[Free Diagnosis] 'Psyche × Code': An AI Prompt Auto-Generation Program that Uncovers the 'Story You Truly Need to Write' from Your Subconscious

'I want to write something, but I don't know what to write.' 'I feel like I have a theme I want to write about, but I can't grasp its outline.'

For writers like you, I've created a slightly unusual tool. 'Psyche × Code'—a diagnostic program that reads your subconscious through six questions and produces a blueprint for the story you truly need to write right now.

Furthermore, at the end, it converts that design into a 'story generation prompt that you can paste directly into your AI'.

▼ You can try it here (Free, no registration required)

■ About the name 'Psyche × Code'

This tool combines two worlds.

・Psyche = Mind, subconscious. The seeds of what you want to write that are already within you. ・Code = The mechanism that translates that into a 'design' and 'prompt' that an AI can read.

In other words, it's a name that embodies the meaning of 'coding' the vague impulses inside you into a form that can be put into words. This is not fortune-telling. It is not about predicting the future, but a diagnosis to bring out the outlines of the story that is already inside you.

■ How to use (1 minute, 3 steps)

1. Answer 6 questions by tapping. 'What your eyes are drawn to right now,' 'the emotion you want to place at the core of the story,' 'the temperature when writing,' 'the narrative perspective,' 'the aftertaste you want to leave with the reader,' and 'your own current situation'—just choose intuitively.

2. Receive your diagnostic results. Your 'writer subconscious type,' the logline of the story you should write now, and title candidates will be displayed.

3. Copy the generated prompt and paste it into your AI. At the very bottom, a 'story generation prompt' will appear in a terminal-style box. Press 'Copy Prompt' and paste it into ChatGPT or Claude. Since it is an instruction created based on your answers, a real short story will begin from there.

■ Key points

・The one writing the story is your AI. This tool itself does not contain an AI. What it does is 'assemble a prompt specifically for you.' The one actually writing the story is the AI you usually use. That is why you can use it as many times as you like.

・All input stays within your device. The content you answer is not sent anywhere. It is not saved on a server; everything is completed within your browser.

・The output is a 'starting point.' It is not a perfect finished product, but a spark to get you writing. If you don't like it, you can re-diagnose as many times as you want. Title candidates can be copied by tapping.

■ Finally

When you can't write, it's often not because your desire to write has disappeared, but simply because the outline has become blurred. I hope this tool helps you trace those outlines.

First, please take one minute to answer six questions. I hope you'll go as far as pasting the resulting prompt into your AI.

Note that this free version is the 'first installment.' Currently, it only goes as far as 'generating a prompt,' but next—I am preparing a version that will write a story from start to finish based on the diagnosis. If you like this free version, please look forward to future updates.

▼ Link again (Free, no registration required)

'I want to write something, but I don't know what to write.' 'I feel like I have a theme I want to write about, but I can't grasp the outline.'

I created a unique tool for writers like you. 'Psyche × Code'—a diagnostic program that reads your subconscious through six questions and outputs a blueprint for the story you truly need to write right now.

Furthermore, at the end, it converts that design into a 'story generation prompt that you can paste directly into your AI.'

▼ You can try it here (Free, no registration required) https://psyche-code7.pages.dev/

■ About the name 'Psyche × Code'

This tool combines two worlds.

・Psyche = Mind, subconscious. The seeds of what you want to write that are already within you. ・Code = The mechanism that translates that into 'designs' and 'prompts' that AI can read.

In other words, it's a name that embodies the idea of 'coding' the vague impulses inside you into a form that can be put into words. This is not fortune-telling. It is not about predicting the future, but a diagnosis to bring out the outlines of the story that is already within you.

■ How to use (1 minute, 3 steps)

1. Answer 6 questions by tapping. 'What your eyes are drawn to right now,' 'The emotion you want to place at the core of the story,' 'The temperature when writing,' 'The narrative perspective,' 'The lingering feeling you want to leave with the reader,' 'Where you are in your life right now'—just choose intuitively.

2. Receive your diagnostic results. Your 'writer subconscious type,' the logline of the story you should write now, and title candidates will be displayed.

3. Copy the generated prompt and paste it into your AI. At the very bottom, a 'story generation prompt' will appear in a terminal-style box. Press 'Copy Prompt' and paste it into ChatGPT or Claude. Since it is an instruction created based on your answers, a real short story will begin from there.

■ Key points

・The AI writes the story. This tool itself does not contain AI. What it does is 'assemble a prompt specifically for you.' The one that actually writes the story is the AI you usually use. That's why you can use it as many times as you like.

・All input stays within your device. The content you answer is not sent anywhere. It is not saved on a server; everything is completed within your browser.

・The output is a 'starting point.' It is not a perfect finished product, but a spark to get you writing. If you don't like it, you can re-diagnose as many times as you want. You can copy title candidates by tapping.

■ In closing

When you feel unable to write, it is rarely because your desire to write has vanished; it is usually just that the outlines have become blurred. I hope this tool helps you trace those outlines.

First, please take one minute to answer the six questions. I hope you go as far as pasting the resulting prompt into your AI.

Note that this free version is the 'first installment.' Currently, it only goes as far as 'generating a prompt,' but next—I am preparing a version that will help you write a story from diagnosis to completion. If you enjoy this free version, please look forward to future updates.

▼ Link again (Free, no registration required)

For the title, I will adopt 'Reverberation', which is closest to the core of the design.

