Conversation > Content

You already know things worth publishing. The reason they are not published is not that you cannot write — it is that writing means sitting down, and you were never going to sit down.

TelePost phones you. It has read the news in your field that morning, picked the handful of stories you would actually have an opinion about, and written questions only you could answer. You talk for ten minutes. By the time you are back at your desk there is a draft in your voice, artwork to go with it, and captions for wherever you post.

Nothing is published. That part is yours.

Why a phone call

Because you are more interesting out loud. Ask somebody to write eight hundred words on spectrum policy and you get eight hundred careful, hedged, faintly corporate words. Ask them the same thing on the phone and thirty seconds in they say "honestly the whole thing is theatre, and here's what actually decides it" — which is the piece. The good line almost never survives the blank page. It survives a conversation.

So TelePost interviews rather than prompts. The questions come from your profile and from a real story, the interviewer shuts up and lets you finish, and when you land something quotable it asks you to say it once more, tighter. That line becomes the spine of the article and the words on the artwork.

What actually happens

It reads your field. Every weekday it scans the sources that matter in your industry and offers a few stories worth ten minutes of your time.
It rings you. At a time you set, on days you choose, inside hours you set. The call opens by telling you it is recording, because in several US states everybody on a call has to know.
You talk. Ten minutes, usually less. You talk ninety percent of the time. If you would rather just say what is already on your mind, press We'll do it Live and skip the story entirely — no script, three questions maximum.
It writes it up. In your voice, from your words. Only what you said becomes content: no invented statistics, no confident claims you never made. If you did not say enough, you get a shorter article rather than a padded one.
You read it and mark it up. Comment on any paragraph in your own words — "this overstates it", "say why" — and have it rewritten from your notes. Pick your picture from six photographs.
You approve it. Then, separately, you publish it. Two presses, on purpose. Approving says the words are right. Publishing is what makes it public.

What you should expect

A first draft that sounds like you and needs a light edit — not a finished piece you would publish blind, and not a wall of AI mush you would have to rewrite. Expect to change a sentence or two. Expect the quotes to be exactly what you said, because they are lifted verbatim rather than paraphrased.

Expect it to be wrong occasionally, and to be easy to correct when it is. That is what the notes and the rewrite are for.

What it will never do

Publish anything you have not approved. Not on your blog, not in your feeds, not anywhere.
Post to your social accounts on its own. One feature, Boost, can post as you — and only after you have been granted it, read the terms, connected the account yourself, and pressed the button on that specific article. Everything else prepares the post and hands it to you.
Invent things you did not say. The transcript is the source. Where your dates or figures sounded uncertain, it generalises rather than asserting something that might be wrong.
Call you outside the hours you set. Your calling window is a rule about when an unprompted call is welcome, and only you can override it.

Who it is for

People with a specialism and no time: the engineer who knows why the standard is wrong, the operator who has run the thing everyone else has only read about, the founder who is tired of watching worse takes get the attention. If your expertise is real and your publishing cadence is zero, this closes that gap with a phone call.

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