Who it's for, what it costs, what happens after you buy, and how to help without getting in the way.
Two kinds of people buy this. They want the same thing for different reasons.
A son or daughter buying it for a parent. A grandchild for a grandparent. Someone who has heard the same stories at the same table for thirty years and has just realized nobody has written any of them down.
What you are giving is a private place for that person to write their life, one memory at a time, with questions to answer when they don't know where to begin — and, when there's enough of it, a printed book with their name on the cover. The Legacy Book page shows what the finished book looks like.
Most people who receive this have been meaning to write things down for years and never have. What you are actually giving is the nudge. The rest is theirs.
A financial advisor with clients. A church with a congregation. A senior community with residents. A funeral home, a hospice, a veterans' group, a business that wants to give something that isn't a fruit basket.
The invitation is $5 and the price drops with every one you add — twenty of them cost $53. Each becomes its own account, its own story, its own book. Nothing to manage on your end after the order.
If you're an organization rather than a person, there is also a partnership program where a share of each completed book goes back to your cause. Section eight.
Five dollars for the first invitation, and less for every one after it. The book is a separate decision, made later, once there is a story to print.
The first invitation goes straight to the person you name on the form. Every additional one comes back to you, as a code you can pass on however you like. Section eight has the details.
It's cumulative within one order. Two invitations are $9. Four grandparents are $15. Ten is $33. Twenty — a client list — is $53. The quantity control is right on the form.
An account for the person you name, the writing tools, the questions, and a free PDF of everything they write, for as long as they want it. No subscription. Nothing further is owed by anyone.
A printed book is ordered from inside the author's own account, once they've written enough for one — five thousand words, which is the floor, not the target. It's priced in three parts: an edition (how much editing their words receive), a cover, and whether the photographs print in color. The least it can cost is $69.98. The Premium edition is priced by the word, so there is no fixed ceiling; the full table is on the Legacy Book page.
The order is placed from the author's account, so it is theirs to make. Families handle this every way you would expect: the author buys it, or you sit down with them when it's time, or you send them the money. Nothing in the system decides that for you.
Three fields and a note. It takes about a minute.
Not instructions. A reason. The notes that work say some version of I want to know this, and I want the kids to know it, and nobody else can tell it.
Dad — you've told me the story about the barn a hundred times and I still don't have it written down anywhere. Please. — M.
One email, with one button in it. If the button fails, a code that does the same thing.
The moment your payment goes through, an email goes to the address you gave. The subject line is your name and sent you a beautiful gift. Inside is your note, your photograph if you added one, a button that opens the gift, and a code they can type in by hand if the button does not work on their device.
The button takes them to a welcome page. Your note is on it. From there they make their account — a name, a password, or a Google or Facebook sign-in if they'd rather not remember one — and they are in.
Once they've made their account with it, it's spent. Nobody else can use it and they never need it again. They get back in the ordinary way afterward — email and password, or Google or Facebook.
It happens. Ask them to look in the spam folder for a message from Grand Testimony with your name in the subject line. If it's not there either, reply to your receipt email — a person reads those, and can look the gift up and send it again.
They write. You wait. Neither of you has anything to manage.
Inside their account is a dashboard with one button on it that matters: Add Entry. Each entry is a memory — a title, the story, roughly when it happened, a photograph if they have one. They file each one into one of the six areas of a life: origins, learning, family, work and calling, faith, and who they turned out to be.
When they don't know what to write, there are Story Starters — specific questions, on purpose, because "tell me about your childhood" produces a paragraph nobody reads and "what did the kitchen smell like" produces the childhood.
If they want to read about it from their side before they start, the page written for them is Turn Your Life Into a Book. Send them that, not this.
Five thousand words. Below that, a book can't be made; above it, the book button opens. It sounds enormous and isn't — about forty short entries. Some people will reach it in a couple of months of writing a little most days. Others will take a year. Both are fine.
The account doesn't expire. The writing doesn't get deleted if they stop for a month, or six. Nothing is charging them. When they come back, everything is where they left it.
