Dreams, story fragments, memories, ideas — whatever surfaces, you open Driftwood and put it down. It's ready the moment it opens, and it saves as you go — before you've even decided what kind of thought it is. It lands, and you go back to sleep.
Capture
Every notes app asks something of you before you can start — a title, a location, a decision. Driftwood asks nothing. Some of what that means in practice:
Voice transcribes as you speak, and the words are saved every second — if your phone dies mid-sentence, the sentence survives.
Offline is the default assumption, not a failure mode. A thought captured in airplane mode at 3am keeps its 3am timestamp when it syncs at 9.
There's a 3am screen — dim, quiet, no bright chrome — because a dream you have to squint at is a dream you lose.
Text, voice, photo, or sketch. Whatever shape it arrives in.
the feeling of almost remembering a dream, like reaching into water
🎤 Voice memo · 0:11
smell of rain on hot pavement = childhood = something unresolved. why does that keep coming up
I set it all down for the first time. something shifted.
Eido
Eido is Driftwood's optional AI companion. It reads what you've written — all of it, across all the time you've been here — so a conversation doesn't start from zero.
Three things make it different from pasting your journal into a chatbot:
It shows its work. Under a reply you'll see "drawing on 4 from your writing" — the actual fragments it's reading from, with their real dates. If it's wrong, you can see where.
Corrections stick. Tell it once that Sam is your sister, not your daughter, and it stays corrected — next week too.
It never guesses who you are. No assumptions about your gender, age, beliefs, or background. It knows what you've told it, and nothing else.
Eido will offer what it sees in your writing when you ask it to go deeper — a pattern, a reading of a dream — but as one way of seeing it, never a verdict. "Here's what I see" is the job. "Here's what this means" is the line it doesn't cross.
Eido is opt-in. Driftwood works completely without it.
Over time
Fragments accumulate, and Driftwood notices what belongs together — a dream from January and a feeling from March that turn out to be the same thing. You didn't tag them. The connection was already in the words.
You can name a thread, follow it, or hand the whole thing to Eido and talk it through.
reaching into water, like trying to hold something that keeps slipping
January 3
smell of rain on hot pavement = childhood = something unresolved
March 14
🎤 Voice memo: the house dream again
June 2
Import
Photograph a page from a 2014 notebook and it lands in Driftwood dated 2014 — read by OCR, reviewed by you before it saves, sorted into your history where it actually happened. Voice memos import the same way. Your history doesn't have to start today.
Privacy
Reading your writing is part of no one's job — and no one's tooling. There is no admin view of content anywhere in Driftwood; support can see that your account exists and usage counts, never words. Enforced in the database, not just promised in a policy. (The one honest caveat: Driftwood runs on servers and isn't end-to-end encrypted, so like any hosted service, a valid legal order could compel access.)
Your words never train an AI model. Eido runs on commercial AI under terms that prohibit training on your data.
Leaving is easy, on purpose. Export everything as one zip — every fragment, every conversation, every photo and voice recording. Delete everything just as completely.
Who it's for
People who have abandoned ten journaling apps — not from lack of discipline, but because every one of them asked for more than the moment had in it. People whose minds don't stop. People carrying a lot with nowhere to set it down. If the gap between having a thought and keeping it has been costing you things for years, Driftwood was built for that gap.
Join the waitlist
Driftwood is in private beta. Leave your email and we'll send you an invite as spots open — no spam, just a note when there's room.
Free to join · We'll only email you about Driftwood