Logline

A narrator tracing the traces of someone who disappeared one morning years later begins to lose the ability to distinguish whether it was a person who was lost, or the time within themselves.

Three-Act Structure (Short Synopsis)

Act I | The Sound Left Behind
Years later, the narrator visits an old apartment complex slated for demolition. There, they remember someone they once spent time with. However, the memories lose their definition, and rather than that person's face or voice, the smell of the damp hallway and the sounds of the morning come back more vividly.

Act II | Missing Memories
The narrator traces the memories of that lost morning. But the more they try to remember, the more they realize there are unnatural gaps in their memory. Even though someone should have disappeared, the people around them speak of that existence only vaguely.

Act III | Reverberation
Finally, the narrator approaches the truth of what was lost that morning. However, no clear answer is given. Was it a single person who disappeared, or the very fact that someone was lost? All that remains is a faint sound that continues to ring deep in their ears even now.

That apartment complex is gone now.

Whenever the wind, heavy with the humidity of late summer, blows, the smell of the hallway before it was demolished suddenly returns to the back of my nose. It was a smell that seemed to be a mixture of wet concrete, old tatami mats, and the darkness of a closet that had been kept closed for a long time. It is too vivid to be called a memory; rather, like a mass of air that drifted in from somewhere else, it still catches in the back of my throat.

That morning was also after the rain.

Water still remained on the landing of the stairs, and droplets falling along the handrail dropped at regular intervals. I remember looking up at the floor above, feeling the coldness of the metal against my fingertips. The cloudy sky was cut into a square, and beyond it, a pigeon was shaking its wings.

I heard the sound of someone's room door closing.

It was a heavy, dull sound.

That sound alone, I remember strangely clearly.

It was a sound that seemed to be announcing something, and yet also hiding something.

After the sound faded, a silence descended as if the entire apartment complex were holding its breath. There was no wind, the laundry didn't sway, and even the sound of the television that should have been playing somewhere had cut off. Only the humid air clung to my skin, and for some reason, I couldn't move from that spot.

There was a small puddle at the bottom of the stairs, and the sky was reflected on its surface.

I peered into it.

Then, someone crossed through the water's surface.

I couldn't see their face.

I only remember that even after the shadow passed, the water continued to ripple for a while.

And even now, the only thing I cannot recall is whether someone was truly there that day.

Question (only one)

Will the lost existence remain ambiguous as to 'who they were' until the end of the story, or will you reveal at least their specific relationship (friend, lover, sibling, etc.) in the final stages?

A pair of blue sandals was placed neatly in front of the door.

Only one heel was slightly worn down, and looking at the way it was worn, I should have known whose they were. After all, they had been placed in the same spot for years, and I had stood next to them countless times.

And yet, I stared at them for a while, unable to remember the name.

The wind blew, and I heard the sound of something rolling at the end of the hallway.

When I turned around, I felt as if the orientation of the sandals had changed.

That couldn't be.

The footprints left on the wet concrete and the puddle on the landing were in the same positions as I had seen them just moments ago.

Even so, I couldn't take my eyes off them.

Next to the sandals, a white mug was placed.

There was a small chip on the rim.

They had a habit of tracing that chipped part with their finger.

It is not me.

It is that person.

That much, at least, I know.

Even though I know it, their face does not come to mind.

Every time I reach out toward their silhouette, the memory tears at my fingertips like damp paper, and instead, only other sensations come back to life.

The body heat that touched my shoulder in the middle of the night.

The bed that creaked every time we turned over.

The short silence that followed a laugh near my ear.

And, the final morning.

No matter what, only that morning is cut off halfway through.

As if someone had carefully cut it out and taken it away.

Years later, I tried drawing the floor plan of that room on paper.

I could draw the position of the window, the scratches on the dining table, and the old clock that sat on top of the refrigerator with strange accuracy.

However, there was one place I could not draw.

It was the right side of the bed.

Someone was definitely there.

The direction of the wrinkles in the sheets says so.

The hair left in the gap of the bookshelf says so.

The lipstick mark left on only one of the two teacups sitting side by side says so.

Everything in the world is testifying to its existence.

I am the only one who doesn't know.

I tried to draw the shape of a person on paper many times.

I draw the line of the shoulders, the neck, and try to draw the hair.

Every time, my hand stops.

It is not because I don't know.

It is because I do know.

Even though I should know, something blocks the path before I can reach it.

Like an alarm clock ringing in a distant room.

I can hear it, but I just can't stop it.

That night, I had a dream for the first time.

It was a rainy morning.

Someone was crying.

I cannot hear the voice.

I can only see the water flowing down the windowpane.

And I am saying something to that person.

The me in the dream was desperate.

Am I trying to hold them back?

Am I apologizing?

Are they saying they love me?

I don't even know that.

It's just that they were looking at me.

With a terribly quiet face.

In that moment, I realized.

It wasn't that person who disappeared that morning.

It was the event of losing that person.

That is why, no matter how many years pass, I cannot fully grieve.

Only the loss was extracted, and the fragments of life left behind in its wake are still scattered around the room, unrotted.

Every time I smell the rain.

Every time I see dishes for two.

Every time I see the empty seat next to me.

Only a pain without a reason returns.

And sometimes, I wonder.

If memories were lost to protect me.

Why, then, were the scars left behind?

End

Finished in less than 10 minutes!

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