Every month we write three new audio stories, about twenty minutes each. You tell us what's going on, like the new school or the friend group that went quiet, and we build a story around it. The hero is close enough to recognize and far enough away that your kid can get lost in it.
Nobody at thirteen wants to hear about a bunny who can't fall asleep. These are audio stories written for 10 to 17 year olds, in the kinds of stories they already pick on their own:
mystery/adventure/sci-fi/fantasy/thriller/sports drama
Then we make each one theirs. We build it from what they're into and what their life looks like right now, including the hard parts.
A story can be aboutmoving cities in seventh grade, splitting the week between two homes, getting cut from the team, a best friend who found a new best friend, exam nerves, or nothing heavy at all, just a really good ghost story.
Twenty minutes in someone else's shoes, facing a fear, making a hard call, getting back up. They won't feel like they're learning anything. But they'll be soaking up lessons they carry for life.
A one-minute excerpt from a sci-fi story. Put it on in the car and see who asks what happens next.
The storm reached the outpost at dusk, the way storms on this moon always did: all at once, like a door slammed shut.
She stood at the observation window, her palm pressed to the cold glass. Three weeks on the station, and she still ate alone. The others had their jokes, their history, their own names for things. She had a bunk, a job, and a group chat back home that had gone completely silent.
Behind her, the comms panel crackled. A signal. Weak and broken. A rover, stranded somewhere past the ridge.
"It's too dangerous," someone said. "We wait for morning."
But she had seen the numbers. By morning, the rover's power would be gone.
Her heart was loud in her ears. Speaking up meant being seen. And being seen meant being wrong, in front of all of them.
She took a breath.
"I know a way through the ridge," she said. "I mapped it. Nobody asked."
The room went quiet. Then the commander turned, and for the first time, really looked at her.
"Show us."
Outside, the storm howled. Inside, something small and brave began to burn.
Headphones help. A full story runs about twenty minutes.
If you're like me, you've given the talk. The one about trying out anyway, or telling the truth when it's going to cost you something. And you've watched it bounce off a kid who was nodding along and thinking about something else entirely.
That's normal. Nobody likes being told who to be, and at thirteen you like it even less.
What does get through, at least in my house, is a good story. A kid who won't sit still for a speech about courage will listen for twenty minutes to a girl on a frozen moon deciding whether to speak up in a room that never asked for her. And every so often, a few days later, they bring it up on their own.
So that's what we make. You tell us what your kid is dealing with and what you'd like them to hear. We write a story where someone a lot like them runs into something a lot like it, and has to choose. You read the script before they do, and if something feels off, we change it.
It won't fix everything, and it's no substitute for a counselor if your kid needs one. It's three good stories a month about the year they're having. I think that's worth something.
People who feel "transported" into a story shift their beliefs toward it, a finding confirmed across dozens of studies.
A story doesn't feel like a lecture, so listeners argue back less and resist less than they do with direct advice.
When readers spontaneously "become" a character, they can take on that character's traits and behaviors afterwards.
Ideas absorbed from fiction can persist, and sometimes grow, over the following weeks. They also show up in automatic, gut-level associations, not just in what people say.
Fiction gives a small but reliable lift to understanding other minds, and stories have reduced prejudice in children and teens who identified with the hero.
Adolescents change more when a message honors their need for independence and fairness than when it comes as an adult telling them what to do.
Honest note: a story helps. It won't do the parenting for you.
Putting a child's name on page one is a gimmick. We personalize what matters: the situation, the stakes, the people, and the choice at the heart of the story. The hero feels like someone they know, close enough to recognize, with enough distance to get lost in. That's the Mirrorline: a reflection, never a copy.
Made-up example. We only ask for age, gender and the context you choose to share. No names, schools, photos or addresses.
Stranded at a research outpost on a frozen moon, the newest crew member has to decide whether to trust a team that never asked for her, before the storm cuts the signal home.
It takes about ten minutes per kid: what they're into, what they're facing, what you'd like the stories to reinforce. You can change it any time, which is handy because the answers change every few weeks at this age.
Our story writers draft each script, and we produce it with a cast of voices, music and sound. You get to read every script first, and you can ask for changes before your kid hears anything.
The stories land in a private Google Drive folder shared only with your family. Each one comes with a one-page guide for you and a couple of questions, in case the car ride turns into a conversation.
Siblings can split the three between them, or share one story where each of them recognizes a piece of themselves. Cancel whenever you like.
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Prices in USD.
Short answers, roughly in the order people ask them.
A person reads every script before it's produced, and it's written for your kid's age. You set the topics to avoid, you read the script first, and you can ask for changes. The stories do go near real difficulties, because that's the point, but never anything graphic.
We don't ask for any personal data about your kid: no name, nickname, school, address or photo. Just age and gender, plus whatever context, challenges and values you decide to share. We use your brief only to write your family's stories. We never sell it or use it for ads, and you can delete it, along with every story made from it, whenever you want.
In a private Google Drive folder shared only with the email you sign up with. Each story is an audio file plus a one-page guide, so your kid can play it on a phone, a tablet or the car stereo.
The narration and characters are synthetic voices made with voice software. That's how we can cast a full story for your family every month. We never clone a real person's voice, yours or your kid's included.
That's what we work hardest to avoid. The hero makes their own choices and the story comes first. Teens can tell when they're being lectured, and honestly, so can we.
No. Mirrorline is storytelling, and it doesn't replace professional care. If your kid is struggling, please talk to a qualified professional. The stories can sit alongside that.
Fill out the brief, about ten minutes per kid, and we start writing. The stories show up in your family's Drive folder, and you read each script first.