept.
The rebrand's false starts and breakthroughs, held as one continuous record the whole team could point back to.
A book, across drafts.
The cuts, the rewrites, the chapter that finally clicked — a manuscript’s real history, not just the final file.
Same story. Your house style.
The writing is the point — but when it’s time to publish, a finishing touch: dress your public page in any of fifteen looks. Posture shifts too, not just color — type weight, rhythm, and the voice of the folios. Pick a chip; the content never moves.
Public Release
Cook with intent — and watch your kitchen story write itself. After nine months of building, we open the doors.