Nothing. On purpose.
The account is theirs. You bought the invitation; you do not get a window into what they are writing, how much, or how often. There is no progress bar for you, no notification when they add something, no way to read it over their shoulder.
That is deliberate, and it is the reason people actually write. A person who knows they are being watched writes the version of their life that is fit to be watched. The book you want is the other one.
Whenever they choose, they can generate a PDF of everything so far and email it to you. It's free, it takes a few seconds, and it's the single best way to see how it's going — because they decided to show you.
Would you send me what you have so far? is a question they can say yes to. How's the book coming? is not.
You cannot write it for them. You can make it easier to write. The difference is mostly in what you ask.
Big questions stall people. Small ones start them. Not "tell me about the war" but "what did you eat on the ship over?" Not "what was Grandma like" but "what did she do with her hands when she was thinking?" A small question is a thing they can answer at the table — and once they have said it out loud, it is a two-minute job to type it in.
Every entry can carry one picture, and old prints photograph perfectly well with a phone — lay it flat, get the light off it, shoot straight down. An afternoon with a shoebox of photographs will produce more entries than a month of "you should write that down."
If they are not comfortable with a screen, one session together is usually enough: add the first entry side by side, show them the Add button and the Story Starters, and leave. The first entry is the hard one. The fortieth is not.
Don't put them on a schedule. Don't check in weekly. Give them room to make it theirs. You already gave them the reason, in your note. Trust it.
Clients, members, residents, a whole congregation. The mechanics are the same; the price is better and the extras arrive differently.
The name, email and note on the form belong to the first invitation, and that one is delivered straight to that person. Every additional one comes to you, as a code, in a separate email — each with two links: one to start a story with it yourself, one to send it on to somebody else through the site. Or write the code in a card. Each code starts one story, for whoever uses it.
So for a list: buy the quantity, and you receive the codes to hand out however suits you — in an email, at a meeting, in a card at the door.
Churches, nonprofits and community groups can run this as a partnership campaign instead. Your organization gets its own page on the site with its own story, members join through it at no charge, and a share of every completed book purchase goes back to your cause. There are versions for faith communities, nonprofits and community partners.
Buying invitations is for when you want to give them. A partnership is for when you want your members to come and get one, and your organization to benefit when they print. Different door, same book.
Most of these are the system doing what it's supposed to.
| What you see | What it means |
|---|---|
| They never got the email | Check spam — the subject line has your name in it. Then reply to your receipt; the gift can be looked up and re-sent. |
| A message that the code was already used | They made their account with it already. They just need to log in the ordinary way — email and password, or Google or Facebook. |
| You want to see what they've written | Ask them to send you the PDF. There is no other way in, on purpose. |
| They haven't started | Common, and not a fault. Sit with them for the first entry. Section seven. |
| You want to pay for the book | The order is placed from their account. Sit with them when it's time, or send them the money. |
| You gave it to the wrong email | Reply to your receipt and say which address it should have gone to. It can usually be re-sent before anyone uses it. |
| You want to compare it to other services | There's a straight comparison page. It names them. |
Reply to the receipt you got by email. A person reads those. Say what you were trying to do and what happened instead.
Short definitions for the terms that come up.
| Term | Means |
|---|---|
| Invitation | The $5 gift. One account, one story. |
| Code | What the invitation actually is: a one-time key that makes the account. |
| Author | The person you gave it to. It's their book. |
| Entry | One memory. What the book is built from. |
| Story Starters | The questions offered when they don't know what to write. |
| Five thousand words | The point at which a book can be ordered. |
| Edition | How much editing the words get: Refined, Legacy or Premium. |
| A free copy of the story as it stands, any time, for sharing. | |
| Video message | A recording of the author, reached by a QR code printed in the book. |
| Partnership | A campaign run by an organization, where members join free and a share of each book goes to the cause. |
The five dollars is the least of what you're giving. The note is most of it. Write a good one.